Chapter 6

Of the three cruise lines that I’ve seen include the island on their Panama Canal itineraries, this is the splashiest. The stars-and-streamers party paintjob extends the length of the hull of both of their vessels that I’ve seen. The ship is easily recognizable as the same ship I watched drop anchor yesterday, down to the little motorized dinghy I see puttering from it toward the shoreHe’s still here, I pretend not to think, even as a dozen spurious errands in town pop into my head. It is Christmas Eve, I reason. The bar won’t be open tonight or tomorrow. I should probably do at least some bare-bones marketing if I want to eat before Monday, and I have been meaning to send a postcard to Lance, my little friend from the gym who’s staying at my place. When I tip the last of the sweetened condensed milk into my coffee, that cinches it. Never mind handsome strangers—a trip to town in search of this morning necessity is required. Phew.