I: Faith
I felt that if I'd told Zane about trying to help Lauren, he might tell Walter, and so it remained a secret.
Zane and I sat in the hotel bar deep into the night creating empty glasses, spoiling the feral cats that wandered in, and dreaming in lurid, out-loud color. Finally, the bartender said something to Zane and Zane told me they were closing.
“Have you been to the beach since you've been in Cartagena?" he asked me.
“Nope," I said, draining the dregs of a last draft of beer.
“Neither have I," he said.
“Let's go."
I had seen Punta Arenas beach in the long daylight there: the gentle aqua water and cream sand, like the photos on travel brochures that are so sun-soaked, bright, and clear that they're practically unrealistic. But it was a mystery in the night. In the black
