on a stainless steel rack in the bathroom.
He slipped back into bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours.
* * *
Reed and Laurel ate breakfast in silence punctuated by knives hitting plates and utilitarian requests to pass this or that. Any conversation seemed to fall apart before it even got started. Laurel pointed out a hummingbird that buzzed and hovered at the flower bushes just outside the glass. Reed couldn’t find anything to say in reply.
“What will you be doing when you get back?”
She shrugged. “Stuff for the station. It’s a busy time of year,” was all she could say.
“It’s that important?” Reed stared at his glass of black coffee and took a few sips of orange juice. A croissant sat on his plate, untouched. The thought of eating anything solid made him feel nauseated. “The stuff?”
She stared at her plate.
“Stay,” he finally said. “Please. Just stay.”
Laurel looked at him. She reached over and put her hand on his.
“I’m not saying things are over, honey. I’m just not sure it’s doing anything for either of us for me to be here.”
“If you’re not sure, then think about it some more. There’s still ten days left.”
“No,” she said. “That’s not what I meant. I’ve thought about it a lot. And I’m sure. It was a mistake to come.”
“It wasn’t a mistake. It was wonderful spending time together again.”
“It was deceptive.”
Reed shrugged. “You can’t deceive me for another week?”
“You’d want that? Really, Reed? Even if I’m somewhere else mentally?” Laurel paused. “And physically?” She paused, carefully buttering a piece of bread before taking a bite. “It’s not like I can’t see what you want from me. I just can’t give you that. Emotionally. I don’t want kids anymore. I’m not sure I ever did even before we lost her.”
“If that’s all it is, we forget kids. Fine.”
“I want to focus on my career….” She trailed off. “Explore options.”
“After twelve years? Just toss in the towel?”
Now Laurel shrugged, a slight lift of her eyebrows and shoulders. “I didn’t say that.”
“What else is there?”
“We could try counseling.”
“You want us to go to counseling again?” Reed laughed. “Because it worked so well the first time?”
“No,” she said. “Not really.”
“If your heart isn’t here anymore, counseling isn’t going to rebuild it.”
“I was thinking about you, Reed.”
“Me? You think I’m the one who needs counseling?” He suddenly felt dizzy. Pushing back the chair, he stood up. “I’ll be up in the room. When you’re done eating, let me know. I’ll take you to the airport.”
* * *
When the taxi cab pulled up to the airport Departures lobby, Reed let the driver heft Laurel’s suitcase out of the trunk, still trying to favor his leg. The two held hands walking up to the counter. When they’d checked in and gotten the gate assignment, his wife gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “See you soon, honey. Enjoy yourself. I mean it. Take those swimming lessons they’re offering at the pool.”
And that was how they’d left it. Laurel turned once and waved at him through the glass after she’d crossed security, then walked directly to the gate, head high, pulling the little carry on bag primly behind her. Reed waited, his hand raised, but she went down the long corridor and turned right without looking back again. It took three Bloody Marys and forty minutes at the airport bar to calm him down enough to hail a cab.
On the way back to the hotel, Reed stared out at the dirty streets and the shabby buildings and wondered why he hadn’t simply followed her home. In a sense, staying here just prolonged the inevitable. The discussions they’d be having. The figuring out of where they would live. Reshaping their lives. Or maybe he was already over-thinking it: maybe this wasn’t as final as it sounded. Maybe Laurel would get back to Boston and miss him. He wished it wasn’t so uncertain.
He tipped the driver and went into the lobby and pushed the “up” button on the elevator. As the doors opened, Reed stepped away and walked over to the long faux-wood check-in counter, where a receptionist in a neat beige uniform was typing something into a cellphone. Seeing a guest, the boy snapped to attention.
“How may I help you, Señor?”
Reed put his arms on the table.
“Have you ever heard of something called the Welcome Wanderer?” he asked. “I think it’s a hotel in Tulum.”
The other man scoffed. “Hotel? Sir, it’s not a hotel, it’s a youth hostel. Filthy. Not even a swimming pool.”
“I’ll be happy if I never see another swimming pool in my life.”
“Sir, if you have to get there today, it’s not impossible. A taxi will be happy to take you. It’s only a two hour ride. Or, if you want to save money, the bus is very cheap, but we don’t recommend it. It’s not…” He paused. “Not hygienic enough for Grand Medallion guests. And then I can arrange for the hotel van to bring you from the ruin back to the hotel. I’ll tell the driver to be on the lookout for you. But you have to be at the ruin parking lot at two p.m. sharp or he will leave without you.”
“No,” Reed said. “It’s not important.”
As he pushed the hotel keycard into the slot on 1114, he decided a little day trip was in order. In less than ten minutes he was back at the lobby, the Murakami book under his arm.
“How do I get to the bus station?” he asked.
An Orange from Paradise
The Cancún transit terminal was incongruously modern compared with the surrounding houses and one-story collections of little Internet cafés, pawnshops, and tortilla stands. The air smelled of chili and exhaust and flowers and roasting corn. Two nondescript dogs were trotting around in the traffic, noses to each other’s rears, oblivious to the honks of the battered automobiles that were barely avoiding them. Reed winced as one taxi took a turn too quickly and clipped one of the dogs with its bumper. The animal yelped, rolled, then limped off around the corner, wiser but unharmed.
“You looking for a hostel, man?” a scrawny blond hawker asked in an Australian accent. “I got a great place, perfect for you—just ten bucks. You’ll love it.”
“Sorry, not looking.”
“Come on, just let me show you. You need a place
