Paulina and I shared lunch on the dunes beneath a mango tree that had been picked clean except for the shade. The breeze felt good and I actually dozed. When I woke, I found Paulina walking in the waves, a faraway look in her eyes. She said nothing to me upon her return. I got the feeling it’d been a long time since she’d done anything like that. That in itself got me thinking. As did the fact that Isabella couldn’t swim.

Other than a single necklace, Paulina didn’t wear jewelry. Few women around here did. Granted, it cost money, which was in short supply, but I got the feeling it was more cultural. The necklace she wore was a long chain, which seldom showed unless you were looking. And I admit, when it came to Leena, I found myself looking more often than not. She also let her hair grow—as did every other woman. While they wore their hair all rolled up in a bun, none cut it. Most hung at waist length when they let it down, which was usually after a shower or when they brushed it just before going to bed.

She sat down next to me beneath the mango tree, and I asked about it. “Why do you keep your hair so long?”

“It is believed here that a woman’s hair is her crown. Where God bestows his glory.”

“Then why do all of you pull it up in tight buns that pin your ears back?”

She laughed. “’Cause it’s hot and all that hair on your neck only makes it worse.”

“All function. No form.”

More laughter. “Something like that.”

“What about jewelry? No one here wears any.”

“We are taught not to bring unnatural attention to ourselves. To let our natural beauty do that. To not attempt to improve on what God made perfect.”

I pointed at her necklace. “And that?”

She smiled. “That is the exception.”

“I noticed.”

She placed the polished and worn stone that hung on the chain in her palm. “One evening, when my father was at the bottom of his well and had been digging for months, thinking he’d never strike water, he found two polished stones. When he picked them up, water began seeping in from the edges. To anyone but us, the stones are worthless, but he had them made like this; the chains are made of Nicaraguan gold. He gave one to my mother, one to me. In over thirty years, I’ve never taken it off. My mother did the same. Worth nothing, yet to me, it’s priceless.” She crossed her legs and her face turned curious. “Tell me more about you. How you got here. Your work. What you do when you’re not here.”

“In college, I spent some time playing poker for a living, but I realized there were people better than me so I cashed in my chips.”

“Smart.”

“Doing so caught the attention of a man who ran a venture capital firm. So I spent some time in the financial world but was fired when I didn’t want to play ball with my boss.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say he wanted to own more than just my time.”

“What’d you do for him?”

“Traveled a lot. I evaluated companies. Tried to figure out which were worth keeping and which were worth breaking up into small pieces. Depended on which made him more money.”

“Did it pay well?”

“Could have, but he kept it all when I left.”

“Sounds like a story there.”

“Just a bit.”

“You ever work outside the States?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Europe. The islands. Asia. Some in Central America.”

“Ever come here? To Nicaragua?”

I casually looked away. “No.”

“How’d you get to Bimini?”

“When I left, I wandered some. Eventually, I found myself on a shrimp boat headed for Bimini, where I gutted a hurricane shack and began working with an old man to make specialized wooden skiffs. We built about two a year.”

“You work with wood?”

A nod. “I do seem to possess some talent there.”

“Well, aren’t you just a Renaissance man.”

“Not too sure about that.” I wasn’t comfortable talking about me, so I tried to speed the conversation along. “From there, I began guiding people fishing for—”

“You’re also a fishing guide?”

“It’s not too difficult in Bimini. The fish are rather predictable.”

“You’re starting to get interesting.”

“I met my current business partner when he came to fish. He told me his family owned an import business, and if I ever wanted or needed a job, he’d put me to work. So Colin put me in charge of import logistics and transport. Primarily acquisition and delivery.”

“Wow, listen to you with the big words.” She was smiling now. “What did you import?”

“Primarily wine and spirits. Lately, he’s been moving into olive oil.”

“Ever been married?”

“No.”

“Why?” She smiled. Playing with me. Growing more comfortable. “You seem likable enough. You wear deodorant, trim your fingernails, not too much stuff hanging from your teeth.”

I rubbed my front teeth on my shirt. “Can we talk about you a while?”

“But you were just starting to get interesting.”

“I’m afraid the interesting part is over.”

“And your friend, Zaul?”

There was more to her question. “What about him?”

“What kind of kid is he?”

“He’s had a cell phone and a credit card since he could crawl. His parents have, admittedly, enabled him so he knows next to nothing about responsibility. He’s also grown up around the überwealthy and social elite so he has a skewed view of reality.”

“Sounds like a bad recipe.”

I pointed at San Cristóbal smoking in the distance. “Yep.”

“Why’d he come here?”

“I’m not sure, other than they own a home in Costa Rica and he knows the surf.”

“Why’d they send you? Why not his dad?”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

She smiled. Beautiful white teeth that filtered laughter with nothing to hold it down. The tension here was to satisfy her without giving up too much or getting too close to the truth. “When he left, his sister, Maria, was in the hospital. He feels responsible for her being there. He thinks his parents feel that way, too.”

“Is he?”

“Ultimately, no. But that’s why I’m here, because his father wouldn’t be able to convince him of that.”

“Can you?”

A shrug. “Don’t know, but my chances are better than Colin’s. If anyone has Zaul’s ear, it’s me, but that’s a big if.”

“One more question?”

“Sure. You seem to be on a roll.”

I had a feeling she’d been baiting me, asking me a bunch of questions until she got to the one that mattered—the one she’d been wanting to ask me for a few days. Her eyes told me this was it. “When you find him, how do you know he’s going to let you take him home?”

It was a good question and I’d been asking it myself. “I don’t.”

Her eyes didn’t change. “And yet you’re here anyway.”

It was a question posed as a statement. “Yes.”

“What motivates a man to do something when he knows he’s got almost zero chance of succeeding?”

I answered, hoping she accepted it. “I love the kid.” She did not.

“I bet his dad does, too.” She paused. Considering me. “If I knew you better, I’d say there was something you’re not telling me.”

She was a good reader of people, and she was reading me like a book. There was a tenderness to her that drew me. More than that, I liked being known, and for the first time in my life, I was known by another. I’m not saying I liked what she knew about me, not proud of the bits and pieces, but somehow she was standing inside my skin and yet I didn’t experience shame at her reflection. I feigned. “Have to try.”

I don’t know if I satisfied her or gave rise to more questions, but for the rest of the ride back, she eyed me, studying my face and saying nothing more.

Chapter Twenty-One

We returned to the casa in time to pick up Isabella from school. Paulo and I quickly loaded up and returned to the well, where he patted me on the back and once again dropped me in the hole with a smile that spoke volumes. Before I kicked my feet loose, suspending myself over the hole, a crowd had gathered. Kids. Old folks. And it’d grown. Paulo said, “Word spread. Gringo digging Alejandro’s well.”