Too fast. I fishtailed; the boat spun. Jumping a sunken tree, the stern yawed into the current, slamming me into a tangled mass of broken tree limbs, sluicing me with a soaking spray. I cut the motor. Chastened, determined, I spent several minutes pushing myself away from the outcropping.

Free of the bony snag, I yanked on the motor’s chain, dizzy with relief when it caught and rumbled to life on the first try. My arm ached from the pull of the rudder as I forced the boat to follow the contours of the bank. Behind thin clouds, the sun grew swollen and turned sickly white, burning through the haze and baking my head and shoulders. The poultice dried and flaked off in chunks that fell in the river and were swept swiftly away behind me.

Think, I told myself. What was the route we had taken?

From Ayachero, Omar had veered off into two different channels to arrive at the river I motored on now. I had a memory of always turning right, but that had been from my position lying down in the boat, facing . . . which way? I mentally lay down, head under the thatch. Saw Omar’s intense face as he leaned down to me, saying, Sit up, Lily, pay attention . . .

It was a right. It had to be. I had to make two right turns. And I would not stop to sleep.

A glowering red sun dropped behind the wall of green as macaws, paired by color—turquoise, crimson, yellow—soared high above, squawking at one another like old married couples. Banks of pink mimosa and purple tonka bean throbbed with a chorus of frogs. Now and then, to either side of the boat, a gulping sound, as a whiskered rubbery mouth popped to the surface, then disappeared. Both hands clutching the tiller, I puttered along into the night river, knowing the moment I ran out of diesel would be the end of everything.

Darkness closed like a door, the trees looming ogres, their big faces gaping down. I held on to the putt-putt of the motor like it was Omar’s heartbeat, Omar’s love for me, carrying me home. Feathery clouds drifted across a fingernail of moon. Mist spiraled off the river in fairy twists. A large fish jumped out of the water and came belly-flopping down. I motored on, my skin dry and pinching. Chambers of cool, wet air wafted by me, through me.

A warm wetness spread out beneath me, soaking my dress. Had I peed? I reached down over my belly and felt myself, smelled my hand; no urine smell. More liquid gushed out of me. My water had broken.

The baby was coming.

FORTY-TWO

A spitting mist accompanied vague, ominous dawn light. From high in the canopy, a howler monkey roared his loneliness. As I rounded a bend, the river split into three different branches. Nothing looked familiar. In despair, I chose a hard right, when really it could have been any of them. I hugged the shore, one hand on the tiller, the other across my belly, my guts twisting and pulling. The weight of my body shifted, gathering and dropping down hard between my legs.