“Let’s check out this display over here,” she said, leading her son deftly away from the brothel.

We smothered our laughter and stepped inside. Immediately, I was struck by the multiple murals on the walls of various couples in sexual positions. A man penetrated a woman from behind, his large penis on display. Two men were entwined together, lying on a bed. Many of the murals were faded and chipped, but the images were clear enough to see detail.

An ancient porn room. How fascinating.

Refusing to feel shy with Ian at my side, I took my time studying the images before going back into the hot sunshine. My mom shot me a look, her brow arched, but I refused to give her any reaction.

“They were a wild bunch,” Nonni commented as I walked past. “But talented painters.”

I laughed. I adored her sense of humor. “Are you okay in this heat?” I asked.

“Of course. I can barely see anything under this hat,” she said, the floppy brim falling in her face. We’d brought extra water for her, but I was impressed with her endurance on the trip so far. Even Mary and Ray, the elderly couple, seemed comfortable on the long walk in thick humidity.

“Did you use enough sunscreen?” I asked her.

She tapped my nose in an affectionate gesture. “Yes, Mom. Just make sure you lather it on too, okay?”

The tour guide clapped his hands. “I will now take you to a beautiful picture site, so get your cameras ready. It’s a bit of a walk.”

We stood on a high ledge that overlooked the mighty volcano. Everyone posed for pictures, and we boarded the bus again for the next pit stop. Ian made a motion that I should grab an empty seat with him, so I took him up on the offer. Mom and Nonni gave me a look but sat together without protest.

“Thank God,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve been sitting with Mom and she listens to those steamy romance novels on audio. I keep wanting to bleach out the images of what scene she’s on.”

I laughed and held up my Kindle. “I prefer Dean Koontz and Stephen King. What do you like to read?”

He dove into his backpack and took out a fabric-covered book. “Everything I can get my hands on. This one is Thomas Moore. It’s called Meditations. He was a monk who ended up leaving the monastery and wrote down his thoughts on life and spirituality.”

“Sounds intense. Is it good?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I like that it doesn’t apply to a particular time in society, or target a specific generation or problem. It’s just various revelations regarding the world and the spirit.”

“Do you read a lot of self-help books too?”

“Sometimes. Depends on who’s trying to give the help.”