My voice is meek. “I...I didn’t know you were a father.”
“You didn’t ask.”
I shrug. “That’s not a question you ask random hot men.”
His lips tilt up for a brief second before straightening again.
“Well, it’s the truth. I have one child. I’m divorced from her mother. She wanted to come and see me next weekend, but I told her I needed to work, and she was angry. I was trying to calm her down.”
I’m such a bitch.
I take a deep breath, tilting my head to the side in an effort to look contrite. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, Yara,” he says sadly. “Me too.”
He gives me a hard look, then turns away from me, leaving me alone.
***
My eyes are glued tothe clock at midnight, but there’s no knock on my door, no repeat of this afternoon’s delight, and I understand I’ve offended Rio more than I ever meant to. I accused him of being a cheater and insinuated I wasn’t safe with him. I hurt his feelings, and his honor, and his pride, and I barely offered up a proper apology. I owe him one. A good one.
But the next morning, there’s no time to talk to him.
We leave early for an excursion to a native community, and I find—when I get to the dock—that I’m back in Lucas’ boat, a change that speaks volumes. I wonder if he had to pay Lucas to take me back in his group, and it aches to think so.
I try not to watch him as he paddles the canoe in front of us. Try not to remember the weight of his body on top of mine. Try not to picture his eyes holding mine as he filled me. Try not to remember those same eyes, confused and hurt, when I threatened to scream for help.
I fucked this up.
And while part of me recognizes that severing any emotional bonds with Rio should make it easier for me to return to New York, my heart refuses to accept this as a victory. I was falling for him. And those feelings haven’t just vanished.
Making love to him made those feelings stronger.
And learning he’s a father made them more tender.
I could go back to New York, sure. But those feelings will accompany me there. And the longing I feel for this gorgeous, sweet man in Manaus might just be enough to make me miserable.
“Today,” says Ana, who is guiding our group for a second morning, “we will see an indigenous community, and meet some of the children attending school.”
Pulling my eyes away from Rio, I give Ana my attention.
“Of our sixty-two municipalities in the Amazon, only ten can be reached by road. This presents a challenge for educating our youth. Yes, we have schoolhouses here, but it is a challenge to get supplies—books, desks, lunches—to the school location by motorized canoe. Some schools are four hours by motorboat from the nearest town. Others are hard to reach when the river water is low during the dry season, and it can take days for supplies to arrive.
“In a study completed in 2006, we learned that Brazil has over 2,400 indigenous schools, with over 170,000 children enrolled. The teachers are mostly indigenous. Only 20% of these schools provide education beyond fifth grade. Many of the teachers do not hold a degree.
“Formal—or maybe you would say Western-style—learning is important, but in recent years, we have begun to recognize that informal education has a place in the classroom, too. Drawing maps of where local resources are located. Learning how to build a simple dwelling. Objects and tools from the community are introduced into study. Children learn about the history of their people in addition to the history of Brazil.”
My mind is spinning with this information. I raise my hand and Ana smiles at me.
“Isn’t there any way to get supplies to schools other than by boat?” I ask. “What about helicopters?”
Ana’s eyes widen. “Helicopters? Who will pay for this?”
Maybe I will, I think.
“What about remote learning?” I ask. “You said that many of the local teachers don’t have a degree. Couldn’t better educated teachers in the cities teach children in the Amazon?”
“We have some of this remote learning. But it’s hard to distribute technology, and electricity is not always available.” Ana pauses before continuing. “Not all children speak Portuguese. And a teacher from Sao Paulo or Brazilia might not speak Waiwai or Terena. How will the children understand the lessons?”