Someone at the back of our canoe asks another question and Ana shifts her attention, leaving me to brood over my thoughts. While I see the value of these children leaning how to survive and thrive in the Amazon, I’ve always thought of formal education as a necessity. It bothers me immensely to think that bright, ambitious children—like my father—might be deprived of tapping their potential because the resources simply aren’t available.
“Yara,” says Ana, sidestepping down the middle row of the canoe to squat beside me. “You have a special interest in this topic?”
I nod. “It’s definitely hitting a chord.”
“Look into an organization called FAS,” she says. “Fundação Amazônia Sustentável. It’s a non-profit with major support from companies like Coca-Cola and Samsung. It supports education in the Amazon, among other initiatives. It’s a good place to start learning more.”
My heart lifts at the thought.
“Obrigada, Ana.”
She side steps back up to the front of the boat and resumes her talk about educating the youth of the rainforest, but my brain is already working. I’m going to connect with FAS, and I’m going to make a difference, just like my father.
***
Afternoon finds ourboat docked for restocking supplies while passengers are ferried to a white sand beach nearby. I lie in the sunshine and bake, my thoughts slipping back and forth between offering an apology to Rio and figuring out how to help with improving education for Amazonian children. I was troubled by the school we visited today. The building itself was small, but serviceable, with a fresh coat of blue and white paint, but the children were using old books, barely held together with layers of tape.They should have better,I thought to myself, quickly followed up by the promise:Theywillhave better.
I’m grateful that I didn’t send a retraction of my wishes to stay longer to my mother and Don. The plans I have in my head are bigger and more important than my ill-fated affair with Rio. I want to help. I want to build a legacy of improved education in the Amazon rainforest, which bore and nurtured my father; which, in an unexpected twist of fate, has seizedmyheart. I feel my Brazilian blood—my Amazonian warrior blood—course through my veins for the first time in my life, and I wonder if I’mfindingmyself andknowingmyself for the first time. I’ve lived over two decades on this earth, and now—only now—am I starting to come into focus.
“Don’t get burned.”
I look up to find Rio standing over me, his arms laden with beach umbrellas.
“Is one of those for me?”
“If you want it.”
“What Iwantis to tell you how sorry I am.” I sit up straighter. “I jumped to conclusions and misjudged you. It wasn’t fair.”
He stares down at me, his face hard.
“Truly, Rio. I am so sorry.”
He grimaces, taking a deep breath and looking out at the water, where several passengers are splashing in the brown-toned river. When he looks back at me, his eyes are softer.
“I love this job,” he tells me, “but I also need it. Jacinda is at that age. She wants things. Clothes for school. A new phone. Tickets to see a concert. To go to Campos do Jordao at Christmastime. She’s a good girl and she deserves a good life. I want her to have everything, you know?”
I know. I was once the daughter of a doting father, too.
“I’ve never...” He gulps, hesitating for a second and lowering his voice. “I’ve never stepped over the line. I talk to the guests. I flirt, yes. But I’ve never...done that with any of them.” His eyes find mine and search them intently. “Not until you.”
I understand what he’s telling me: what happened between us was important. Unexpected. Unusual. And it meant something. To both of us.
“I’m staying,” I blurt out. “I’m staying in Manaus.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m staying until the end of the summer. Maybe longer. I don’t know yet.”
“What? Why?” He looks a little nervous which makes me grin.
“My father’s foundation meant everything to him. And I think there’s more work to be done.”
His lips slide up into a smile, and it’s so warm, the Brazilian sun almost feels cool.
“You’re staying to help?”
“I want to figure out a way to streamline supply deliveries to the Amazonian schools. There’s got to be a better way. Helicopters, drones—something! I don’t know yet, but technology changes every day. There’s got to be a way to improve efficiency. I have a lot more research to do, but this is my home, too. I mean...not myhome, but myheritage. It was a part of my father. That means it’s a part of me. You know?”