how easy it is to forget.

there's something about an island that makes the outside world disappear.

The text came just before noon. I was lying in bed, sweating, thinking about what I could possibly do to fill my day. I had been in St. Croix for just over a week.

I looked at who the message was from.

Ashley. I had known her since middle school. We had run circles around a church basement at a Wednesday night bible club and later taught side by side in St. Louis—math for her and English for me. I wondered what she had sent me: a meme, a check-in text, a juicy bit of gossip from back home.

I picked up my phone. It was none of those.