“I’m so sorry for your loss.” The man gives my shoulder an awkward pat, and his words play on in my head as the sentiment echoes down the receiving line. I stare at his dress shirt. There’s a stain on the underside of his belly. He shuffles to my left to shake Ryan’s hand.

My brother smells like whiskey, and our mother hasn’t even noticed.

“Maddie, please let us know if there’s anything we can do.” The woman next in line takes my hand, but I hardly feel her grip. I’ve hardly felt anything in days. I stare at her shoes until she moves on.

The coffin is closed, and if I can’t see my father’s face, I don’t want to see anyone else’s either.

“Are you taking care of yourselves?” Abuelita slides the first corn patty into the hot oil with a gentle expertise perfected by fifty years’ experience. The cornmeal sizzles, but the oil does not pop.

“¡Desde luego! Which is why I can’t have many of those.” I nod at the carb-heavy fried corn cakes, which would wreak havoc on my blood sugar.

“Uncle Hernán gave her an insulin pump.” Ryan glances at my stomach, where a slight bump at my waist betrays my most obvious concession to my illness. “So she doesn’t have to mess with needles anymore.”

Abuelita nods. “Hernán has always taken care of us.”

I bite my tongue to keep my thoughts from spilling out. The truth is that every time my father came to Colombia with the nonprofit organization he worked for, he spent as much time with his mother as he could.

My uncle hasn’t set foot in Colombia since he left as a teenager. He just sends money.

When he found out our insurance wouldn’t cover my insulin pump, he threw money at the problem. Not that I’m not grateful. But I was just another issue he could resolve by writing a check. Like he did for Ryan’s rehab.

“Buenos días, Nana.” Genesis strides into the room in running shorts and a sports bra, tightening the ponytail cinched high on her head. There’s a sheen of sweat on her face and her hair is damp.

“¡Buenos días!” Abuelita steps back from the stove to accept a kiss on the cheek from the oldest and least culturally aware of her granddaughters.

“My phone,” I demand.

Genesis plucks it from a hidden pocket at her waist and tosses it to me. There’s a text from my mother.

Hope you’re having fun! How are the Bahamas? Take a snorkeling class for me!

“Genesis!” My cousin’s name sounds like an expletive as it explodes from my mouth. “Why does my mother think we’re in the Bahamas?”

“Because she doesn’t know how to track your phone?” Her casual shrug makes me want to choke her. “My dad figured it out before we even landed.”

“You said you cleared the change of plans with everyone who mattered!”

“Yeah.” She gives me another careless shrug as she pours a glass of juice. “Nana and the pilot.”

“You didn’t tell me your father hadn’t agreed,” Abuelita scolds. Yet she sounds more embarrassed than angry about the lie. “He called last night, and he was very upset.”

“Do Neda’s and Holden’s parents know?” I demand. “Do they even care?”

Ryan puts one hand on my shoulder. “Maddie, calm—”

I turn on him. “She’s never the one who has to deal with the fallout from the crazy, reckless way she barrels through life.” Practically kidnapping her own cousins and dragging them to Colombia. Letting Ryan party with her friends during the height of his addiction, even when she knew he had a problem.

“You’re overreacting,” Genesis insists as she plucks a slice of mango from the tray. “Nana called me a couple of weeks ago to ask when we could come see her, and I seized the opportunity.” Meaning she bribed the pilot.

“Did you even ask your dad?”

“Of course not. He would have said no. But we’re here now, and he’ll get on board once Nana calls and asks why he’s trying to keep her grandchildren away from her.” She hugs Abuelita from behind. “He won’t say no to his mother.”

“You probably got that poor pilot fired.”

Genesis shrugs again, and I want to punch her. “He made his own choice.”

“I’m going home.” Anger burns in my chest; I feel like I’m breathing fire. “Are you going to make my mom go into debt for a last-minute ticket, or will your dad send his pilot?”

“The jet lands in an hour. But if you get on it, you’ll miss Parque Tayrona. Nico’s going to take us for a couple of days.”

Nico. Genesis takes him into the back of the bar, and suddenly he’s giving us a private tour of the most beautiful series of beaches in Colombia. Of course.

“Tayrona?” Ryan’s brows rise. Our parents spent their honeymoon hiking at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, through the famous system of natural beaches connected by patches of unblemished jungle. The parque was my father’s favorite place in the world.

Genesis knows we can’t turn down a trip to Tayrona. And if we stay in Colombia with her, then this trip isn’t just another impulsive rule-breaking binge orchestrated by a spoiled heiress. Suddenly, her reckless jaunt across international borders looks like the gift of closure to her grieving cousins, plus an overdue visit to her isolated abuela.

“I reserved a couple of cabanas, but it’s a two-hour jungle hike from the entrance to the most isolated beach at Cabo San Juan. So dress accordingly and bring a swimsuit.” Genesis eyes my pajama bottoms, as if they’re indicative of what I’d wear for a hike.

“I haven’t said I’m going,” I snap, but she dismisses my protests in favor of a fresh arepa, which wouldn’t be on her raw, whole foods diet at home.

“We’re already here.” Ryan pulls me close with one arm around my shoulder. “We may as well stay and see the sights.”

“Go, flaquita,” my grandmother urges. “Have fun on the beach for a couple of days. I’ll deal with Hernán y tu madre, and we’ll get caught up Monday night, when you get back.”

I can practically feel myself falling onto the life-sized chessboard at my cousin’s feet.

Checkmate.

92 HOURS EARLIER