The Treehouse – Part 1: Canopy

"It's very high," said Imani.

"It's a treehouse."

"It's a treehouse that is sixteen metres up a tree."

"That is why they call it a canopy suite." Carlos put the bags down on the wooden floor and spread his arms. "Look at that."

The treehouse stood in the crown of a giant ceiba, open on three sides to the green rainforest, with a thatched roof, a big bed under a mosquito net and a deck that swayed gently in the breeze. All around them, the jungle hummed with insects, birds and distant rain. Toucans flashed past in primary colours. A sloth hung motionless in a neighbouring tree, apparently asleep.

Imani was forty-one, an emergency physician with a pager that was currently, miraculously, switched off. Carlos was forty-four, a high-school history teacher with a camera he had not yet taken out of the bag. They had been married seventeen years. They had two sons, a mortgage and a long-standing agreement to celebrate every anniversary with a restaurant booking and a good night's sleep.

"I promised myself not to check my phone," she said.

"There's no signal."

"I know. I checked."

He laughed and took her hand. They sat on the deck with cold drinks while the sky went orange and the forest changed its sound, daytime cicadas giving way to the night chorus. A howler monkey roared like a lion, far off.

"Seventeen years," said Carlos.

"Seventeen years, and I've never seen you take your shoes off in public."

"I'm in a tree. It's practically private."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Carlos."

"Mm?"

"I'd like to be properly married to you tonight. If you're not too tired."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Rain on Leaves.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Rain on Leaves.