“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she says. “And I’m not drinking tonight,” I reply, tipping my half-full glass of rum and pineapple towards her. “To the lies of Roatan!” A clink of glasses and we drink. The soft glow of Christmas lights encircling a palm tree casts her face in a stunning juxtaposition of gold and shadows. My eyes trace the contour of her face, mentally absorbing the image of her delicate features, willing my mind to embalm this moment in the timeless formaldehyde of memory. Our gazes lock. The glimmer of the beachside bonfire dances in her dark eyes. In a glance, we tacitly acknowledge the waning hours. Say ‘goodbye’, I remind myself.