2. Sam

Twenty minutes later, Tilly and Tommy burst through the door, their laughter filling the room. Tilly, clutching Big Blue under her arm, is a sight of pure joy while Tommy eagerly shows her the pictures he's taken. Dropping the board by the door, Tilly heads straight for the bar, leaning over to grab two beers from the top ice cooler. Tommy's gaze locks onto her ass like he's seeing color for the first time. She's still in her wet bathing suit, dripping salt water all over the counter. It"s not like she doesn"t know what she"s doing. Even now, she lingers a bit longer than necessary at the bar, giving Tommy just the view of her ass that he's silently hoping for. It's a game they play; Tommy drools, and Tilly likes being admired. Win-win.

Sitting down, Tilly passes a beer to Tommy, and they dive back into the photos, their time punctuated only by short bursts of laughter.

I leave them to it and head over to Big Blue with the shop hose in hand. Spraying it down, I revel in the cool mist that splashes back onto me. The feel of sand scrubbing away under my palm is as comforting and familiar as anything. Cleaned and sand-free, I return the board to its place on the rack.

After heading back behind the bar, I check on the lone customer nursing his whiskey. ‘Burly Bill,' as he's known to the locals, is a familiar sight at our counter, no matter the time of day. He's nice enough and tips well, even if we all water down his drinks. Bill insists he's fine, so I walk to a seat next to my friends. I snag Tilly's beer for a quick sip. "How was it?"

Tommy's laughter booms out. "You should've seen it. Tilly tries to help, then gives up to show him how it's done. Even after Tilly pushed him into a wave, he immediately falls right, then hurries to catch the board only to chuck it into the white water and storm off!" He hands me the camera, and I flick through to the picture of the fuming man. Sure enough, the guy looks ready to snap the board in half in most of the photos.

But as I click through, Tilly leans over to look. "What's this?" she asks, pausing on a zoomed-in shot of her surfing, the focus entirely on her ass. Cheek's reddening, Tommy quickly reaches over and deletes it, mumbling about an accident. Tilly just smirks and takes her beer back.

"So, I hear you're going out tonight?" Tommy looks hopeful, more so at the change in subject than going out. He's a club rat if not a terrible dance partner. "Mind if I come?"

"Only if Tilly spills," I say, leaning back. Both of us turn to her, waiting.

"Well…" Tilly starts a gleam in her eye. "He walked me back to his hotel…"

Tommy cuts her off, standing up abruptly. "Sounds like girl talk. I'll go restock the sunscreen." Even though I just did that exact task, I let him leave without a word. He's quick to escape any time Tilly is talking about her dates, clearly not interested in the details.

Tilly doesn't miss a beat. "The guy was all sweet and tender until my clothes came off. Then it was like one of those home remodel shows. "Extreme Sexual Makeover: Every Surface Edition." She lifts her hair to show a small bruise on the back of her neck. "Got this when he dropped me in the shower," she explains.

I laugh, looking at her so-called trophy. While I'm not one to dive into bed with strangers, Tilly's stories always fascinate me. She's utterly unapologetic about her sexuality, and honestly, I find that refreshing.

"Was it any good though?" I ask. Tilly often laments how men focus too much on their own pleasure, leaving her unsatisfied.

"Not great. Didn't see stars, and I'm not sore where it counts, if you catch my drift." I know exactly what she means; the guy clearly wasn't well-endowed enough to meet her expectations. I like to think of Tilly as one of those guys waiting in front of a rollercoaster. ‘You gotta be at least this long (insert ridiculous length) to ride Tilly'. A total size queen.

"At least you had fun, right?" I say, nudging her playfully.

"Eh…" she's tilting her head side to side. "Mostly, I guess. But part of me thinks I'm tired today for no reason. Maybe I'll just go take a nap."

The manager in me perks up. "No chance. Go get Ruby ready. You've got another lesson in fifteen."

She folds her arms, trying her best to look annoyed by my demand. "At least I'm getting some. You're one night away from full-on spinsterhood. I'm gonna change that tonight."

I scoff. "Doubt it. I'm pretty content without any subpar encounters." Tilly smacks my arm, and I hold up both of my hands. "What? I am!"

The truth is, I don't share Tilly's enthusiasm for one-night stands. Sure, I've been there, done that. But deep down, I crave something more meaningful. Yet, the fear of getting hurt keeps me from diving back into the dating pool, even though it's been eight years since my last serious relationship.

Tilly gives me a stern look, one eyebrow raised. "If you get a cat, I'm staging an intervention. And not the fun kind with confetti and alcohol."

I laugh. "Hey, cats are cute! And they don't have the power to ruin my life." Tilly heads back to the surfboard rack.

"Neither do men, if you don't let them," Tilly says. There's something in her tone, not exactly accusatory, but probing. I've never really told Tilly why I'm in Costa Rica, but she knows enough to occasionally worry.

The attention causes my cheeks to turn red, and I unconsciously start rubbing my throat. Every now and then, out of the blue, the memory resurfaces, and a dull ache pulses in that spot. To hide the tick, I tuck a few strands of hair back in place. "Erm, I'm gonna go make a call. You good here?"

She nods, her face filling with more concern as I hop off the barstool. Probably because she knows she"s struck a nerve. I"m not going to explain so I focus instead on what I need to do. After grabbing my purse from under the counter, I step outside. My phone's in my pocket, but I'm not using it for this call.

I wait for a break in the traffic, then dart across the scorching pavement, regretting my no-shoes policy with every step. Once I reach the payphone, I pick up the faded blue receiver and dial the number from memory, the wind tousling my hair as I twirl the cord around my finger.

When the voice on the other end picks up, it sounds as frazzled as I remember. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Mrs. Bennet?" I force myself to keep it formal, even though every fiber of my being rebels against it.

"It is." It's my sister's voice, but I have to play this strange game of pretending I'm someone else.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bennet. My name is Rachel; I'm with Spectrum Communications. I was calling in regards to your service. Are you happy with it?" I can almost hear Penny's mind whirring, recognizing my voice yet playing along because she knows the rules. If I know her as well as I think, she's dying to ask about me, about where I am, and how I'm doing, but she stays silent on those fronts. I'd hang up if she didn't.

"Actually, I'm not enjoying our communication service. In fact, I'm growing pretty sick of these calls." I read between the lines; Penny's tired of this charade, of our secret, coded conversations.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bennet. Is there a specific reason?" I press on, sticking to the game.

Penny sighs, "If you must know, my new baby is sick and I'm really missing my sister." I ignore the part about missing me, even though it punches me right in the gut.

"Your new baby?" I knew Penny was pregnant, but I had no idea she'd already given birth.

"Yes, born a week ago. 6 pounds 5 ounces, but he has jaundice and is back in the hospital." My stomach ties itself in knots. A nephew I didn't know about, and he's sick. I've never even met my seven-year-old niece.

"What's his name?" I manage to ask through the panicked sensations flooding my body.

"Clark, he's beautiful. I put some pictures on my Facebook page." Tears start pricking at the corners of my eyes, knowing full well I can't risk checking her social media for photos. It's just as monitored as her phone calls.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm sorry to hear about your son Clark, but glad he seems to be getting the help he needs. If you have any questions about your service, please call into our 1-800 number."

As I slam the receiver down, my hands shake uncontrollably. A nephew. A nephew I'll never meet. And he's sick. Going back to the States would spell disaster for me and probably her, too. These calls are supposed to reassure me that everything's okay back home, but this is the first time they've confirmed the opposite.

How can I support Penny from thousands of miles away without being able to communicate openly? I wish I could say something, anything comforting, but words fail me. The only thing I want is to hug her tight.

Penny and I were on our own when things went wrong. Our father was out of the picture by the time I was five, and our mother passed from a nasty heart condition when I was 19. But it made the bond between Penny and me stronger. In every sense of distinction, Penny is the perfect older sibling: protective but kind and always willing to help me.

This is one of the times when I feel the urge to pay her back, to rush to her side, and to be the comfort she needs.

But I can't. No matter how much I want to, it simply cannot happen. The realization makes my eyes burn as they fill with salty tears.

Before I can second-guess myself and dial again, I rush back across the street, drying my eyes as I go. By the time I re-enter the shop, Tilly's already attending to a customer, a woman in a vibrant pink swimsuit.

Tilly catches the tail end of my emotional turmoil, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. "All good?"

I nod, wiping my eyes again. "Sand in my eye," I lie. Tilly gives me one last worried glance before heading out with the customer, leaving me with my thoughts.

The thing about Tilly is her incredible ability to care without being nosy. I've never felt comfortable sharing anything about my family or my past, and she respects that boundary like no one else. The whole story is just too painful and complicated, and I'm afraid it could completely alter our relationship. After all, not many people would willingly befriend a murderer.