30. Sam

Ibalance on a rented surfboard, an ugly brown thing that favors right turns, the best I could find on such short notice. The waves here in Nicaragua, long, slow, and almost green to the shoreline, don't disappoint, even if the dark, ominous black sand beneath is a stark contrast to what I'm used to. It's something about a nearby volcano, but honestly, I find it unsettling, especially underwater. I miss Costa Rica, and more than anything, I miss my friends.

But I can't bring myself to call Tilly. I know I'm not yet strong enough to resist the pull if she asks me to come home. I need to stay away a little longer until I'm sure of myself. Once I'm settled, I might risk it.

And then there's Greg. The ache for him has only grown stronger since I left, but I've convinced myself there's no going back. My thoughts wander to a place I'd rather they didn't, nights and mornings spent wrapped around him, laughing at some tourist, or surfing with him. It's those kinds of memories that I'm trying to forget while I surf, but instead, they're dragging my focus away from the ocean. Surfing is supposed to be my escape, not a time to dwell on a past filled with mistakes.

Trying to shake off the gloom, I catch the next wave, but my heart isn't in it. The board flips, and I tumble into the foam, the darkness of the black sand below enveloping me. I stay under until my lungs burn for air, then reluctantly kick to the surface. It's clear that I've lost the magic of the ocean along with my peace of mind.

Pulling myself out of the water, I walk back across the street, searching for a phone booth, but there aren't any. I'll have to wait a few more days before I can muster the strength to check in on my sister and Tommy despite promising him I'd call.

After returning the surfboard, I meander through the tourist town, noting its attempt to mimic the allure of places like Jaco with its restaurants and souvenir shops. It's easy to blend in here. My hotel is cheap but decent, though I'm aware my savings won't last long at this rate. I need a job, and I needed it yesterday.

Entering the first busy restaurant I see, I ask the hostess if they're hiring. She's unsure but goes to check. The owner, who gives me a hungry look, speaks with me briefly. But I can hardly pay attention. The guy keeps licking his lips. Ugh, gross dude. Quit drooling. Nothing says ‘job opportunity' quite like being looked at like I'm about to be on the menu. Despite his inappropriate gaze, I land a shift for the night. A sort of tryout for a permanent spot.

I hurry back to the hotel to prepare. The moment I'm inside my own temporary space, I close my eyes. Worn out brown carpet, faded yellow paint, and a bed with what can only be described as questionably clean bedding does not feel like home. I'm suddenly certain that this room has seen more bad decisions than a Vegas chapel.

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and walk into the bathroom. The tiles are chipped, and the water in the shower is never quite hot, but I can't go into my new job with salt in my hair. As I rinse away the ocean water, my mind again turns to Greg, of our many showers together in his small bathroom. Rinsing off with him, the water wasn't the only thing steaming. God, I miss that. He had a way of washing my ass that…well shit, it made me all sorts of turned on.

But, it wasn't just the sex that was fantastic. Greg also had a way of making me feel seen, desired, and loved.

As I turn off the water, I'm forced to admit to myself that I love Greg. It's been true for months, but acknowledging it now, when any chance of us seems impossible, is a bitter pill to swallow. Falling for someone right before things blow up? Yep. That's me. Sammy to the fullest. It's like life has a cruel sense of humor and I'm always the goddamn punch line.

Dressed simply in black, I finish getting ready for my first night at the job, touching up my makeup to cover my tattoo. Once finished, I look at myself in the mirror. Fuck. Running was the right choice, but honestly? My problems are still here. Reinventing myself is refreshing, but everything doesn't just compartmentalize because my address changed. Still, things will look up. I just need to find a rhythm and forget about the past. Long ago, I was forced to do the same, and what I found while running away was far better than what I had left. Greg, Tommy, and Tilly were in my past now.

***

Three weeks into working at this restaurant, I'm juggling a tray full of food for one of the larger tables. As I place a plate of overpriced tacos down and gather up the empty beer bottles, there's a low buzz of comments about me from behind. I don't catch much other than a few snide remarks about what they'd like to do to my ass. Ignoring them, I head back to the register. Isabella, one of our young hostesses, comes over with a frown, clearly as disgusted as I am.

"They're pigs. You should add a surcharge to their bill for being assholes," she tells me in Spanish.

Trying to keep the mood light, I flash her a weak smile and playfully ask in my best Spanish, "So, what's the register code for the ‘annoying customer tax'?" She winks and points to the "Gratuity charge" option on the computer. "It's supposed to be for large groups, but sometimes I tack it on if men are especially pervy."

"Really?" I ask. A perv tax? Hell yes! I'm about to make a fortune in this place with its penchant for drunk tourists.

She's printing a receipt as she chuckles. "No one's ever challenged it. Probably too drunk."

Grateful, I press the button to add the charge, feeling a tiny thrill of victory. Justice served! It really doesn't take much to be a decent human, but these men apparently missed that life lesson. After I drop off the final bill to the table of pigs, I find Isabella. "Hey, can you cover my tables for a minute? I need to make a call."

"No problem. You're due for a break anyway." Thanking her first, I then take off my apron and head outside, pulling out my new phone to call Tommy. There's a new app that will hide my number from him, but I don't know how reliable it is, so I tell myself I have to keep the call short.

"Hi Debbie," he answers, and despite the chaos of my day, hearing his voice instantly makes me smile.

"Hi Tommy. How's life?"

"Aw not bad, not bad. Just missin' you. I'm glad you called. Greg—"

"If you say his name again, I'll hang up."

Tommy laughs. "Okay, but at least now I can tell him I tried."

Maybe I'm not ready to hear about Greg, but there is another person I'm dying to talk about. It would still be too hard to call her directly, but I tighten my grip on my phone. "How's Tilly?"

Tommy snorts. "No clue. She's not talking to me. Did you ever figure out what I did wrong? I'm kinda dying over here."

My shoulders slump on hearing Tommy admit he's unhappy. The least I can do is give him a clue. "She said you turned her down."

His reaction is immediate. "Wait, what?" Before I can repeat my answers, he scoffs. "That can't be right. I'm pretty sure I'd remember… Wait, was I drunk?" An embarrassed half-laugh falls out of him.

"I really don't know, Tommy. Look, I've only got a few minutes. If you do see her—"

"I won't but I'll try. Maybe if she knows it's about you, she'll let me speak for two minutes without running off. I miss you Deb," he says softly. Hearing it from him does a weird thing to my stomach. The lunch I had of stale tacos and tap water threaten to reappear at the rush of emotions.

"I miss you too, Tommy. But I'm…" I close my eyes. "I'm safe here."

"I know. I just, fuck, I guess its harder letting you go than I thought. You'll call if you need anything?" I promise I will, and we both say our goodbyes. It's a good thing the call was short because I can already feel my resolve melting away. If Tommy had asked me to come back, I don't know if I would have been strong enough to resist. Deep down, that's probably why I know it's safe to check in with Tommy. He wouldn't ask. Calling Tilly? I'm still not strong enough for that.

After we hang up, I steel myself for the next call, one I've been avoiding. It's time to check on my sister and my nephew. I've been dreading this moment, scared of what I might find out. But it's been far too long, and I know I need to talk to her, even if it's to confirm my worst fears.

I dial the number, my grip on the phone tightening as it rings. "Hello?" Penny's voice answers, weary and more tired than the last time we spoke.

"Good evening, I'm looking for Mrs. Bennet?" I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Penny sighs, a sound heavy with exhaustion. "This is her."

"Hi, Mrs. Bennet. I'm Georgia with Cox Communications. I was just calling today to make sure you're happy with your current cable services."

"I'm not happy."

"No? Why is that Mrs. Bennet?" With my other hand, I press the phone harder against my ear, bracing for her response.

"Because my son is very sick. In fact, he needs a liver transplant. The jaundice turned out to be something more serious. A genetic disease called Alagille Syndrome. But unfortunately, my husband, me, and even his older sister—none of us are matches. So, we're on a waiting list."

Tears start to well in my eyes as I listen, my heart breaking. "I'm so sorry to hear that Mrs. Bennet," I choke out, the words barely escaping.

Penny takes another deep breath, her voice trembling. "See, sorry doesn't help me. In fact, there's one person that doctors say might be a match that hasn't been tested. Someone that I've missed for a very long time." She burst into sobs. "But she won't come home."

A chill runs through me, my blood turning to ice. My nephew, a child I've never seen, is in the hospital, and Penny believes I could be his lifeline.

"I don't know what to say…" My voice fades into a whisper, the weight of her words crushing me.

Penny sniffs, trying to regain composure. "I know you've had a shit life, Elaine, but I don't know what else to do. I thought maybe we would get one through the transplant list, but it's so long." Her voice breaks again, her despair echoing in the repetition of "so long."

A shudder replaces my breath. My nephew is dying. I can hear it in between her careful words. A boy that I've never met, whose name I can't even remember because that's the special kind of selfish asshole I am.

But I can make a difference. Maybe it will be too little too late, but I have to try. If only I'm willing to face the consequences. An old hymn pops into my mind. I don't know where it came from or why it's decided now is the time to lift my ban on religion, but I can't stop repeating the words in my head. ‘It is well with my soul.'

And it is. No matter what the consequences are, I know I must try to help. Deep in my soul, repercussions be damned, it is well. "I'll be there as soon as possible." To my surprise, my voice sounds confident. Sure of the decision even.

"No Elaine, you can't—"

"I can and I will. I love you, Pen. I need to do this." The resolve is still there. I've already committed, and I won't turn back now.

Penny's sobs fill my ear, her gratitude pouring out between them. "Don't thank me yet. We gotta make sure I'm a match first. Hopefully, they can do that from prison." I laugh, though it's tinged with seriousness. As soon as my feet hit the pavement on United States soil, I'm fairly certain I'll be arrested.

"Just get here, and no more jokes about jail," Penny says. The way she said it was so reminiscent of my older sister that I laugh again.

"I will Pen. See you soon."

After I give her my new number, we end the call. I make my way back into the restaurant, wiping away tears as the enormity of our conversation sinks in.

It is well with my soul, but it's not well with the FBI. Whether I'm arrested or not; I'm going home.