Page 44 of Whispers on the Water

“I’m not your relationship firefighter, Greg. Put out your own goddamn blaze.”

I grip my hands into my hair and resist screaming. How does she not get this? “Please, Tilly. I can’t…I can’t lose her!”

Studying me with narrowed eyes, she takes in my appearance. Apparently, she something in my pathetic gaze that must win her over. Tilly doesn’t hesitate any longer. The clipboard is shoved into my chest, landing with a painful thump. She’s swiftly heading for the staircase, leaving me alone with my turmoil and the shop to mind.

Chapter twenty-eight

Sam

My eyes blur with tears as I scramble to distinguish my clothes from Tilly’s in the shared chaos of our closet. I hastily shove anything that might be mine into my duffel bag. Then, reaching into the top shelf, I find the old shoebox where I’ve hidden cash in all denominations—probably amounting to a few thousand dollars. Underneath the cash, the real prize: the passport. Penny’s passport, with her joyful, hopeful face beaming up at me. She never got to fulfill her dreams of living abroad, life taking her down a different path instead, mostly because of me.

I stuff the money into my bag, then slip the passport into my pocket.

As I zip up the bag and turn to leave, I’m stopped short by Tilly in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. “What’re you doing, Sam?”

“Oh, you know, just throwing everything I own into bags for shits and giggles.” I know she’s not in the mood for jokes. Hell, I’m not in the mood for jokes.

“Sam,” she says, her voice full of emotion. I close me eyes and let out a breath. This is Tilly. I owe her the truth.

Pushing past her, I head for the door, my voice steady even as my heart breaks. “My name’s not Sam, it’s Elaine Samantha Archibald Williams. Look it up.” I don’t dare look back; if I catch Tilly’s gaze, I might crumble.

But Tilly’s voice chases me down the stairs. “You’re Sam to me! And I don’t give a fuck what happened. You can’t leave like this, Sam!” Her pleas fall on deaf ears; I can’t afford to stop, not now.

Greg waits at the bottom, his face a tumult of emotions. “Sam, listen to her. I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. I’ll tell them I have no idea where you are, I already have. Please.”

I’ve heard enough. Dropping my bag, I turn around, my anger shaking my very core. “Did you know it was me?” His retreat, his hands raised in a futile gesture of peace, only fuels my rage.

“Sam, I... I was wrong. Just listen to Tilly,” he tries, his calm voice infuriating me further.

But I’m in his face, barely containing the urge to hit him. “You knew! You seduced me in the dance club and pretended to…” My sobs cut me off, my grief overwhelming any anger. “You never loved me. It was all to get me home!”

I don’t wait for his denial, grabbing my bag and storming towards the back door.

“Sam!” Tilly’s voice rings out.

The door slams behind me, a final barrier between me and the life I thought I had. Everything in the world is off kilter. Like the entire globe has suddenly tilted the wrong way. Looking down the alley, I see nothing that can help. No one that will help. For the first time in eight years, I’m alone.

The thought squeezes my chest, and I’m bent over, trying to breathe. All it would take is Tilly by my side. She could slide up to me and convince me to go back into the surf shack.

But she doesn’t come, and I’m almost glad. I don’t want to go back. No, scratch that. I need to leave, whether I want to or not. It’s time.

There’s one other person that I trust, maybe even more than Tilly. Only because he would never try to manipulate me to do what he wants, not that I fault Tilly for it, but this decision is mine, not hers.

Pulling out my phone, I click on Tommy’s contact, and he answers immediately. “Hey Sammy girl. You lookin for a surf?”

“Tommy…” My voice is thick with tears.

I can almost feel his worrying come over the line. “What’s wrong?”

“I need help.” It’s difficult to get the sentence out. The last time I uttered those words, it was to Penny on that horrible night.

“Of course, Sammy. Anything,” he says.

My gaze shoots around me, trying to figure out what I should do and where I should go. “Can you drive me to Nicaragua?” I ask suddenly. It’s the closest country but far enough away that I don’t think Benito or Greg will be there quickly.

“Where are you?” he asks without hesitation. I’m surprised he doesn’t ask what’s going on, but that’s part of the reason I knew I could call him.

“Leaving the Surf Shack.”

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