Page 45 of Whispers on the Water

He promises to be there in five minutes but stays on the phone. We don’t talk as I listen to him jog down the road. And true to his word, he’s beside me in flash, breathless and worried.

“Nicaragua?” he asks, his face full of more questions I know he won’t ask.

So I nod, my lips still quivering from the chaos of everything. “I need to leave Costa Rica. Now.”

He stands up straighter. “Okay.” With concern still on his face, he tucks his hands into his pockets and looks at the surf shack door. The contemplation on his face slowly fades. “My buddy Calvin has the car. His place is on Liberia Street. Come on.” With a stoic expression, he holds out his hand. I take it and feel the confidence in his touch. He won’t hurt me, won’t ask questions, won’t beg me to stay. Tommy will help. It’s what he does. We walk in silence, each step taking me further from the life I’ve known.

Arriving at Calvin’s, we find him on the porch, a serene picture of calm that contrasts sharply with the storm inside me. The soft strumming of his guitar and the mellow tunes he hums are a stark backdrop to the turmoil of my escape. When Calvin sees us, his face brightens.

“Sir Thomas! You wanna surf?” Calvin calls out, seemingly oblivious to my trembling hands and the pallor of my skin. He’s too high to notice a Tsunami, much less my distress.

“Naw man. Just came by for the Geo. You cool?” Tommy asks.

“All good, bruh. Keys are inside.” Tommy gives his friend a fist bump as he passes by and opens the front door. I’ve never been to Calvin’s place before, probably because I don’t have patience for the kind of perma-fried Calvin seems to be, and Tommy knows that. Still, I try not to look too desperate as I wait with the man.

Neither of us speaks as Tommy retrieves the keys. In fact, I think Calvin has already forgotten I’m here. He is plucking away at the guitar strings, trying to find the lost chord as he sings. I resist the urge to cover my ears with my hands. Thankfully, Tommy is back in an instant, his return marked by the jingle of metal. “Thanks again, Cal!” he shouts, a semblance of normalcy in his voice that I can’t fathom feeling myself right now.

“No prob, Tommy. See you outside the break,” Calvin says, not lifting his head from where he is staring at the guitar.

We head to the back alley, where the car waits. When we get to the old beater, Tommy opens the door for me. I slide into the passenger seat, my body on autopilot as he hurries around and fires up the engine.

But after it’s started, Tommy stares at the steering wheel. He seems to be lost in thought for a few minutes before he takes a deep breath and looks at me. I can see the begging in his eyes. He doesn’t want me to leave; he doesn’t want to be the one to take me away from Costa Rica and the small family I’ve built.

Finally, he speaks, his voice soft. “It’s like five hours. Can you pick some music?”

I swallow down the hurt. Not my own this time, but Tommy’s. I’m doing this even though it’s killing my friends. I lean forward, hitting the stereo without a second thought, indifferent to what tunes fill the void between us.

Chapter twenty-nine

Greg

Tilly locked up the surf shack and bar hours ago. It was much earlier than she should have done it, but there weren’t any customers anyway. And here I am, sitting at the bar with a whiskey in front of me that I haven’t even touched. Tilly’s beside me, but her drink’s already empty. It’s been twelve hours since Sam took off, and neither of us feels like talking anymore. We’ve asked around and called a few people, but Sam is just…gone. I stayed at the bar all day, watching as Tilly robotically took care of things without Sam. Though it’s late, neither of us suggests leaving. I think deep down, we both don’t want to go back to a home where Sam isn’t a part of our lives.

I keep checking my phone, hoping for a call that never comes. Sam hasn’t reached out to either of us.

Tilly gets up and refills her gin and tonic. As she sits back down, she sighs. “Her passport’s gone.” I stay silent, not surprised. I always knew Sam would bolt. It’s her way—fleeing when the going gets tough. “I don’t think she even knew I knew about that box. I’ve been adding money to it for years.”

“She stole from you?”

Tilly lets out a laugh, a sound that feels out of place in our predicament. “Listen, we’re all running from something living here. I was just trying to help us both be prepared. We’re just so… similar. It’s scary sometimes.” She takes a long gulp of her drink and sets it down thoughtfully. “I just didn’t expect her to go without me.”

I’m shaking my head. The fact that Sam left, it’s my fault. “She didn’t leave you, Til. I’m sure she’ll check in with you eventually. She was running from the FBI.”

Tilly looks at me, tears brimming in her eyes again. “Yeah, I thought I heard something about that.” She doesn’t ask for details, but her silence speaks volumes. She’s waiting for me to continue. So, I down my whiskey in one go and dive into the confession I never wanted to make.

“I was sent to Central America to find her.” I raise my hand, stopping her before she can explode in anger. “Before you freak out, I didn’t know it was her when we met.”

She remains silent, a clear sign she’s bracing herself for more. “I figured it out by the time we went to dinner. But by then…” I shake my head, filled with regret. “I fucked this all up.”

Turning to her, I don’t care how desperate I look. “I would have never turned her in.”

The way she stares at me makes me want to sprint out of the bar, but I can’t break eye contact. Deep down, I know Sam will check in with Tilly and that’s my best shot of getting a good word put in. After what feels like hours, Tilly finally nods. “I believe you,” she whispers, and I can hear the trust in her voice. “But the FBI? What the hell did she do?”

“Killed her ex,” I admit. Maybe for a civilian, it was a little blunt, but I’m done beating around the bush with anything. Lying got me nowhere with Sam, which will worsen things with Tilly. At least, I’m guessing.

Tilly’s hand flies to her mouth. “Greg… Murder?”

“Yep.” I go to take a sip of my drink only to find the cup empty. I have to resist the urge to chuck it at the wall of alcohol in front of us. “She told me the whole story. But I don’t know if I should--”

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