Page 50 of Whispers on the Water

“You want a soda?” she asks. Like the pro she is, one hand grips onto the baby while the other is already digging through the small backpack at his feet. Grateful, I accept it, craving caffeine.

“Yeah, thanks.” What I really want is a hot shower and maybe a real bed, but as none of that is possible, I settle for my sugary substitute.

“Where are we?” I ask. Judging by the late afternoon sunshine, I’ve been asleep for a while.

As I crack open the can, she shrugs. “Beats me, somewhere in Northern Guatemala.”

Checking my phone, I’m startled to see I’ve slept for eleven hours, a testament to the exhaustion and resignation of facing my past. But the rest did provide me more clarity and, with it, some confidence. I’m doing the right thing, even if it means a lifetime in prison.

My seat partner and I remain silent, but with the addition of the drinks, it’s comfortable. When the soda is halfway gone, I reach into my purse for my phone. There are about thirty texts from Tommy waiting for me. I quickly update him on my whereabouts, and his immediate response is a plea to return to Costa Rica. Yet, my mind is made up; I’ve promised Penny I’m on my way, and nothing will deter me. After I type out my reasons for going back, I toss the phone back into my bag. There’s no one and nothing that can change my mind.

I’m preparing for another restless nap, but the baby next to me has other ideas. The poor thing is screaming, and it’s not helping the building tension in my head. I want to yell out, or at least switch seats. A cursory glance around tells me its not possible. I pinch my nose and the woman winces. “Sorry, she’s not used to all this.”

I give her a genuine smile. “Oh, no problem. Can I… help?” The offer isn’t as genuine but the look of pure relief that passes over the woman’s face makes it clear that I can’t rescind my help.

“God, yes. Can you hold her for a minute?” she asks already passing the screaming beast my way. “I haven’t slept in two days. I’m just gonna close my eyes for a bit.”

“Oh I don’t—”

“Bottles are in the bag,” the woman says, already shifting in her seat for a nap. Eyes wide, I pat the babies back.

“Shh, its okay little lady.” In my seat, I bounce a little and to my utter surprise, the baby quiets. A smile graces my lips. “That’s it sweetheart. We’re all okay.”

For a while, I continue my patting until Little Lady is sleeping on my chest. Keeping a good hold on her, I lay back and let myself drift off.

An hour later, my eyes flutter open. Little Lady is still asleep on my chest, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t absolutely smitten. Smiling down at her, I look over to the baby’s mother.

But what I see isn’t what I expected. The woman is staring at me, her face contorted into a horrified wince. “I am so sorry!” she says in a whisper.

I sit up, careful to keep hold of Little Lady. “Um, no problem.”

“I guess we know why she was crying,” the woman says and that only confuses me more. With her hands clasped in front of her, she points a single finger down.

A warm light brown stain is all over my shirt. Like being bit by a viper, I jump a little and let out a disgusted, “Ugh!”

The woman grabs her daughter and starts digging through her bag. “I have wet wipes,” she says as if it’s the antivenom to my situation.

I put a hand on my forehead. “Yeah, don’t think that will help.”

“At least she stopped crying,” the woman says. I nod along, but honestly, I think I preferred the screaming to being covered in what smells like rotten doritos. What does this kid eat? Cause this has got to be the foulest smelling poop.

“Really, its fine,” I say, but my words are clipped. I have little to no experience with kids. But I suppose I should get used to this. Penny has kids and I plan on being around. A lot. If I’m not in prison at least. Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe I should have let the lady know I’m a wanted murderer. That would have prevented me from holding little miss diarrhea. Standing up, I stretch a bit before grabbing my bag. After finding a new shirt, I forget all sense of shame as I rip the shit-stained one off and throw on something clean. Once in my fresh clothes, I curl up against the window, content to ignore my poopy pal. The woman is busily cleaning her kid up anyway and honestly, I’m afraid if I look at her again, I’ll be sucked into to helping.

***

Two bus changes and fifteen hours bring me to Mexico City. Despite sleeping through most of the journey, I’m utterly spent. Instead of pushing on to the next bus, I opt for a hotel. Clean shirt or not, I need a fucking shower. The city is alive with noise—the constant honking of horns and the roar of motorcycles. I walk away from the bus stop, spotting the first affordable hotel, and quickly check in. The room greets me with a welcoming, bright red quilt, and I collapse onto it, allowing myself to just stretch.

The room is far more comfortable than what I had been staying in back in Nicaragua, and I’m smiling despite everything. Never underestimate the power of a comfortable bed and clean surroundings. It’s like a hug I didn’t know I needed.

After working some of the kinks out of my neck, I pick up the room’s phone, eager for some room service. I scan the menu, make my selection, and then settle back, flicking on the TV to kill time. Just ten minutes, then I’ll scrub away the day. However, my phone’s ring cuts through the room’s silence. The number’s unfamiliar, but a part of me hopes it’s Penny, so I answer.

“Don’t hang up.” Greg’s voice stops me cold. It’s been a month since I’ve heard him, and his voice hits me like a long-lost melody. I close my eyes, take a breath, and shove my swirling emotions aside. “What do you want?” I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

“I want to help, Sam. Tommy told me—” He starts, but I cut him off, frustration boiling over. “Why are you even talking to me? Shouldn’t you be back at headquarters throwing darts at a picture of my face?”

His exasperation is palpable. “God dammit Sam! Don’t you get it? You can’t just go home! They’ll never let you—” I can’t bear it; I hang up. But the phone rings again; this time, it’s Tommy’s number. I’m half expecting Greg to be on the other end of the phone, but I answer anyway.

“You’re not going to change my mind,” I say, not bothering with a hello.

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