Page 51 of Whispers on the Water

“Sam, shut the hell up and listen to me,” Tilly says. If hearing Greg’s voice was hard, hearing Tilly’s is a gut punch. I miss her. I miss her so much that I don’t trust myself to speak at all. “Greg is helping and you’re going to let him. You tell me where you are right now, or I swear to every surf God, you’ll never ride another wave. I’ll follow you around the goddamn globe and break every board you touch in two!”

My breath catches in my throat, my eyes wide. I’m overwhelmed, rendered completely silent. Neither of us speaks, me incapable of forming words and her waiting for my brain to catch up with my mouth.

After it goes on too long, she takes a breath. “I’m sorry, but wherever you are, we want to be there with you. He has a plan. It’s good, Sam. Can you please just let us help?”

Still, I can’t speak. Letting them help is so much harder than Tilly can understand. They would know my past fully and completely. All the mistakes I’d made as a young woman on display to the people I love the most. And it would hurt them. I know it. Maybe they’ll say it doesn’t matter, but it does.

Greg takes over again, his voice softer, trying to break through my self-imposed isolation. “You gotta stop punishing yourself, Sam. We all love you and want to help.”

Tilly’s voice cuts through again. “Need to help! Sam, I’ll never forgive myself if I could do something and didn’t. Please.” And it’s those words that have me gripping the phone tighter. Her plea, her fear of inaction, mirrors my own feelings towards my sick nephew.

It’s that connection, that shared understanding of regret and responsibility, that breaks through my walls. Tears of relief start to blur my vision as I realize that despite everything, they still stand with me. “I’m in Mexico City at the Elk Motel,” I finally admit.

“We’ll catch the first flight there. Me and Tilly. Do not leave. We can fix this, okay Sam?”

“Okay.” It’s the only word I can manage, but it’s enough. He promised to see me soon, and we hung up.

I’m left staring at the phone, lost in thought, until a knock signals my dinner’s arrival. Eating on the bed, an old black-and-white movie playing in Spanish, I feel my shoulders unclench. The knot I had thought was from the stiff seat of the bus fades away. Knowing my friends were on the way, a renewed sense of purpose warms me from the inside out. There are things I need to do: check in with Penny, buy my ticket for the next leg of my journey, eat and shower. But for the moment, I allow myself to bask in the warmth of the phone call.

Chapter thirty-two

Sam

The next morning, I’m in the shower, scrubbing the horrible journey off my skin for the second time. Can poop infiltrate the body? Cause I swear, I feel like it’s inside me. But the longer I lather and repeat, the better I feel. It’s not only about getting clean, it’s as if the soap is mingling with my fatigue and sliding away with the water.

Restless sleep had turned into channel surfing until I couldn’t take it anymore. Pacing the room didn’t help either, and when the buffet downstairs finally opened, both the coffee and eggs were tasteless. There was too much going through my head. It had only been three weeks since I left Costa Rica, but still, I am a mess over seeing Greg and Tilly.

Turning off the water, I wrap myself in a towel, catching my reflection in the mirror. The person staring back feels like a stranger—gone is the vibrant surf instructor, replaced by someone hollow with sunken eyes. Instead of getting dressed, I plop down on the edge of the bed with my towel wrapped around me and massage my temples. The text I received mentioned that Tilly and Greg’s flight had touched down half an hour ago, and I’m well aware that they’ll be here any minute now.

As if I called them with my thoughts, a soft knock sounds, prompting me to quickly dress in an old t-shirt and shorts before cautiously opening the door. Tilly’s embrace is immediate and fierce. For a split second, I’m holding my arms at my side, surprised by the action. But then, almost of their own accord, my arms squeeze around her.

In an instant, we’re both crying, her tears soaking my shoulder and mine falling on hers. There was no avoiding this. I missed Tilly like the desert misses the rain. I squeeze onto her tighter, making a silent promise to never be away from her again. When she finally steps back, she swipes at her eyes, then slaps my shoulder hard enough to make me wince. “Ow!”

Her wet face transforms into a grimace, and I know I’m in trouble. “Elaine Samantha Archibald Williams! Don’t you ever do that to me again! I have been worried sick, and you know I need my eight hours to look good. You know how much sleep I’ve had since you left?” Despite the gravity of the situation, I can’t help but chuckle.

“What?” I ask, a mischievous grin on my face. “I think you look like a goddamn princess.”

She wiggles a finger at me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t try that bullshit. I look like hell and it’s your fault.”

I roll my eyes and stand aside so she can come all the way into the room. “Til, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think you were born looking like that.” She smacks me again, but I almost enjoy the sting on my arm. I fucking missed my best friend.

But as soon as we’re inside, the happiness seems to be sucked out of the room. In its place is tension as Greg walks by me. If Tilly looked like hell, Greg is ten times worse. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was hit by a train that was on fire and covered in acid. His hair is rumpled like his hand hasn’t stopped running through it, and deep dark bags are under his eyes. His gaze remains mostly fixed on the floor as he strides by.

“Elaine.” I barely hear his voice as he nods at me.

A shock freezes me in place before I realize why. Both Tilly and Greg used my real name. “It’s weird hearing you both call me Elaine. I don’t know if I like it.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan either. You’re Sam,” Tilly states, ending the discussion with a decisive nod before making herself at home on the bed and commandeering the TV—a strange sight, considering we didn’t even have a TV back in Costa Rica.

“What were you watching?” she asks, curious.

“I have no idea. Just needed some background noise.” My eyes keep focusing on the man pouting in the corner of their own accord. Each time he glances up, we both quickly avert our gazes.

“Oh Lord. Greg stop hovering. Come sit,” Tilly says when we’re all quiet for too long.

Staring straight ahead, I refuse to watch him find a seat on the mattress. As soon as he does, he grabs the decades-old remote for the tube TV and shuts off the power. “We should probably get straight to business. I need to call in an update sooner rather than later.”

I swallow down some of the discomfort and give him a nod.

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