Page 87 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

I bend and kiss her head. For all that she is or isn’t, she’s still my momma.

Cassie follows me out to my truck. “Can I have twenty dollars?” she asks.

I turn around and take in her face that’s too made up, and the clothes she shouldn’t be wearing. I want to yell at her to snap out of it, to not be her mother, or her grandmother, or hell, anyone of my sisters. Instead, I reach in my wallet again and hand her a few bills, knowing that for now, this is all I can do for her.

“Thanks,” she says.

“You know it doesn’t have to be like this,” I tell her. I don’t have to explain myself, she knows what I mean.

She shrugs. “This isn’t so bad. It just is what it is.” She takes the bills and runs them between her fingers to smooth them out.

I take another good look at her. Christ, she’s just a kid. But already she’s probably been through too much. “You’ve got my number in there?” I ask her, motioning to her phone. She nods. “Make sure you keep it. If I can ever help you, I will, okay?”

She nods briefly and glances down. “Can I ask you a personal question?” she asks. She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Was it love? What you felt for that rich girl?”

“It still is,” I answer truthfully.

She smiles softly, it’s only then I see that little girl lying beneath all that makeup. I think she wants to know more, but when she doesn’t ask, I slip into my truck and drive away.

In less than an hour, I’m headed back to Kiawah, knowing my house won’t be my first stop.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Trinity

Today should have been a good day. I immunized the last few children from the neighboring village, then helped the team finish the new water system this village so desperately needs.

There are cheers when the first trickles of water shoot from the spout. The children rush forward, cupping their hands to have a taste. And while their smiles warm me, the joy I feel is minimal and fleeting. I don’t feel emotions the same anymore. At least, not the good kind.

Feelings that evoke sadness or pain, those I feel to the extreme. I walk away as more people gather and in the direction of the small cinderblock house where I’m staying.

“Trinity,” Marty calls. He jogs up to me, leaving the crowd of squealing children happily splashing themselves. “Hey,” he says stopping in front of me. “Pablo says they’ll be playing their guitars tonight. Do you want to come listen with me?”

I shake my head. “I’m tired. Long day, you know?”

I don’t dare tell him I’ll go another time. I think he likes me and I don’t want to encourage him. If I think about it, I suppose Marty’s a fine looking man. This is his second tour with the Corps, and he’ll probably be a “lifer” if his U.N. aspirations fall through.

He says he’s passionate about helping others, and believes he was put on this earth to serve. I guess he’s being honest. He seems like that type of man. Once upon a time, he probably would have been someone I could connect with. But I don’t connect with anyone. Not anymore.

“Goodnight,” I tell him.

I trek up the steep cobblestone road, waving to the children running past me eager to get their turn at the spout. I pause as I reach the bright orange-colored house, the one where the little old lady who thinks I’m cursed lives with her daughter.

“Only darkness could fade a girl’s smile like Trinity’s,” she told Pablo.

No, ma’am, I wanted to say. Heartbreak can do it, too.

I stayed at Callahan’s house over a week, waiting for him to return. He’d left his cell phone charging on the kitchen counter. Whether it was intentional, or unintentional, I’ll never know. All I know is that September became October and he never came home.

The only person who had heard from him was the owner of Your Mother’s. He called to tell her he’d quit and to thank her for the opportunity. So when October 15th came, I said goodbye to everyone I loved and stepped on a plane bound for South America . . . well, almost everyone I loved.

The sun begins to set as I reach the top of the hill. Chickens skitter past me in their haste to find their nests. I sigh and rub my shoulders, feeling unbearably tired.

The house where I live is just ahead and to my left. I should go right to bed given how I’m feeling. But sleep is something of a lost luxury, one I don’t foresee reclaiming any time soon.

I open the front gate, forcing a smile when my sweet landlady waves from where she’s sewing on a rocking chair beneath a large mango tree.

“Buenas noches,” I yell. She’s almost deaf and I doubt she hears me, but I don’t want to be impolite.

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