When Colin had heard my plan, he immediately offered to finance whatever I needed. Thanks to Hack, I didn’t need much. To help me and help me quickly, Colin agreed to buy my house in Jacksonville Beach along with my shack in Bimini—where he told me I was welcome to stay anytime. Then I took out a gentleman’s agreement loan with Colin for $500,000—using the land as collateral. Given that I was employing Zaul, he offered to give it to me, but I declined, stating that it might help for Zaul to play some role in paying it back. That gave me $5 million plus Hack’s $2 million. Marshall would never see it coming.
I placed the transfer confirmations on top of the duffels. “Five million transferred this morning, plus…two million in cash.” The attorneys raised their eyebrows. Marshall had never said “how” he’d like me to make payment and that was coming back to bite him at this moment. Which is what the awkward smile on his face told me.
His question was the first time I sensed a crack in his wall. “What do you expect me to do with that?”
“I’m sure you can launder it through a hundred different companies or pay your hired guns in cash, so through your ingenious bonus system, you can avoid any taxes or payments of penalties.”
The attorneys looked up at me, wondering how I knew about the payment scale for bonuses. I walked to the table and checked the deeds to make sure they’d been designated per my instructions. Finding them in order, I ignored Marshall and looked at the lawyers. “Where do I sign?” They looked at Marshall, who reluctantly nodded, bringing a satisfied smile out of Amanda.
There was always the chance that Marshall could double-cross me after I’d left, but I still had one ace in the hole. She stopped me as I turned to walk out. She said, “I’ll ride down with you.” When we stepped onto the elevator, Brendan tried to ride with us, but I put my index finger on his chest and pushed him backward. The doors shut, Amanda stood at my side. We stared at each other in the reflection of the doors. She spoke first. “I’ll make sure that goes through.”
“Thank you.”
The elevator signaled as we descended each floor.
She turned to me. “You look good.”
“I am.”
“Any regrets?”
I shook my head. “No.”
She nodded once. “I have one.”
The doors opened, and we walked out into the glass-walled foyer. She kissed my cheek and then gently wiped off the lipstick with her thumb. “Take care.” Holding my hand, she kissed me again. “Send us some coffee.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Colin offered to fly me, but I told him I was a child of the water. Always had been. As a thank-you for finding Zaul, and for giving him a job when he was quite certain no one else would, he handed me the title to Storied Career. When I tried to protest, he waved me off. “Charlie, shut up and take the boat.”
I did.
I packed up my life in Bimini, including my Costa collection, said good-bye, bought a couple cases of water, and charted a south-southwesterly course where the week on the water was food for my soul. I returned through the Caribbean, across the Panama Canal, and into the Pacific, where I motored up the coast, finally turning into the inlet that bordered the resort that Zaul and his friends had wrecked. I tossed the owner my bowline. He said, “How you been?”
“Good. Wondering if you wouldn’t mind letting me dock this thing here?”
“Sure. I’ll put her next to mine. How long?”
I looked around. “How ’bout forever?”
He chuckled. “Sounds good to me.”
“You don’t happen to have a bike I could rent, do you?”
“No, but—” He pointed. “A block that way. Guy has a shop next to the hardware store. He’ll sell or rent.”
I bought a KTM 600 similar to Colin’s, made one additional purchase at an outdoor store that catered primarily to college kids trekking from hostel to hostel across Central America, and then headed toward Valle Cruces. It was hot, getting hotter, and the only thing missing were two hands wrapped around my stomach.
Over the last week I’d realized, really for the first time, that what Leena said was true. I’d been letting the pain of my past dictate the hope and promise of my future. As much as it surprised me, I had become an adult and my single overriding characteristic was that I was afraid to hope and, even more, afraid to let others hope in me. If she was right and hope was the currency of love, then I’d been broke a long time.
That’s a crummy way to live.
I pulled into Valle Cruces carrying only a backpack and a ring from a jewelry store in León. I stopped at the roadside builders’ supply store—primarily a lumber and construction supplier—bought what I needed, and carefully slid it in my pocket. The house was empty when I arrived, and given that it was Wednesday, this did not surprise me. Everyone was up top. Wanting to stretch my legs, I left the bike and started walking. People came out of their houses as I walked by. They waved and were genuinely happy to see me. People hugged me and walked with me. One set of teenagers stopped me, laughing. “El doctor, you dig well,” one said with a shake of his head followed by more laughter. “Fight not so good.”
For the first time in my life, I was home. I glanced at the kid. “There were twelve of them. One of me.”
He put his arm around me. A wide smile displaying a mouthful of large white teeth. “Not one anymore.” He waved his hand across a street filling with people. “Now you are many.”
I took my time walking on, letting the sweat pour off me. Soak me.
When the trees grew large, towering overhead, where the monkeys howled at me on all sides and the breeze fluttered through the leaves and the shade cooled my skin, I turned left and walked the narrow well-worn path around the side of the mountain to the twin white crosses.
The grave no longer looked fresh. Weeds had sprouted up through the dirt and covered the ground in a blanket of green. Someone had placed fresh-cut flowers against the crudely carved headstone as early as this morning.
I took off my hat and smeared my forearm across my brow. Several minutes passed as I stood there trying to find the words.
I couldn’t. Above me a monkey was racing through the mango tree, plucking fruit and throwing it down where he anticipated eating it later. A mango rolled up next to me, so I sat, peeled it, and started carving slices.
As the juice smeared across my face and dripped down the right side of my mouth, I made myself say something. “Sir—it’s Charlie. I’m…I’m back.” Feeling foolish, I shook my head, put my hat on, then took it back off. “I wanted to stop by and tell you that, if you were here, I’d ask your permission for what I’m about to do. But since you’re not and since I have no way of knowing how you’d respond, I’m…well…I want to tell you that if what I’m doing doesn’t meet your approval that I’m sorry. That said, I’m doing it. If that’s wrong, I’m sorry for that, too. Sir, I never really had a dad, and I can’t tell you that I’ve been a good man. I have not. In fact, I’ve been a child of evil. Spreading more poison than anything else. I’m, or I have been, the exact opposite of you and your daughter and granddaughter—who, by the way, really favors her mom and she’s really something. You’d be proud. But, back to me, if I could say one thing in my defense, it’s that I know that what I’m doing—” I eyed my backpack sitting next to me. My hands were sticky and dripping. I sliced another piece and shoved it in my mouth. “What I’m carrying to the top of this mountain—well, I’ve never done anything like this before. This is real different. I’m not sure I can tell the difference right now between what’s good and what’s not, but if this is evil, then I’m at a loss as to what is good. To what could be. And I guess what I’m saying is—” Tears spilled out the corners of my eyes and dripped onto the dirt below. “I guess what my heart would really like to hear is that you approve and, just being gut-level honest, that you’re proud of me, ’cause maybe for the first time in my life I am. Or I could be. I’ve got forty years of stuff I’m not proud of that I’d like to bury down there with you, but this right here, this I’d like to keep topside. Let it sprout. Grow up. This is the one thing in my life that has the potential to live beyond me. To make good on some of the bad or just take the sting out of it. To buy back some of what I sold a long time ago.” Fingers sticky, I pulled the brass lensatic compass out of my pocket—my outdoor store purchase—and set it on the beam of the cross where the red tip of the needle waved from eleven o’clock to three o’clock, finally settling at one thirty, pointing north through the summit of Las Casitas. I wrapped the paracord around the hinge and secured it to the beam. “Sir, I’ve never lived by one of these. Checked no compass. No magnetic north. Until I stepped foot on this mountain, it was a foreign concept. Which would explain the splinters of my life. Then Leena trips over me on the sidewalk and that precocious and precious Isabella pries open my eyelid. I think maybe that’s the moment. That right there might be my beginning.” I brushed my hand across the face of the compass. “You’ve been this for a lot of people for a long time. And without really knowing it or trying to, you are this for me. I’m just telling you that, and I hope that’s okay with you.” A long pause. “If I’m wrong, if you’re lying down there shaking your head and you don’t think this is a good idea, well, I’m sorry for that, too. It won’t be the first time I’ve drifted off course.” I attempted an uncomfortable chuckle. “If I’ve proven one thing time and time again in my life, I’m good at making a mess.” I turned to go, but stopped. Turned back. “I guess the idea that’s got me walking up this mountain is Paulo and the fact that you took a chance on him when nobody else would. That you saw past what was…to what could be. I’m standing here with my hat in my hand, hoping that the dirt and distance between us doesn’t blind you to what might be possible. With me.” Another mango lay several feet away. Despite a loud and howling verbal objection from the monkey who didn’t like me stealing his mangoes, I picked it up, peeled it, and bathed myself in the taste of Nicaragua.