Free Water from My Heart by Charles Martin Page A

where they were going. They were just walking until they got tired, then they’d sit down and sleep for the night. I cranked the engine, idled down the mountain, and put that place, those people, and that country behind me. I didn’t want anything more to do with Nicaragua, its coffee, or the people who grew it.
    I stepped onto the plane, buckled in, and within minutes we were climbing past ten thousand feet. I looked around me. Plush leather. An air conditioner control nozzle above my head. Food on the table before me. Drinks in the bar. In three hours, I’d touch down in Boston, where I’d eat sixty dollars worth of sushi—by myself. I stared out the window and down upon the lush, green landscape of Nicaragua still raw with a thirty-mile scar down its heart. I shook my head. I hadn’t just robbed these people—I’d held them down while the classroom bully stole their lunch money and shattered their hope.
    Sitting in Marshall’s plane at forty thousand feet, I realized that Marshall’s money was not worth what it was costing me. His daughter was, but by his own design, the two were inseparable. I couldn’t have one without proving my worthiness of the other.
    And I had not been found worthy.
    *  *  *
    New Year’s Eve, Pickering and Sons met for their annual party. It was also the night Marshall handed out bonus checks. The week prior, Marshall had me off “assessing” an oil exploration company in Texas, so I flew into town and Amanda was noticeably distant. Cold. Her eyes were red. We’d spent no real time together in months. Whenever I’d come home, she’d been busy. Or her dad had her off traveling. The “face of Pickering.” Part of me hurt and I didn’t understand why. It would take a few weeks for me to figure out that that painful aching place in my gut was my heart breaking.
    My days with Pickering were numbered. I wasn’t sure where I’d go or what I’d do, and I was pretty sure Amanda would not go with me. She loved me, but there was one thing she loved more.
    I walked in the door and Marshall was warm as ever. Hugged me, introduced me to all the older guys as “his eyes and ears on the ground.” An hour into the party, he put his hand on my back and invited me to share a cigar. Just the two of us.
    After he shut the door, he offered and I once again refused. After emptying his lungs, he set an envelope on the table between us. A smile. “You’ve earned it.”
    I had a feeling it was a good bit of money. I also had a feeling it was more than a bonus. I was right. His tone changed. A glance out of the corners of his eyes. “Think of it as a ‘going away’ p resen t.”
    I folded my hands, saying nothing.
    I let him continue. “After tonight, you’ll be seeing less of Amanda.” I sat with my hands in my lap. He wanted me to reach for the money. To take his deal. The problem with Marshall was that at the end of the day, I didn’t want his money. Never had. That’s one lesson he never learned. And the only card I had left to play.
    A pause. “How so?” I asked.
    He scratched his chin. One of his “tells” that he was about to lie. “She and Brendan are looking at dates now.”
    I smiled and nodded. “Does Amanda know this?”
    He lit his cigar, drawing deeply. Exhaling, he spoke. “She knows her role.”
    I waited.
    He stared at me through a cloud of smoke. “Brendan will make the announcement in an hour or so.” He eyed the envelope and then me.
    I stood, lifted the lid of his cigar box, took one, and cut the tip. I lit it, drew deeply, and stared over the end, catching a glimpse of Amanda in the mirror. She stood beyond the window just outside the room. I could see her; he could not. I turned the cigar down and placed the burning tip on the felt top of his table. The cigar burned through, curling up the edges where they rolled back. “Marshall, you’re going to die an old, angry man.” I turned and began walking out. When my hand reached the doorknob, I stopped.