The Water Keeper(102)

A week passed. We cooked our own meals, walked on the beach, swung in hammocks, and swam often. Despite his own wounds and a painful limp, Gunner was never far off. When I slept, I heard him breathing alongside me or felt his tail wagging and thumping the floor below me. And when I woke, his eyes followed my every move. He had become my protector.

My keeper.

A week later, we gathered on the runway. Ellie stood on steps leading into the jet. Her hard shell had cracked and the softer side had risen to the surface. I liked it. A lot. She looked down at me. “Come see me?”

We had some catching up to do, and I owed her years, not moments. She would love Freetown. “Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“You promise?”

I nodded.

She turned and took one step but then stopped and returned. “I don’t have a good history with people keeping their promises to me.”

I clicked open the clasp on my Rolex, fed it over her hand and onto her wrist, and said, “I want that back.”

She smiled and checked the time. “Unlikely.” Then she stared at me. A full minute. Her head tilted sideways. She lifted my Costas off my eyes and said, “All my life I’ve wondered what you looked like.” Then she kissed me and hugged me. And when she did I thought I noticed her arms shaking. She lifted one hand, spread her fingers, and waited for mine to touch them. When I did, she folded her fingers around mine, and we made the fabric of us.

Angel was next. Detox had been tough and she was in the middle of it. She was having a rough go. She leaned against me. “Padre.”

I chuckled. “Yes.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “I’m a good kisser.”

I laughed. “That’s not all you’re good at.”

This time she laughed as well. “Yeah, I’m still real sorry I did that to your chapel. That’s my bad.”

Her honesty and ability to see herself clearly was a beautiful gift. Magnetic. I waited.

She kissed me again. Invading more of my personal space. “And my mom is a good dancer.”

“Yes, she is.” I tried to lighten the air. “Good kisser too.”

Angel laughed. “Better than me?”

“She’s pretty good.”

Tears came easy. Her body was using them to flush out the toxins. “Don’t take too long. Mom’ll miss you. Me too.”

“Deal.”

She kissed me a final time and then spoke over her shoulder. “I’m saving you a dance.” Before she walked through the door of the plane, she turned, closed her eyes, and raised her hands. Frozen. Soaking in the sun. Then she twirled and disappeared. A beautiful disappearing.

Clay was next. Dressed in his new suit and shoes, he tipped his hat, shook my hand, and stared at the G5. He shook his head. “My first airplane ride.” Bones had paired him up with a specialist who was treating his particular strain of cancer. His chance of full recovery was good. Like all of us, Clay will die one day, but probably from old age.

“Catch a bit of a tailwind, and you’ll bump up against the speed of sound.”

“How fast is that?”

“Six seventy-five. Give or take. Depends on the air temperature.”

“Miles an hour?”

I nodded.

“You don’t say.”

He was enjoying himself. Maybe more than at any time in his recent memory. He picked at his teeth with a toothpick. “’Mazing.”

I patted him on the back. “Spring training starts soon.”

His eyes widened. “Yes, it do.”

“Got a favorite team?”

“The Yankees drafted me but traded me to the Dodgers ’fore I could get there.”

“It’s a short ride to LA. And they’ve got a pretty good team in Denver.”

He eyed the plane. “We take this thing?”

“Whatever you like.”

He shook his head. “I’ll buy the hot dogs.”

I shook his giant paw. His middle knuckle had taken seven stitches after he punched the flesh-trader in the face. He admired his handiwork. Before he climbed aboard, Clay turned and said, “Mr. Murphy.”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“Most of my life I been angry at men that look like you. With skin color like yours.” A pause. “They took so much. Everything.” He sucked through his teeth. “I lost count of the number of fights in prison.” He glanced at his hand. “But then that man took Ellie and . . . I thought she was gone and I couldn’t bear the thought of that little girl being . . . and then you stopped him, and he came running at me, and I reached back some sixty years and I took all the anger I ever knew and I sent my fist through his face.” He straightened his jacket and his hat. “And now I’m not so angry anymore.”

“That’s good, ’cause they had to wire his jaw back together. He’s drinking his meals through a straw.”

Clay’s face changed. “Prison won’t be fun for him.”

“Nope.”

He shook my hand again. This time holding it. “Thank you.”

From inside the plane, Ellie was laughing at Angel, who had just said, “You know, you never really get used to that new-plane smell.”

I nodded. “Watch out for those two.”