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18
Blue River
SEBASTIAN
Abuelita’s patio was packed.
Under the shade of the table’s umbrella a few days later, it wasn’t so hot, thanks to a “cool front” that brought the temperature down to a frigid eighty-five. But anything was better than the triple digits we’d been in for the last few weeks.
We’d worked for two weeks to firm everything up for our march this weekend, and I’d caught as much time as I could with Presley between the many, many items on her daily to-do list. We’d taken Priscilla almost every day in the hopes it helped Presley, and because my mom and Abuela were in hog freaking heaven spoiling the crap out of her.
And every day brought a new depth of certainty that this was exactly where I needed to be. Which was fortuitous, since my letter informing the Peace Corps I wouldn’t be back was in my supervisor’s inbox the morning after I decided to stay.
And soon, I’d tell Presley. She needed to believe I’d put in my due diligence, or she wouldn’t accept my answer. Because somehow, she couldn’t manage to understand how the answer could be so easy for me.
Brandon Jennings sat across from me, his smile bright against dark skin. His eyes were even brighter as he regaled a tale of one of the kids from the village where we’d lived in Zambia. He’d stayed for another two year tour, which he’d come back from not too long ago.
“Kaweme rode off so fast on that rickety old bike, you couldn’t see him for the dust he’d kicked up.”
“He was always afraid of cats.” I said on a laugh.
“I think they know it too. Peanut Butter’s favorite pastime is trolling him, I swear.”
I took a swig of my Pacifico and leaned back in my seat. “You gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing all the way out here?”
“Can’t a guy check in with his buddy without getting the third degree?”
“Free fajitas is what you wanted.”
“Doesn’t hurt.” Something in his eyes changed. “Heard you turned in a withdraw of your application.”
“Who told you?”
“Chris called me as soon as he got word. Asked me to come by and bring you this.” Brandon reached into his messenger bag, his hand returning to view with a packet of papers.
I took them with a mighty frown on my face. The expression deepened when I slid the contents out. A plane ticket. An itinerary. Letters from the village, photos of the kids.
Stunned silent, Brandon had room to start his pitch.
“I’m not gonna beat around it—we need you, Bas. Recruitment is down, and we don’t have enough people to man our outreach in that area. They’re suffering a drought, and reclaiming water is vital to their survival. The fishing farms we’ve helped them cultivate have dried up, their sustainable gardens failing. A couple of villages were abandoned … there just wasn’t enough water. But we can’t help them without hands, and yours are two of the most capable and experienced around.”
I shook my head, setting the papers back on the table. “It was hard enough to walk away without all this, Brandon.”
“I know. But I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t that important.”
As Brandon talked through the aggressive sustainability plans Chris and his team had drawn up, I flipped through the letters and pictures the kids drew, paused on a photo of a group of them with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, smiles on their faces.
It was my other life, the one that sometimes felt like a fever dream. That life had changed me in ways I’d never fully grasp. To give everything I had to give to these people and know they still needed help struck a match in my chest. Within seconds, a bonfire raged.
Presley and Priscilla rose in my mind, and I was split in two. Before and after. Then and now.
But what was right and wrong wasn’t so clear cut. I could save lives, save entire villages. Or I could stay here and be a father to my child.
“I … I can’t come back.” I slid the papers in his direction.
Brandon watched me for a moment, confused and disappointed. “Why?”
“Because I found out I have a little girl, and I can’t leave her.”
He drew a long breath and let it out slow. “Is she the only reason?”
“No. Her mom is another.”
“What does your custody look like?”
“We haven’t talked about it.”
“So you’ve thought it all out then, huh?” he teased.
“We haven’t had to yet. It’s just sort of … worked.”
Again, he was quiet. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you have a lot to figure out. Which means there’s a chance you’ll still come. The door’s open.” He pushed the papers back toward me. “Just … just think about it, okay? If things don’t work out here, Chris will take you. Just say the word. With your agriculture and social work experience, you’re the best person for the job. And we need you so badly, I think Chris will bend every rule he can to make sure you’re where you need to be.”
