The Marriage Pact (Viral Series)

by Mara White

  “It’s time, Jack.”

  She propped a hand on her hip. “For what, Pops?”

  “To go back to school or get out of this town.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She slid a plate of cut up veggies to him.

  “You’ve served your sentence. I won’t die—yet. But you’re young. You can’t be stuck here forever.”

  Jackie sighed. “I know. I just—I don’t know what to do or where to go.”

  Pops handed Lola a slice of cucumber. “What about that boy?”

  Jackie wrinkled her nose. “What boy?”

  “That boy who tried to move in after the . . .” He still couldn’t talk about the accident—not that she could blame him.

  “Ryan?” she asked.

  “That one.”

  “What about him, Pops?” she sighed.

  “Maybe you should talk to him. He probably has lots of connections or good ideas for you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can—you just don’t want to.”

  “No, Pops, I can’t. It’s been a long time since we last talked. I botched that up big time. If I try now, it’s just opening old wounds.”

  “Some wounds don’t heal kiddo. Some stay open until you right the relationship.”

  “Okay, Yoda. Just let Ryan go. He has a life. One that he deserves and I bring nothing to the table for him.”

  Pops set Lola on the floor. She crawled like a champion and already pulled herself to standing.

  “Jackie Bowen, you listen here, maybe you don’t have money, or some refined, fancy family. You have you. That’s what you bring to the table. You are good enough. You’re good enough for that oaf or any other you might set your eye on.”

  Jackie shivered. “Pops. Drop it. Please.” She bent and scooped Lola into her arms before peppering her face with kisses.

  Chapter 21

  Ryan

  The walk from Kinal was grueling. This must be what the Spanish explorers felt like when they were traveling between villages, Ryan thought. Granted, they weren’t forging the path by any means, but the path sucked and took everything out of him. The village proper of Kinal was populated and had modern amenities, including a new technological training school for a variety of degree programs. They were traveling up the mountainside, which Jonah called a steep hill, to the settlement that catered to the chicleros, the gum gatherers and their families, the majority of whom, were Kiche Maya and not native Spanish speakers.

  Ryan felt like they were climbing straight up and the oxygen was getting thinner. There were rocks in the dirt he didn’t see and his waterproof boots made his feet feel more clumsy than usual. He’d stubbed his foot enough times to feel like an idiot. Pedro brought a machete along and held it low to his side. He could carry his own weight and practically danced through the dark and the thick underbrush that was hampering Ryan’s stride.

  “What’s the machete for?” Ryan asked Pedro in Spanish.

  “Animales salvajes,” Pedro responded grinning.

  “Don’t listen to him, the kid loves to tease. Sometimes you’ve got to whack roots and creeping branches out of your way. If no one stops the growth, the jungle reclaims the land in a hot minute,” Jonah said. “This isn’t Cincinnati.” The bugs buzzed so loudly, they sounded like a drone.

  “I’m from Des Moines, actually,” he protested, but Jonah was already too far ahead to hear him. Hot and balmy night air assaulted Ryan and as sweat dripped down his back, he had the inclination to take off his clothes—if it weren’t for the hungry insects.

  At one point he had to lean against a tree to catch his breath and put his pack down. He was regretting everything he’d decided to carry, including the bug spray, which didn’t seem to be doing much.

  “You hanging in there, Ryan?” Jonah called back to him. He was far enough ahead that Ryan could no longer see him, just the beam of light cutting through the giant leaves like a beacon in the encroaching darkness. Pedro was by his side and stopped when he stopped. His Spanish was awkward, slow and deliberate with a heavy accent, the speed actually helped Ryan understand him better.

  “It’s not much farther now,” the youngster said, handing him his canteen full of water. Ryan took a sip and realized he hadn’t been this physically exhausted since his football days. Jonah returned back to where they’d stopped to check in on Ryan.

  “There’s a clearing up ahead where you can get a good look at the stars,” he said. Jonah took the trek like it was a walk in the park. “The altitude might be getting to you,” Jonah suggested, as he himself took a swig of water.

  “At this point, I think I’ve been traveling for close to twenty-four hours.”

  Once he regained his strength, they proceeded to the clearing. The stars were unlike anything Ryan had ever experienced before, he could see them pulsating, and for the first time, the sky seemed to be a multi-dimensional universe to him instead of just a flat surface dotted with starbursts.

  “Holy shit!” Ryan exclaimed, head tilted back. He let his body absorb the nausea, dizziness so that he could appreciate the sky, which now seemed more alive than dead. It was a cosmic soup of wonder, altitude sickness and exhaustion. He remembered Cal had told him about Guatemala, “you feel closer to God when you leave the bustle behind you, reconnect with the salt of the earth and rediscover the reason why we’re here.” He understood his father’s words there under the big sky, standing in a clearing.

  “The ruins are down there, at the bottom of the ravine. Over five hundred structures. You’ll get plenty of time to see them all while you’re here. We’re actually closer to the archaeological site than we are to town and the bus station.”

  Ryan could see the basin and the structures illuminated by silver moonlight. The whole scene was magical and he wished he could share it with someone. Jackie, he thought. She would love this and she would be game. Probably kill the “steep hill” in flip-flops, speak fluent Spanish by the time they got there. He couldn’t help the smile that crept up on him. He sincerely hoped that wherever she was, she was having experiences that thrilled and challenged her, helped her to recover from her loss.

  “What kind of birds are those?” Ryan asked Jonah and Pedro. Pedro had lit a cigarette and the cherry burned so brightly against the dark sky, he felt it being ingrained into his memory.

  “Those aren’t birds,” Jonah said with a cackle. “Those are giant flying cockroaches! They search out and eat the rotting fruit that the bats drop or leave behind.”

  Ryan felt dizzy again and decided right then and there to never leave fruit of any sort in his Guatemalan accommodations.

  The small barren room in what appeared to be nothing more than a mishmash shack raised on cinder blocks, looked to him more inviting than a five star luxury hotel with Egyptian linens. He’d said goodnight to Pedro and slammed the Coca-Cola Jonah had offered him. He almost cried at the sight of his cot all made up and cocooned in mosquito netting. His feet were bleeding when he finally wrestled his boots off. The extreme exhaustion won out over drive to open up his pack and search for Band-Aids and Neosporin. The heady jungle with its mysterious and lush density, coupled with the exertion and the blazing stars, made him feel kind of loopy. He was excited and overwhelmed, nervous and completely drained. Ryan fell forward onto his bed as he tried to step out of his pants and into the welcoming refuge of netting. Bubbly laughter escaped him as he pulled the sheets over his head and chuckled at what he’d gotten himself into for the next year and maybe then some. His last thought as he knocked out into a dead sleep, was that he hadn’t checked the bed for scorpions like his guidebook recommended.

  Chapter 22

  Jackie

  “Happy birthday, baby girl!” Pops, all but yelled. Rose’s parents, who didn’t think much of Mack Bowen, visibly cringed a little whenever Lola lit up for him. Rose came from a good family, unlike the poor white trash that was her father on a good day. “What do you mean no one gave the kid cake? It’s a birthday, isn’t it? Oh no, Lola, that is
not right. Not right at all. Come here, sugar,” Pops said and scooped Lola into his arms. She squealed with glee and tugged on his beard.

  “Pops, no!” Rose and Jackie said in unison. But it was too late. Pops had a paper plate of cake in his hand. Lola’s little fingers already clutched a hunk. Pops was distracted by Jackie and Rose yelling. Jackie burst out laughing when Lola smashed the hunk of cake, frosting and all, into her father’s beard. Mack jumped and gave Lola a look of disbelief, which only made the child laugh. When Lola laughed, everyone laughed.

  “How could you?” Pops said. He fingered the frosting in his beard and smeared it on Lola’s nose. Lola squealed. Rose sighed next to her. “So much for the family photos. The photographer just pulled in,” she nodded over her shoulder. “And Lola needs a bath.”

  Jackie nudged her shoulder and laughed. “I think this might be the perfect time for photos.” She watched her father in awe. Lola had single handedly managed to bring Mack Bowen back to life.

  Jackie wasn’t needed anymore. Soon Rose would tell her to move on, too. It was only a matter of time. They had made a pact. Jackie snorted. It seemed her life functioned on pacts. Rose made her promise that after Lola’s first birthday, she’d get on with her life. That Rose could take it from here by herself. Well, not completely alone. She had Dr. Coralis and her parents and even Jackie’s own father.

  The photographer captured the party antics perfectly. From Lola and Pops frosting covered faces, to her expression of irritation at being cleaned up for a proper picture with Rose and her parents. Jackie though, found herself taken aback when Lola began to open her gifts. Lola couldn’t have cared less about the toys. She was most satisfied and taken with ripping the paper they came wrapped in. As soon as the paper was off, she pushed the toy aside to rip the paper on the next gift. How simple her wants were. If she could find sheer joy in tearing paper, Jackie could find it in her own life.

  Rose sauntered to the living room. Lola was asleep—finally. She plunked on the couch next to Jackie and laid her head against the back cushion. “What a freakin’ day.”

  “I thought your parents might burst into flames when Pops and Lola got into that frosting war,” Jackie laughed.

  “Seriously—right?”

  Jackie blew out a breath. Rose angled her head toward her. “It’s official.”

  “What?”

  “It’s been a year.” Rose raised an eyebrow. Jackie bit her bottom lip and nodded. “You’ve found a job you like. Your dad is doing fine, you’ve witnessed all of Lola’s firsts and the farm isn’t going into foreclosure. I think it’s time. I’m saying that as your friend.”

  “You want me gone that bad, huh?”

  Rose nudged her thigh and shot her a pointed look. “I want you happy and functioning. And I need to do this mom gig on my own, too, at some point.”

  “I know. I’m just—what if I fail?”

  “What if you thrive?”

  “What if . . .”

  Rose cut her off. “What if’s are useless, Jackie. You don’t have to go now. Or tomorrow even, but it’s time to figure it out and make a plan.”

  “Why do you hate me?” Jackie chuckled.

  “You drink all my wine and eat all my ice cream,” Rose deadpanned. Jackie snorted and stood.

  “Speaking of.”

  “Oh, hell yes. Bring it,” Rose hooted. Jackie grinned and went to the kitchen to pour two glasses of wine and plated two slices of leftover cake.

  Chapter 23

  Ryan

  Ryan adjusted surprisingly well to life in the Kinal Mission. Having such an official name and fancy, full-color brochures to hand out at church in the States was misleading. The Kinal Mission consisted of four cinderblock structures that could shelter you from the rain. One was barracks for the missionaries, one functioned as the school, the largest was their medical center and finally, the last building was a communal kitchen facility. They had luxurious amenities which Ryan learned to treasure, such as shoddy plumbing, sporadic electricity, a blessed sump pump for the rainy season and two back-up generators.

  In his first week, he learned how to bucket-flush a toilet, bathe sitting on an overturned bucket and dumping freezing cold water from a tin cup onto his head—the drain in the bathroom floor made a lot more sense after those two experiences. He also had the opportunity to set a fractured bone with a ruler and strips of sheets at the base of a chicle tree, treat Dengue fever—there wasn’t much of a cure besides acetaminophen, fluids and rest recover from dysentery, as well as gut and clean a goat, something that he would never, ever offer to help with again. In fact, after the dysentery and the goat sacrifice, Ryan took to beans, rice and vegetables more than he ever had in his former life. He loved teaching the kids, and they were eager to learn. They paid no mind to the fact that Ryan was simultaneously learning the Spanish himself, as he was teaching it to them. He’d never had such receptive and appreciative students.

  Barbara was the young registered nurse from Belize who he spent most of his time with. She was tiny, sweet and shy, but sharp as a tack. While Ryan was supposed to be teaching her the basics of physical therapy to help patients in rehabilitation, it was pretty obvious that Barbara was the one showing him the ropes and teaching him necessary survival skills instead of the other way around. Sure, he had CPR training and knew how to do the Heimlich but he did not know how to deliver a baby, a skill Barbara taught him on day eight at the Mission.

  He learned much of the history surrounding the area from the petite and efficient nurse, how the chiclero boom ended nearly fifty years ago. It was then replaced by the harvesting of another similar plant called zate, and when that industry dried up, the main source of revenue came from eco-tourism. There were still chicle gatherers dedicated to the trade, but the surrounding camps were mostly ghost towns and the region was void of any modern conveniences, unless you counted the ones that could be reached in three hours on foot which wasn’t an option, if you’d broken a limb or labor came early and your water just broke. The chicleros left in the region were few, but they still did their work the old fashioned way, by climbing the tall chicle trees with metal spikes on their shoes to harvest the sap. Not an easy task and the falls could be devastating, if not fatal. Broken limbs became weekly occurrences and Ryan got used to the grisly sight of a compound fracture, the swift insertion of the PICC line to get morphine to the patient. He felt like a real doctor and many of the people who came into the clinic called him, “el doctor.” But what Barbara taught him was to administer the basic necessities until they could get the patient to a real doctor or hospital. But that wasn’t the case with a baby who was determined to make an early entrance. The best he and Barbara could do was give her a sterile environment and hold her hand as she pushed. Ryan had never seen a child being born and the experience humbled him.

  “Push!” He and Barbara chanted while the small but fierce woman held his fingers in a superhuman grip.

  “You got it, you got it!” Ryan kept hearing himself say. Like his father coaching their football games and this poor woman didn’t even understand English. The three of them were sweating and groaning along with her. Ryan pushed her hair out of her face and held a tepid wet washcloth to her forehead, they didn’t have any ice. When the child crowned, he thought he might pass out from the visual, in combination with perpetually holding his breath. He knew vaginas were incredible but now it seemed like there was no limit to what they could do.

  The adrenaline that rushed through his body was out of control and he felt like he could run the four hours to Flores with the woman on his shoulder if he had to. Barbara, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber under stress. She acted like a midwife to whom delivering babies in the jungle was as easy as doling out vaccines or prescribing antibiotics. She clipped the umbilical cord like a pro, Ryan was the one with the shaking hands and jello-y knees who slid the afterbirth into a stainless steel pan while mother and nurse collectively cooed at the infant. Even though the baby looked more alien t
han human, with a covering coat of grey slime and a purple face until she took a huge breath in, Ryan was moved beyond words by the moment. He stepped outside once the woman and her brand new daughter were settled. He sat on the cement step that was only a few feet from the dense jungle with its lush and creeping flora, itself in a constant state of birth, a hyperactive lifecycle. He wondered what the fate of the little girl would be. The universe was open and full of endless possibilities. Ryan couldn’t help but to think of Jackie, how she’d lost her mother so young. Only to become a surrogate mother to her younger sister and then to lose them, too. How Carlos and Andres had lost their birth parents and miraculously ended up in his family. The two of them both now fathers themselves. The circle of life was as horrifying as it as was beautiful. It was a mystery and a miracle at once. He missed his mom and dad dearly, even his brothers. A deep need to share the experience with someone he loved ran circles inside of him. Off the grid with no connection, his best option was a letter that would take weeks, if not months to reach anyone. He laughed and petted a stray dog who had come to beg for food and was licking his hand.

  “Holy shit!” he said to no one in particular.

  Barbara tiptoed out behind him a good hour later. She lit up a cigarette and opened a bottle of Coca-Cola, offered the first drink to Ryan.

  “Quieres?”

  He took a long swig and handed the bottle back to her. For such an unassuming, quiet person, Barbara was a spitfire. Here he was in another country, supposedly lending his skills and everyday Barbara saved his ass and taught him invaluable lessons. He knew he would leave Guatemala a better person and a lot of that was thanks to the kind hearts of Barbara and Jonah.

  “Did you see God in there?” Barbara asked him with candor.

  He involuntarily jumped in his seat, making the friendly stray skittish, the dog upped and ran off seemingly mid-sleep. He wasn’t scared of talking about God, not with his upbringing, but she was on the mark with the comment.