Heat Wave (8 page)

Well I can pretty much rule out Logan and Kate ever getting together in that way. They seem just as incompatible as we do.

But slices of the dream cut into my vision. His lips at my neck, the feel of his fingers inside me, probing deep. The endless want that was seconds from being fulfilled.

Even though Kate can’t see what I’m thinking, I look away, completely ashamed. I can’t control my dreams but this is the absolute worst time to be thinking about it, when she’s just mentioned Juliet.

“Hey,” Kate says softly, bringing my attention back to her. “I know things are hella complicated for you. Just remember this isn’t the be-all and end-all. If you don’t like it here, you can quit. You hate the island, you can move. No one, not your family, not your resume, is holding you here. It’s a big world and Kauai is a very tiny piece of the pie. You’re in charge, you’re in control and it’s your life. No one else’s. Right?”

I slowly nod. “Right,” I say, managing a weak smile. Damn. It’s this early in the morning and Kate already seems to know more than enough about me. I wonder if I’m that obvious or she’s just that observant. Probably a little of both.

“Okay, I’m off to work,” she says. “You know where to find me.”

She gives a quick wave that reminds me of that monotone actress from
Parks and Rec
, and then disappears around the corner. The door shuts behind her.

I run her mini-pep talk through my head. She would be right if I were anyone else. I should be able to get a job back at home. I should be able to get a job anywhere.

But that’s not the case at all. Moonwater Inn is the only place that I know didn’t place a reference call, mainly because I never provided the information. And even if Logan did manage to scrounge up Erik’s name and get a hold of him, it wouldn’t matter the lies that Erik told him because, hey, I’m here aren’t I?

To my parents, moving to Kauai and working at Moonwater seemed like the smart option. I’m not sure they realized that, short of starting my career all over again, it was the only option.

So as much as Kate says that I can do what I want, where I want, I really can’t. Not when it comes to moving forward in my dreams.

It’s Kauai or bust.

With that in mind, I get up and start getting ready for the day. If anything, one piece of her advice is ringing through my head.

Never give Logan the upper hand.

Even though I had gotten up early, I slowly ease into the day. I flip through my work contract, and though there’s nothing strange about the way it reads, I still hesitate before I sign on the dotted line. When I do, I can’t help but feel I made a deal with the devil. Overdramatic? Maybe. But if the devil came disguised as a handsome Australian man, I wouldn’t be surprised.

I make myself more coffee and breakfast, stealing some of Kate’s toast and a jar of pink guava spread, hoping she won’t mind, and sit out on the balcony as the world outside slowly comes alive.

People are early risers here. I’m not sure if it’s because everyone from North America has to be suffering some kind of jetlag, or they just want to get up early and seize the day, but it’s not even eight a.m. and everyone seems to be heading to their cars, the beach, or the pool. I don’t think Logan has fixed the heater yet, so I hope they know they’re getting a rude awakening once they jump in.

As I watch the guests go to and fro, I can't help but think about the contract, even though it's all signed and ready to be dropped off at reception for Logan. My mind, lulled by the rhythmic waves, then turns to Juliet, wondering what she'd think about this whole thing.

The funny thing is, if Juliet were still alive, I'm not sure she'd be all too enthused about me moving here to work at her hotel. After all, she spent four years running this place with Logan, and not once did she invite me to visit, let alone offer me a job. I mean, I knew she knew I was happy at Piccolo. But that was based on assumption. She never asked me if I was happy with my job or the way my career was going. I'm not sure if I'm good at faking happiness or what, but it's like the thought to check in with my well-being never crossed her mind.

Not that it surprises me. Juliet always had a lot on her plate with a million things to think about. Wondering about how her little sister was doing was always very low on her priority list.

Still, I'm thinking back to the time she came to Chicago alone and stayed with me. I always thought that was odd in its own way. Normally my parents were the default, not me. But she asked to stay at my tiny apartment and so she did. I was thrilled, naturally, since she never showed that kind of interest in me before, not really.

That was when she came clean about what Logan was doing to her—all the heartache brought on by his cheating and affairs. I felt strangely privileged that she was sharing all this with me, something that tainted her, something other than perfect. Even though she wasn't at fault, it meant that her marriage wasn't the happy one we all were led to believe.

I finish the rest of the toast, wiping the crumbs off of the contract. I bet if Juliet were still alive, I wouldn't be here. I hate to think it, but if I hit a rough patch in my career and Moonwater was my only option and she knew that, I don't think she would have gone for it. It wouldn't have mattered what my mother told her or even Logan (there were a few rare occasions in the past where he stood up for me, but since he's such a dick now I tend not to think about them)—Juliet would have vetoed the whole situation.

Juliet always liked to keep me as separate from her life as possible. Even when growing up. She'd have secret clubs in her bedroom with her and her stuffed animals and dolls, meetings I wasn’t allowed to attend. When she went out to play, she preferred to do it alone. Even when our mother would force us to play together on some days, she was always off in her own little world. Leaving me behind. Sometimes I chalked it up to the age difference between us, but even so there was always something a bit off about our relationship.

When we got older, the distance between us was magnified. She'd go out with her friends all the time. At the dinner table, she rarely spoke to me, let alone looked at me. The most I would get from her was a yearly Christmas and birthday gift, always something generic, nothing that ever hinted that she knew me at all.

And yet people thought the world of her. She was beautiful enough to be a model—and she did do some teenage modeling, something I was always deeply jealous of—yet smart enough to get scholarships. She was valedictorian and homecoming queen. She spent her Wednesday nights at a soup kitchen and she never got in trouble for anything, even though I knew she would go out drinking on the weekends. More than a few times I found pot or blotter paper in her bedroom when I was sneaking around to borrow one of her dirty books or find her secret diary (I was always empty-handed). I'm sure I found something that must have been cocaine once.

But I never brought it up with her—she would only deny it and my parents would never believe me. Besides, I didn't want to get her in trouble. As much as I envied her, I craved her attention. I wanted nothing more than for her to like me, to love me. The more distant and mysterious Juliet became to me, the more of her approval I craved.

And so here I am, sitting on a balcony in a tropical paradise, the sun breaking through the morning clouds and lighting up the ocean in dizzying rays of light, and I still need her approval. She's dead, gone forever, I'm not even sure I've started to properly grieve—and yet all I can think about is whether she would have wanted me to be here.

“Hey, sweet thing!”

Charlie's voice breaks through my thoughts. I get off my chair and peer over the edge. He's standing beneath the balcony, shirtless, his surfboard tucked under his arm.

I can't help but smile at him and his goofy charm, happy he's pulled me out of my thought spiral. “Hey!”

“I’m heading out to Hanalei. Fancy a morning surf?”

I shake my head, still horrified after what Logan told me about the ocean. “No way.”

“You know I'm going to wear you down, right?”

“You know that ocean is waiting to kill me, right?”

He shrugs. “Whatever. It's what we have to tell newcomers so they don't go all crazy. You're safe with me. Come on, we have plenty of time before work.”

“Maybe some other time,” I say. “I'm just going to spend the day adjusting to everything. Take it easy.”

“Suit yourself.” He gives me a head nod and then walks toward the parking lot.

I sigh and head back inside, hoping that unpacking my suitcases and putting things away will help me feel a bit more settled.

True to my word with Charlie, I take it easy for the rest of the morning. Once I’m unpacked, I head down to reception and drop off the forms for Logan. Kate’s there but she says Logan isn’t anywhere to be found. I’m relieved.

I decide to stroll around the grounds for a bit, taking in the surroundings and getting to know the area. I trace over the same route that Logan took me yesterday. It looks completely different this morning, maybe because the surf has died down a bit and the sun is coming through. The water sparkles a brilliant aquamarine and the breeze is soft, warm and fresh. I stand on the beach for a few minutes, letting the moment sink in, breathing that salty air deep into my lungs while the wind tosses my hair.

This is more like it. This is the paradise that everyone waxes on about. Yesterday with Logan, I didn't have a proper chance to enjoy it, let it soak in. I was too preoccupied with him, the way he was watching me, whether I was saying the right things or not. Everything had an ominous tone to it that seems to have been swept away overnight.

I round the curve of the beach, trying not to peer up at the guests on their oceanfront balconies, and stroll past the restaurant, glancing in the salt-sprayed windows as I go. It's dark inside, not open for lunch, and my stomach rumbles. Kate had mentioned that we could do a trip to the grocery store after her shift ended, but until then there's nothing much but a few pastries at the café and a juice and fruit truck down by Haena Beach. Apparently if I just follow the beach for another twenty minutes I'll come to it.

Of course twenty minutes to Kate is at least a half hour by my standards. She seems to be in incredible shape, while walking in sand has tired me out after no time. By the time I reach the food truck in the Haena Beach parking lot, I'm dripping with sweat and winded.

That's not to say it wasn't the most stunning walk I've ever been on. The beach that leads away from Moonwater Inn eventually turns into Tunnels Beach, the island's best snorkeling spot, and then busy Haena. At the ocean's edge, beach houses stake their claim for best view. As you walk you head straight toward the lush green mountain peaks of the Na Pali Coast, made even more dramatic by the passing wisps of clouds. It's all so close you truly feel you're in the shadow of something otherworldly as your eyes pick up every wild detail of the sharp cliffs and valleys. Then there's the golden-white sand beneath your feet and the crystal-clear water as it slips past the outer reefs, lapping gently at the shore. Everything here is vying for your attention, daring you to look away.

There are people everywhere, for sure, but it's nowhere near as crowded as the beaches of Lake Michigan during the height of summer. There's just enough of a crowd so you don't feel so alone. The island feels so inherently wild, like it’s a beast floating at the edge of infinity, that you almost crave the company around you.

After I get my fresh slices of mango and coconut, I eat them sitting on the beach, watching surfers play in the waves, until my phone rings.

Surprised I even get reception here, I fish it out. It's my friend Claire, wanting to Facetime.

I answer it. “Hey!”

“Hey Ronnie,” Claire says. “I had to check in. How are things? You were supposed to text me, you loser.”

Staring at my friend's cherubic face brings a pang of loneliness to my heart. I've never Facetimed her before. I never had a reason to—she always lived down the street from me. Now that I'm staring at her, in what looks like her apartment, probably having just finished work, I'm aware that this is the only way I'll be able to see her for the next while.

“I texted you when I landed,” I protest. “And I sent you that picture of the chicken. Do you want more? I’ve got chickens all around me.” And it’s true. A group of hens are a few feet away, scratching at the sand and eyeing my fruit.

She giggles, brushing her brown hair out of her eyes. “Look, the next time you send me a picture of a cock, I hope it's not of the feathered variety.” I roll my eyes. “Besides, telling me you've safely landed is not texting me. You were supposed to fill me in.” Pause. “How's Logan?”