Relapse in Paradise

by Roxanne Smith

  The staircase butted up against the wall on one side, and she kept her hand out flat against wallpaper matching The Canopy’s in age, if not in pattern.

  “May I ask if I’ll be expected to sign a lease of some kind? I’m afraid I won’t be here long enough to satisfy a full-term rental agreement.”

  Wendy didn’t pause to answer but spoke over her shoulder. “A monthly agreement would suit fine.”

  Emily halted. An entire month? Four whole weeks? A sensation like drowning came over her. Two days ago, she’d been packed off to Hawaii without a moment’s notice. This morning, she woke up in a tree house, was confronted by terribly dressed strangers, and got booted all before lunch.

  Now she attempted to rationalize renting an apartment she had to traverse the Stairs of Dread to access in order to help some kid she’d never met.

  Wendy blithely continued, “Financial reasons are the only reason I bother renting it out at all. I tell you, honey, keeping a business going in this part of town ain’t easy any more than it’s cheap. We don’t get the same tourist flow this far inland, but dang if we don’t get charged about the same rent as some beachfront property. I suppose I should thank the Lord I’m next door to a soup kitchen.” At the landing, she paused and regarded Emily. “That don’t bother you, does it?” Her stern expression said she’d have no qualms passing judgment depending on Emily’s answer.

  “I, uh, sort of know the proprietor.” She waited to see if the response pleased Wendy.

  The older woman beamed. “Oh, good! Boston’s the sweetest, ain’t he?” Her smile turned mischievous. “And a sight for sore old eyes.” She made an mmm sound like they were talking about pie. “The Canopy’s something of a detractor for most renters.”

  Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been one for Emily, too.

  The two doors at the top of the stairs were wooden and warped as many of them seemed to be on Oahu. Emily guessed it had to do with the high humidity. One led to a basic bathroom—sink, toilet, and shower stall. Outdated and dingy, but clean. Wendy swung the other door open to reveal the bedroom and stepped back for Emily to enter.

  She did with no small amount of trepidation. She expected to be horrified, but her shoulders relaxed.

  Some of the wooden floorboards and wall panels were as warped and curved as the door. A twin bed sat under the window where the “For Rent” sign clung to the clouded, aged glass. The thin blanket on the bed matched the drapes. The bright white sheets and single pillow appeared brand new. A three-drawer dresser with an attached vanity had been pushed back at an angle into the far corner, and…

  And nothing else. No rugs, no pictures on the walls, and no ornaments adorning the small bureau.

  Emily held on to the straps of her purse with both hands to keep from wringing them together. Holy cow, she was entertaining the notion of staying here. Living here. “Probably doesn’t come with room service, huh?”

  Wendy didn’t smile at the quip. “Rent’s eight hundred a month. Two hundred deposit.”

  For a split second, Emily took it as a joke. A little retaliation for her room service jest. She stopped scanning the room and stared at Wendy.

  The shopkeeper’s deadpan expression didn’t waver.

  Emily continued to ogle the woman. Her difficulty in renting the unit had nothing to do with its condition and everything to do with the price tag stamped on it. Emily hated to think what this crazy old woman charged for her jewelry.

  “You’re serious? That’s exorbitant. And completely unreasonable. You’re charging what I’d pay for several nights at an upscale hotel right on the beach.”

  Wendy put her hand on her hip and dipped her chin in a nod. “It ain’t a hotel, though, is it? This is permanent lodging in a desirable area, even if it ain’t Waikiki. The street we’re on is Alo Moana, and it’s the next best thing. And, frankly, darlin’, I need the money. The rent’s got to cover my losses plus my mortgage. But sales will pick up in a month or so. If they do, I can charge less for this place.”

  Emily rubbed her forehead where a headache was forming. “I can’t justify—”

  “She’ll take it.”

  This time, Ryder earned Emily’s agog expression. “No, I won’t. I’m sorry to have wasted your time, both of you.” She hitched her purse strap higher on her shoulder and stalked toward the door. If Ryder didn’t move, she’d knock him over.

  He didn’t budge. “I’ll pay.”

  She glared at him. Then, struck by a thought, she took a step back.

  The same guy who’d needed bail money—money provided by a shelter with little of it in the first place—had the means to offer up a thousand dollars, Johnny-on-the-spot?

  “Please, Emily.” He held out his hands in appeal. “How else will I find my cousin? You can’t tell Boston about the money. He’ll ask me to leave the shelter.”

  “He’d be right to.”

  He closed his eyes. “I know. I know. I’m going to pay it back—the bail money, the food I eat, all of it. Every last penny.”

  Hide information from Boston. Aid in Ryder’s deception. For what? To keep Emily nearby, which, in turn, kept Boston nearby? Whatever Ryder’s motives, they were strong ones. And she’d find out more by playing along.

  “Fine.” She turned to Wendy, who’d witnessed their volley of words with rapt attention. “I guess I’ll take it.”

  After the money exchanged hands, Ryder offered to retrieve her luggage from Boston’s van and also inform her guide of Emily’s new lodgings. He’d be shocked to learn they were neighbors.

  Sitting in the bare room, Emily had little to do but twiddle her thumbs and sweat under the collar of her dress shirt. She undid the top two buttons. It didn’t help.

  Stuffy clothes for a stuffy woman.

  She banished the self-degrading thought. She didn’t have a car or a guide, but she had a fine pair of legs and an intense desire to trade in her polyester and wool for something more island-friendly.

  Emily picked up two keys from Wendy, one for her room and one for the store, which would allow her to come and go as she pleased, and set off on foot with a smile on her face.

  Bring on the sunshine.

  * * * *

  Boston hadn’t had time for Jordan’s message when the call came in of a significant donation at one of the drop-off locations in Kahala. Furniture, something they could always use and apt to go missing before Boston had time to retrieve it if he didn’t scoot.

  It didn’t bother him a bit. Relief came closer to the mark. Delaying bad news was sort of his specialty. He’d been doing it since he’d turned twelve and realized his parents were the same age as the other kids’ grandparents. Most people his age had parents in their sixties. His mom and dad had celebrated their eighty-first birthdays this year.

  Won’t be long.

  Don’t think like that.

  He tried not to most of the time. For the second time today, he pulled the van to a stop across the street from The Canopy. The old streetlamp usually took forever to flicker on well into darkness, but tonight it glowed dim orange against the purpling sky.

  He rubbed his eyes and jumped when he opened them to Akela’s round, beaming face mooning at him through the window.

  She backed up, allowing him to open the door and abscond from his chariot.

  “Hey, Akela. I owe you for saving our butts yesterday when the oven died.”

  She shrugged, but her smile told him how much she appreciated his acknowledgment.

  He treaded warily around Akela, careful to be kind but not give her any ideas. The last thing he needed was a misunderstanding involving Hani’s kid sister. “You really saved the day. Hani better make it up to you somehow.”

  She didn’t head back into The Canopy, even after he moved to unload the three chest-of-drawers he’d pick up from the drop.

  “Did you, uh, need something?” Oh, God. Was she gonna ask him out? Please don’t. Please don’t.

&
nbsp; She tucked her hair behind her ear, subtly drawing attention to the flower there. “Ryder took Emily’s bags from the van while you were with Hani earlier. He asked me to give you a message, but then you got the call for the donation and took off before I had the chance.”

  “A message, huh?” I’m Mr. Popularity over here. He grunted with the effort of hefting the first dresser. Hopefully, Hani wasn’t still so busy he couldn’t help Boston make light work of the rest of the load.

  “He said Emily rented the room over the jewelry store next door.”

  “Wha…” Surprise loosened his grip. The corner of the dresser slid from his grasp and dropped onto the asphalt road with a loud crack. It narrowly missed the toe of his left foot. He hardly noticed. He jabbed a finger in the air toward the window above the shop—the window now devoid of its “For Rent” sign. “That apartment? My client rented that apartment?”

  Akela wrinkled her nose.

  He didn’t blame her. He caught the doubtful scorn in his voice. Still. “My Emily? You’re sure?”

  She affirmed with a nod. “Hani also gave me Jordan’s message to pass on.”

  A hot flash of anxiety jolted aside Boston’s incredulity. Well, shit. He swallowed and tried to maneuver the dresser into a position that would allow him to pick it up again. “What the hell does she want?”

  Akela’s cheeriness faded. She knew the whole sad history between Boston and Jordan. She pressed her lips together and studied fingernails flecked with pink polish. “Nothing new. Boyfriend dumped her.” Akela shrugged and met his gaze with visible sadness. “Same as last time, Boston. She needs you.”

  Chapter 6

  The knock on Emily’s door startled her. She hoped Boston had decided to start his job as a guide in earnest. In three days, she hadn’t done any sightseeing or adventuring, let alone anything special to make him worth her time and her sister’s money. Ryder had at least showed her a new café.

  She opened the door to a strange woman, yet had no problem placing her. “You must be Akela.”

  Had to be. She was a shorter, squatter, prettier version of Hani with a beautiful pink hibiscus tucked behind her ear.

  The girl grinned. “That’s me. Boston’s cleaning the van for some trip you two are supposed to take today. I brought you breakfast.” She had a soft voice. A young voice. She offered up a plate covered in tinfoil, and Emily realized she was starved.

  Upon closer inspection of the bikini she’d purchased at the mall last night, she’d ordered a small salad and diet soda for dinner. This place did terrible things to her grasp on reality.

  Emily took the plate with a grateful smile and moved to the bed.

  Akela came inside and shut the door. “Don’t ask me where you’re going. Boston’s kinda tight-lipped this morning. I didn’t ask.” She offered a small, apologetic shrug as though it was her job to report to Emily.

  “I like surprises, anyway.” She didn’t, but the poor girl’s shoulders slumped, and Emily didn’t want to be the cause of it. “Thank you so much for the food.”

  “Boston’s, uh…” Akela appeared to search the ceiling for the right words. “Well, he’s a little upset about you staying here. Not because it’s not great,” she rushed to say. “It’s because of your sister.”

  Emily paused in sniffing under the tinfoil on the plate. “Quinn? What’s she got to do with anything?”

  “Oh, you know.” The young woman blithely shrugged and sat on the opposite end of the bed from Emily. “She hired Boston to give you this great experience, but I guess it’s been one hiccup after another. He never brings clients to the shelter, let alone feeds them one of Hani’s rice plates for lunch.” Akela eyeballed the little room with a disappointed frown. “You should be in some fancy hotel, not a shabby place like this. Boston feels like he’s failing. It bothers him a lot.” She sighed, the weary wistful kind. “He’s so dedicated.”

  The words swam in adoration. Emily’s mouth quirked up. She remembered now. Akela was half in love with the guy.

  Emboldened by the girl’s open nature, she dared a personal question. “How old are you, Akela?”

  She grinned at Emily’s interest. “Twenty-one. I’m the baby of the family.”

  Not a girl, after all. A woman. “And Boston is what? Thirty-five?”

  “Thirty-nine.”

  Older than she’d thought. Something to be said for a life in the tropics. “That’s quite an age difference, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Her dark eyes, almost black, searched Emily. “He’s such a good guy, that’s all. Even I know how rare that is. I mean, I know he ain’t interested in me. He’s not too old for me, but I’m too young for him.” She gave Emily a small, sad smile. “If that makes sense.”

  It did, actually. Perfect sense. “I imagine he’s also afraid of your big brother.” Emily peeled the cover off the plate of eggs and rice, still steaming. A strange combination for breakfast, but when in Hawaii…

  Akela scooted closer like they were two friends having a sleepover and gossiping. Hani’s sister had a warmth and a certain naiveté Emily liked. “Nah, Hani would love to see me with someone he trusts. My parents wouldn’t like it, but they’re—what’s the word? Like, when someone decides they know everything without the whole story?”

  Words were Quinn’s forte. Not Emily’s. “Um. Judge-y?”

  “Yeah! Coming to conclusions or whatever. They think because Boston was homeless and had a drinking problem that he’s still that same person, but that’s not him at all. Some people get better and then go back, but not Boston.” Her face said she wholeheartedly believed it.

  Emily nearly choked on her rice. Why did it shock her to find out Boston had an ugly past? His involvement in a homeless shelter plus his prior homelessness, which he’d admitted to her firsthand, should’ve clued her in.

  But still. She swallowed the lump of food. “You’re saying Boston’s an alcoholic?”

  For the first time, Akela seemed to weigh her words. She gave Emily another measuring glance. “Well, he was. But it wasn’t even his fault. Everyone knows Jordan’s the reason he got caught up in a bad lifestyle. Boston didn’t have a problem in the world before he met her.” Akela’s gaze went distant, and her expression turned bitter. “She turned his whole life upside down and left him sitting in the mud when she was done with him.”

  Jordan. Emily heard that name yesterday. “Why would Boston still have contact with her if she messed him up so bad?”

  Akela’s eyes went round. “He wouldn’t! Boston hasn’t had anything to do with her for two years now.” She lowered her lashes. “Anyway, it’s his story. I probably shouldn’t tell it.”

  Emily forked eggs into her mouth and went for lighthearted. “Oh, c’mon. You’ve told me this much. My sister already mentioned he taught school before…. Well, before things changed, I guess. Jordan’s doing?”

  Akela was young but not as malleable as one might believe. She shook her head, even as her face expressed an apology. “I’ll tell you about Jordan, but I can’t talk about Boston’s history. It’s too personal.”

  “That’s okay. You’re a loyal friend. Nothing wrong with that. So, Jordan. She’s a drinker, too?”

  “Oh, yeah. A real party girl. Not the dedicated type. I mean, I guess she played the part. And, of course, you know Boston.” She ended with an eye roll.

  Emily didn’t, actually, but she was getting quite the education from Akela. She hazarded a guess. “He is the dedicated type?”

  Akela’s shoulders fell again. Did Boston have a clue how deeply this young woman felt his pain? Maybe that was Akela, though. Maybe she was profoundly empathetic and couldn’t help it. “Boston gave Jordan his whole heart. She doesn’t care about love, though. She dragged him down and took everything from him. Then, when he didn’t have nothing left to give, she left him. He fell apart. But wouldn’t you know it, someone like that ain’t satisfied doing it once. So, she came back and did it ag
ain. Every time she left, he crashed and burned, then got it together in time for her to show up again. The last time, he didn’t get back up again. That’s how he met Hani. They were on the streets together. I guess Jordan didn’t have no use for a homeless guy. It wasn’t until right after Boston and Hani opened The Canopy she showed up again.”

  Emily forgot her breakfast. “What happened? How did Boston keep from losing the shelter like he lost everything before? Did he finally refuse to cave?”

  “Hani.” Akela shrugged. “Hani was there to keep Boston from totally going up in flames. Eventually, he recovered. Jordan ain’t been seen since. Maybe she knows he’s got a support system now. Or maybe she’s found someone else to destroy.”

  What a God-awful human being. Worse yet, apparently Jordan had returned. Far more discomfiting now that Emily had the whole story. Or at least the bones of it. She had to admit it seemed odd. Boston didn’t seem the type to be so taken. Manipulated. How powerful did a woman have to be to have that kind of sway over a man?

  Emily couldn’t imagine having such dominion over another person. “It’s difficult to see Boston as someone easily taken advantage of. He’s so—”

  “Stubborn?” Akela offered.

  Emily had to smile. “Yes, definitely stubborn. And carefree, like nothing gets to him.”

  “Everything gets to Boston. You renting this place is enough to ruin his whole morning. He takes everything personally.”

  Again with the obvious adoration.

  Emily took the sentiment with a grain of salt. Stuff seemed to run right off him like a rain slicker. He had the offhand manner of someone with not much at stake in anything.

  Just the person to be in charge of her month-long vacation.

  Unless, of course, he didn’t stick around to finish the job. “Akela, what would happen if Jordan returned now? What would Boston do?”

  The young woman didn’t appear confident. Her reply came on a soft breath. “Sometimes, Hani asks the same question. Without Boston, there’s no Canopy. There’s always hope he’d do the right thing, but addiction is funny like that. It’s not the alcohol he fights. It’s her. It’ll always be her.”