The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  I flash a pained grin at our van driver, a local who probably doesn’t love hearing his home described as some kind of wasteland.

  “And there’s no hospital,” she continues. “Oh my God. Forty-four percent of the population lives below the federal poverty line. Isn’t that a shame?”

  “Mom,” I hear Josh intone, firm but gentle.

  “I just think it’s a shame,” she argues. “Women who are thirty-six weeks pregnant can’t remain on the island. It’s primitive!”

  I cringe and turn back toward her. “So what’s the plan while we’re here?” I ask desperately, before she says something even worse.

  She glances up from her book with a smile, happy someone is finally on board with her agenda. “We’ll just relax this evening, and tomorrow we’ll golf—you’re sure you don’t want to come?”

  Am I certain I don’t want to waste an entire day in Hawaii hitting a small ball while dressed like a fucking idiot? Quite.

  “There’s also a sunrise hike,” she says. “The hotel provides a flashlight and map.”

  I can’t help it—my eyes meet Josh’s. The sunrise is kind of our thing now. He raises his brow as if to say Obviously, we’re doing it.

  “Mostly, we’re just here for a little rest and relaxation before the backpacking trip in Kauai,” Beth concludes.

  I blink. I must have misheard her. There’s no way she just said backpacking trip. I doubt she’s ever stayed at less than a five-star hotel in her life, and camping is rarely a five-star experience, as far as I know.

  “Um…backpacking?”

  “Didn’t Joel tell you?” she asks. “I booked us on this amazing two-day hiking trip on the Kalalau Trail in Kauai. It’s supposed to be one of the most scenic hikes in the world.”

  “Mom,” Josh says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know that it’s a good idea. A hike like that…it’s a lot.”

  I see a silent exchange occur between his hard stare and her refusal to meet his eye. “We’ll see,” she says quietly.

  “Does anyone actually want to backpack?” asks Six. “That sounds like a lot of work for not much fun.”

  Beth deflates visibly. She’s been down over Sloane’s departure all afternoon, and Six’s lack of enthusiasm is the icing on the cake. I feel forced to salvage this.

  “I think it sounds amazing,” I gush, “but I didn’t bring any gear.”

  “Oh,” she says, perking up. “I rented it all there. You only need your toiletries and a change of clothes.”

  “Great,” I say weakly. As much as I was hoping to get out of it, if it matters to Beth, I’m in. She’s been so nice to me this entire trip that I’d suffer through worse for her, and surely camping can’t be all bad or people wouldn’t do it.

  “And,” she adds, reopening her guide book, “they have a hospital in case one of us gets hurt. Unlike Lanai.”

  I glance backward, but it’s not Six I look at. It’s Josh. His mouth moves ever so slightly, as if he’s trying not to laugh. Suddenly, the backpacking trip doesn’t seem so awful after all.

  The Four Seasons Lanai feels exactly how I’d expect a Hawaiian hotel to feel, if it were crafted by billionaires for fellow billionaires. Everything is lush and jungle-y and wood toned. A man-made lagoon stocked with tropical flora and fauna quietly weaves through and around the hotel, exotic birds squawk from cages, and even though the hallways are open to the outside, there isn’t a speck of dirt anywhere. The tropical breeze is gentle, not too warm and not too cold. I imagine they’ve managed to somehow pull strings with Mother Nature along with everyone else.

  Our room faces the ocean, of course. Even from the doorway I can see dolphins frolicking, putting on a better show than you’d get at Sea World.

  Six wants to play guitar for a while, so I put on my bikini and wander to the beach. Almost no one is out this late in the day, aside from Josh.

  I grab a towel from the attendant and wave him off when he offers to get me a chair. “I’m just here to harass someone,” I tell him.

  Josh glances over—head to toe and away again, as if he wants me here and doesn’t want me here, all at once.

  “My mom just went up,” he says.

  “Did you want to be alone?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “As long as you’re not down here to tell me a hundred times that you hate that I’m on this trip by myself, we’re fine.”

  “I’m sorry about Sloane.” Not that I’m sorry she’s gone, necessarily, but I know all too well what it’s like to be the third wheel.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he says.

  I glance at him. I didn’t think it was my fault, but his response, and the way he’s avoiding my eye right now, leads me to think he does. “I know it’s not my fault. I was just trying to express sympathy, robot man. It’s what humans do for each other.”

  “Ah, so we’re assuming you’re human now? That wasn’t the premise I was working off.”

  It’s kind of a low blow. I feel closer to him than any member of the Bailey family at present, but now that Six is here, he’s apparently shunted me right back to being the stranger he hates.

  “Fine,” I reply, standing. “I’ll let you sulk by yourself.”

  “Hey,” he says, reaching up to grab my wrist. “Stay. I’m sorry. I’m just a little…testy about the whole thing. There’s nothing like having your mother desperately sad about your dating life to make you feel like you’ve gone wrong somewhere. That’s all.”

  I retake my seat. If he’s feeling bad here, it will be worse in Kauai. Does he really want to be the only one sleeping in a tent alone? It’s not as if Six won’t go out of his way to make him feel like an asshole about it either.

  “Okay,” I reply softly. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Like, if you want me to sit out the camping trip or whatever, I—”

  He smacks his forehead. “Jesus, no. The one thing that could make this whole shitshow worse is abject pity from you of all people.”

  And there we have it. Just that fast, he’s back to being an asshole. I laugh, the sound so sharp and bitter even the birds startle. “Right,” I reply. “The girl so pathetic she might steal the silver. Pity from her would be a new low, wouldn’t it?”

  His eyes go wide. “What?”

  “I heard you. Last summer. You were complaining about how I wasn’t good enough, and then you told your mother to keep an eye on the silver. Don’t try to talk your way out of it either. There’s really not much room for interpretation in a statement like that.”

  He closes his eyes and blows out a resigned breath. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It…sounds much worse than I intended. And I guess saying I didn’t think you and my brother were a good fit doesn’t sound much better.”

  I’d secretly begun to hope he had an excuse, like Tali suggested. That he didn’t really think I’m a piece of shit. But no—that’s exactly what he thought.

  We watch the waves lap against the shore for a moment. I’m going to try to get over the silver thing. It probably wouldn’t have bothered me so much in the first place if I hadn’t spent so many years subject to Richard’s tantrums and accusations—That thieving Russian bitch was in my room again was all he had to say about me to ruin my week. Maybe because I was nine when he started saying it.

  And maybe part of the problem was I felt like I deserved Josh’s disdain. Because the truth is that on the night when I first saw him—standing on the other side of a hotel ballroom—he took my breath away. His gaze left me feeling like a bottle of champagne shaken a little too fiercely, and I knew how wrong it was, even before discovering he was the brother of the guy who’d brought me to the party.

  “I’m really sorry, Drew,” he says. “It honestly had nothing to do with you.”

  “It’s fine,” I reply, willing it to be true.

  His mouth curves up, a hint of a lopsided grin. “And in my defense, you did refer to me that night as personality free.”

  I laugh half-heartedly. “In my de
fense, it isn’t your strong suit.”

  Enough, I tell myself. Josh has enough problems right now without me piling on at the moment. Has had them, based on the couch in his room last night, already made up for sleep.

  I don’t know why I feel relieved that he slept on the couch. The idea of him undressing her, or even flirting with her, produces a tiny bitter seed in my chest that I refuse to look at too carefully.

  “You and Sloane—” I venture, and then I stop, uncertain what I want to ask or how I can phrase it without sounding jealous. “Why her? I mean, she’s pretty. I’ll admit that much. But she’s just…not right for you.”

  He closes his eyes. “The refugee camp is kind of like being in space. You’re so isolated, and it’s so stressful at times, and there are very few people who get what you’re going through and even fewer who speak English. Things happen.”

  I give a dark laugh. “Based on all the bedding on your couch last night, I assume they didn’t keep happening.”

  He winces. “No, they didn’t. My mom invited her as a surprise for me and…it just didn’t feel right when I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. You must have thought it was pretty goddamn weird when you got to our room last night.”

  I shake my head. “Nah. I already assumed you only believe in sex for procreation and would prefer to handle it all with test tubes, if possible.”

  “Is that what you think?” he asks. There’s the tiniest movement of his mouth, a sly look in his eyes as they cut slowly to me. The look he’d have if he were actually thinking about sex and wanting it, and about to get it. And I know, based simply on that look and the smug confidence in his voice, that he is anything but ambivalent and clinical. That sleeping with him would be hot and indulgent and messy and perfect and he would ruin me for anyone else.

  And I think I’d be better off not knowing it.

  “No,” I whisper as I rise and walk away. “Not really.”

  When I get back to the room, Six sets his guitar down and pats the bed beside him.

  “I’m all sandy,” I reply.

  He grins. “I don’t mind.”

  “I do,” I tell him. “I’m the one who’ll have to sleep in it. Let’s just sit on the balcony.”

  To my surprise, he rises and follows me outside. He takes the seat beside me and reaches out to grab my hand. The sun is pretty much gone in a sky rapidly turning the color of slate, where a tiny crescent moon blinks to life. “This is pretty amazing, huh?”

  “Yeah. Different than Waikiki, but I like it.”

  “No medical care, though,” he says, and we both laugh.

  “My God, I thought your mom would never stop.”

  “I didn’t want her to,” he says with a grin. “If that ride had been even a moment longer, the word savage would absolutely have been used and I’d have laughed so hard.”

  I grin at him. This is who he was when we first met backstage at Glastonbury. He was cool and funny and he wasn’t trying to impress me, which I liked. We just got along. It felt natural.

  “Yesterday was fun, right?” he asks.

  I glance at him. Yesterday was fun…until it wasn’t. “I can’t drink like that anymore, Six. And it’s not just because of all the rumors about me. I just don’t have it in me to drink for eight hours straight.”

  He picks up my right foot and places it in his lap, sinking his thumbs into the arch. It’s blissful. “It’s for the best. One of us has to grow up first, right? Who’s going to plan out all these trips for us when we’re old if we’re both still getting hammered all day long?”

  I don’t know how to respond to that. A year ago, I’d have been thrilled. I’d have rushed off to text Tali, demanding she agree that Six and I had turned a corner. Now, I don’t even want to agree with it myself. I feel as if, in doing so, I’d be making him a promise I’m not sure I can keep.

  The breeze picks up and it feels like a warning. A sign I should extricate myself quickly, before it’s too late. “You might want to plan these trips with someone who doesn’t tend to go missing or who you notice is missing,” I reply, softening it with a laugh. “Especially on an island where there’s no hospital.”

  He swallows. “That was shitty of me last night. It wasn’t that I didn’t notice you were gone, though. I just assumed you were, like, dancing or talking to people. Sometimes I forget you’re not like me, that you’re more of an introvert. I’m gonna try to be better.”

  It’s the most earnest thing he’s ever said to me. And it leaves me terrified, rather than hopeful. I’m not sure I want him to try.

  21

  JOSH

  January 28th

  The next morning, I’m waiting in the lobby for her with a flashlight. Joel made noises about joining us this morning. I’m quietly relieved when she shows up alone.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  “You’re a little too eager,” she replies. “You’re not planning to throw me off the cliff, right?”

  I shrug. “Not the kind of thing you commit to until you’ve assessed the situation.”

  A guide from the hotel leads a small group of us outside, where the world is the deepest charcoal, just shy of absolute darkness. Using the flashlights, we weave past lagoons and pools to reach the path that goes to the beach and beyond. By the time we’ve begun to ascend the cliff, the sky is lightening into various shades of gray, with the barest hint of a bright orange sun at the horizon’s base.

  We keep walking, up and up, past sharp rocks and crashing waves. I’m less focused on the scenery than I am on making sure Drew, who is quietly humming and paying little attention, is not too close to the edge. Eventually, the sky lightens a bit more and I can finally make out the coastline curving in the distance, and a big rock in the water with a Hawaiian outrigger canoe passing nearby, heading toward the rising sun in heavy surf. I reach out, placing a hand on Drew’s hip to get her attention. “Look,” I say, nodding toward it. My hand drops, though it felt better where it was.

  “How do I get that job for a living?” she asks. “It looks peaceful.”

  I laugh. For someone with an unfathomable amount of money, she spends an awful lot of time trying to escape it all. “Are we back to your living off the land fantasy?”

  She grins. “Maybe. I could just take my big boat out each morning and live at The Four Seasons like those guys do.”

  “Yes,” I reply. “I’m sure they all live at The Four Seasons. And then they go into the hills to gather breakfast from the Sour Patch Kid Trees.” She smiles, and though she’s barefaced—her hair in a messy bun, her tiny form swimming in an oversized sweatshirt—she’s never looked more beautiful to me.

  We reach the overlook at last and take a seat, side by side, to wait for the sun to rise over neighboring Maui, though it shows no sign of happening soon.

  “This had better be one hell of a sunrise if there aren’t even gonna be cappuccinos involved.”

  I reach into my daypack and hand her a bottled Starbucks drink.

  “Best I could do on short notice,” I reply. “The gift shop didn’t have Sour Patch Kids.”

  “Fucking Four Seasons,” she mutters, but she is smiling down at the drink like it’s something precious. It takes so little to make her happy and I wonder if anyone in her life even tries. She peers up at me. “You’re kind of a keeper, Joshua Bailey.”

  Her eyes are the color of whiskey in the dim light. My gaze falls to her mouth and away. How the hell can she be with my brother? It astonishes me a little more with every minute I’m near her. “I might say the same to you, but I don’t even know your real name.”

  Placing the drink down next to her, she leans back on the rock, bracing on her palms. “Why can’t Drew Wilson be my real name?”

  I smile to myself. She’ll argue over anything. “Well, Drew is a boy’s name for starters.”

  “Not necessarily. And it’s better than Joshua. Do you know what Joshua means? It means diarrhea mouth. Look it up.”

  My teeth sink into my lip as I
try not to laugh. Her gaze follows the movement like a shark scenting blood, and desire hits me like a hammer, plucking a muscle low in my abdomen.

  I force myself to look away. We sit in silence for a moment, watching the sun as it begins to warm the horizon. “My real name is Ilina Andreyev,” she says quietly, not looking at me. “It was a little too ethnic sounding, according to my manager. Andreyev means son of Andrew. So I started going by Drew.”

  “You’re Russian?”

  She shrugs. “My father was. My mother went to Russia after college and he came over with her.”

  I sense at any moment this curtain she’s opened will be pulled shut. I know I need to proceed carefully, not look too far in, and she might close the curtain anyway.

  “Was he a lawyer too?” I ask.

  She laughs. “God, no. A musician. That was her first mistake…musicians are the worst.”

  My smile is muted. Some of them are, I think. Like the one you’re with. “So what happened?”

  “She wanted to be an opera singer and he wanted to be in a band, and neither of them were good enough at what they did to make a living from it.” She scuffs her sneaker into the dirt and kicks a rock down the hill. “So my mom went to work as a paralegal, and then went to law school, which my dad deeply resented and felt emasculated by, and he drove a cab until he drank himself to death.”

  My hand nudges hers. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs. “I can’t be ashamed of what she does for a living forever.”

  She laughs and I do too. There’s more here she isn’t saying, I’m certain. There’s more in the fact that she has never mentioned her mother once, until this moment, and that it sounds like she was closer to her dad and lost him young. Messy, Sloane says in my head. Resilient, I think again.

  The sun begins to burst over the horizon at last and we watch quietly, my thigh pressed to hers, her hand resting on the rock just behind me, brushing my back every once in a while.