Just My Luck

by Jennifer Honeybourn

  “I got extra strength,” Will says, climbing back into the car. He shakes out two pills and hands them to me, along with a bottle of red Gatorade. I swallow the pills as we make our way toward the Grand Palms, hoping that we don’t hit any traffic.

  “Thank you, by the way,” I say as we leave behind the big box stores and strip malls and head toward the resort. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t…” The lump in my throat is so big, I can’t even finish the sentence. It’s starting to hit me, finally, that I could have drowned.

  Will slides his arm around me and I lean against his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says.

  But I’m not sure how much longer that’s going to hold true. Karma is not finished with me yet. I’ve already sent back two of the items I’ve stolen, but my luck still stinks. I just hope that I can send the rest back before anything worse happens.

  Fourteen

  Unless we’re working, the staff isn’t supposed to be in the guest rooms. I don’t think Marielle would consider hanging out in Will’s suite part of my job, so just to be on the safe side, we head into the hotel separately—Will and Hayes through the lobby, me through the service entrance.

  Nalani is waiting for me just inside the door. I texted her on the way over. She’s on a break, so she’s in her uniform, her hair pulled back into two stubby French braids.

  Her eyes widen. “Yikes, that’s one big bandage.”

  My hand flies up to my forehead self-consciously.

  “I mean … it’s not that bad,” she says as we walk toward the elevator. She pulls me back slightly to prevent me from looking at myself in the mirrored doors.

  If it’s not that bad, then why won’t she let me look?

  The doors slide open and she ushers me into the elevator. She pushes the button for the eighth floor. I lean against the wall. My legs still feel a bit wobbly, and all I really want is to lie down and sleep the day away.

  We reach Will’s floor. The King Lunalilo Suite is at the end of a long hall. I haven’t been in this room before, but I’ve heard that it has the best view of the ocean in the entire hotel.

  Nalani knocks and Will answers the door right away. He’s traded his beach wear for a pair of shorts and a white T-shirt with Spock on it.

  “Now that you’re safely delivered, I have to get back to work,” she says. She gives Will the Vulcan salute and hustles back down the hall.

  This suite is like something out of a magazine—if you overlook the signs of the two teenage boys staying here, that is. The high ceilings and the floor-to-ceiling windows are designed to showcase the amazing view. The furniture is simple but clearly expensive, and in the corner of the room there’s a tall white sculpture that kind of looks like a giant bowling pin. I recognize it as John Koga’s work, my mom’s favorite Hawaiian artist. Someone has put a Red Sox ball cap on it.

  Hayes wanders into the room. He’s changed into a navy-blue smoking jacket, a big white H embroidered on the pocket, and a white captain’s hat, of all things. He slips behind the built-in bar in the corner of the room and reaches into the minibar for a carton of grapefruit juice. He dumps the juice into a cut-crystal glass, then twists the cap off a tiny bottle of vodka and slops half of it into his drink.

  Will shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything to his brother.

  “You must be tired,” he says to me. “You want to lie down in my room?”

  I’d like to lie down in his room with him, but I don’t think that’s what he means.

  “A nap is probably a good idea,” I say.

  “A nap is always a good idea,” Hayes says.

  Will continues to ignore him and leads me down the hall. We walk past a closed door that I assume belongs to Hayes. The master suite is next to it and I catch a glimpse of a huge room with a king-sized bed covered with a fluffy white duvet. Will’s room is at the end of the hall.

  You can learn a lot about a person from what they keep in their room. Here’s what I learn about Will Foster: he’s tidy—his T-shirts and shorts are all hanging neatly in the closet. A lot of guests don’t even bother unpacking; they just live out of their suitcase. He’s a reader, which I already knew, but he must spend a lot of time doing it because there are several ancient sci-fi books stacked on his nightstand along with an e-reader. His lucky red plastic telescope, a moleskin notebook, and an expensive-looking silver pen are balanced on top of the books.

  I wonder what he’s written in that notebook.

  “Sorry, housekeeping hasn’t been in yet,” he says when he notices me glance at the bed. He’s actually done a pretty good job of making the bed—not that it’s hard—but I’m impressed that he bothered. It’s not something most guests do.

  Will moves to the window and lowers the shade, darkening the room. I can no longer see his face, just the outline of his shape as he walks back toward me.

  “Holler if you need anything.” He touches my arm, his fingers as light as a butterfly on my skin, and I imagine what it would feel like to hug him. The top of my head would rest right in the hollow of his collarbone.

  “Sleep well, Marty,” he says. He pulls the door shut behind him.

  I climb under the covers. The pillow smells like coconut, from whatever product Will uses to get his hair looking like early Elvis. I imagine him lying here, in this exact spot, staring up the ceiling. Thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him. And despite the fact that my head is throbbing, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

  Fifteen

  When I wake up, it takes me a minute to figure out where I am. But then my forehead throbs and the events of this morning come rushing back to me. I sit up and turn on the lamp, spotting a bottle of water and Tylenol that someone—most likely Will—has left for me on the nightstand. Apparently I was out so hard, I didn’t even hear him come into the room.

  I down the Tylenol, then get out of bed. Will’s also left a thick white towel and one of his T-shirts for me at the foot of the bed. I pop into the huge marble bathroom attached to his room and turn on the shower. I glance in the mirror. It’s the first time I’ve seen myself since the accident and my stomach squirms at the sight of the stark white bandage taped to my forehead.

  Not getting the bandage wet in the shower isn’t easy, but I manage. I step back into my bathing suit, then pull Will’s T-shirt on. It hangs just above my knees.

  Before I leave his room, I glance at his notebook on the nightstand, wondering again what he writes in it. For a moment I consider peeking inside, to see if there’s anything about me in there, but the moment passes. Evidence that I’m becoming a better person with each passing day.

  I hear laughter as I go down the hall. Will, Hayes, and Nalani are sitting cross-legged in a circle on the living room floor, surrounded by plates of food, having a makeshift picnic. Nalani has changed out of her housekeeping uniform and into a white dress.

  I blush as Will’s eyes pass over me in his T-shirt.

  “I ordered your favorite,” Nalani says as I sit down beside her.

  “Thanks,” I say. She passes me a china plate with a grilled mac-and-cheese sandwich sliced diagonally, a fat dill pickle on the side.

  “A mac-and-cheese sandwich?” Hayes asks as I grab a bottle of ranch dressing from one of the trays and squirt a large blob onto my plate.

  “It’s a grilled cheese, but instead of just regular cheese, there’s macaroni squished inside it,” I say, suddenly self-conscious as the Foster brothers stare at my meal. It can be pretty messy to eat, so the last thing I want is Will watching me shovel it into my mouth. Nothing spells romance like having food all over your face.

  Hayes’s eyes narrow. He looks like he might have just woken up too, or maybe he’s just hungover. “Is that a Hawaiian thing? Like shave ice?”

  “It’s a Marty thing,” Nalani replies.

  I hold out half of the sandwich to him. “You want to try it?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m good.”

  “Come
on,” Nalani says. “Be brave.”

  He makes a face, but he grabs the sandwich from me and takes a small bite. “It’s good,” he admits.

  “Wait till you try Spam musubi,” I say.

  “Spam, as in canned ham?” Will asks.

  I nod. I’m kind of surprised he knows what it is. I can’t imagine they serve it in the places he goes to. Then again, some of the best restaurants on the island have Spam on the menu.

  “Is that another one of your inventions?” Hayes asks me as a piece of roast beef falls out of his sandwich and onto his bare knee.

  “Spam is big in Hawaii,” Nalani says. “There’s a Spam festival in Waikiki every spring.”

  “Spam Jam,” I add. I’ve made the pilgrimage to O’ahu for the festival a few times over the years with my brother and our friends.

  “That can’t be a real thing,” Hayes says.

  “Oh, it is.” Nalani scrolls through her phone and pulls up a photo. She turns the screen to show them a picture of her holding up a doughnut covered in tiny pink chunks of Spam.

  “You put it on doughnuts?” Will asks, wrinkling his nose.

  “We put it on everything,” I reply, but I’m distracted. Nalani’s always taking photos, even when we were working together. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. It’s totally possible that she took a picture when we were cleaning the room that belonged to the creepy old guy and his hot young girlfriend.

  Nalani and I had just finished making the bed when the woman we’d seen sunning herself on the balcony came into the room. She was wearing a black mesh cover-up over a purple bikini, her sunglasses pushed up into her blond hair like a headband. She smelled like sunscreen.

  Nalani and I might as well have been ghosts from the way the woman’s eyes slid past us as she glanced around the room.

  She walked over to pick up a gold watch from the bureau and slid it around her tanned wrist.

  “Did you change the sheets?” she said, fussing with the clasp on her watch.

  Nalani and I exchanged a wary glance. She’d just checked in last night. If the guests were staying for an extended period, we were instructed to change the sheets every three days. Unless, of course, the guest specifically asked us to do it every day.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nalani said, smiling brightly.

  I was always amazed that she could keep such a straight face when she lied.

  The woman didn’t acknowledge that she’d heard us. Nalani gave her the finger as she left the room. She picked up a hula-girl shot glass from the nightstand, the kind that you could get for two dollars at any souvenir store in Hawaii, and took a photo of herself pretending to do a shot. Then she posted the photo on Instagram.

  “Aren’t you worried someone from the hotel will see that?” I asked her as I started to fold the towel swans.

  “Nah,” she said. “My account is private. The only person from the hotel who follows me is you.”

  She handed me the shot glass. Just before we left the room, I slipped it into my pocket.

  I smile. That’s it! The photo Nalani posted would be time-stamped. I just need to look at her feed and I’ll know which of the two days is the right shift. From there, I should be able to figure out which room I took that stupid hula shot glass from.

  While the three of them continue talking about Spam—Will wants to find somewhere on the island that serves Spam poke bowls—I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll through Nalani’s photos. It consists mostly of pics of whatever she had for lunch and her dog, Daisy—and, sure enough, there’s one of Nalani in her uniform, her head tipped back, holding the shot glass to her mouth. The hula girl is winking at the camera. My shoulders relax.

  “But why not?” Hayes says. “We’re just sitting around, doing nothing. I thought you wanted to go?”

  “I do, but we don’t have to drop everything and go right this second,” Will says. “We have plenty of time. Besides, I don’t think Marty’s up for it.”

  I look up from my phone. Somehow I managed to tune out the rest of their conversation. “Up for what?”

  “Road trip to Hana,” Nalani says, grabbing the last deep-fried risotto ball and popping it into her mouth.

  I frown. “It’s a pretty long drive. There’s no way we could make it there and back before nightfall.” The road runs parallel to a cliff in some parts and there aren’t any streetlights, so once the sun sets, it’s almost guaranteed we’d drive over the cliff and into the ocean. Which is really not what I’m looking to do.

  Hayes shrugs. “So we’ll stay overnight.”

  “I’m in,” Nalani says, which doesn’t surprise me.

  I open my mouth to say no—my head still hurts and Will’s right, I’m not up for it—but Nalani anticipates I’m going to pull out my built-in excuse: my mother.

  “Just tell her you’re staying at my place,” she says.

  An overnighter with the Foster boys is definitely not what Marielle had in mind when she assigned me to show them around the island. This is a bad idea, but they’re all looking at me expectantly and I don’t want to be a wet blanket. Not when they’re all so excited.

  “I guess we’re going to Hana,” I say.

  * * *

  I borrow a pair of way-too-big board shorts from Will so I don’t have to walk through the hotel in just a T-shirt. While he and Hayes throw a few things together, I tell Nalani that I’m going downstairs to grab something from my mom’s office. Now that I have the exact date of our shift, I want to see if I can find the name of the person I stole the shot glass from.

  “You want me to come with you?” she asks. She’s lying on one of the loungers on the balcony, her face turned up to the sun.

  “No. I’m fine. I’ll meet you at the van.”

  Once I’m safely locked in my mom’s office, I pull up the list of ten rooms we cleaned that day on my mom’s computer. All of the rooms faced the gardens, so that doesn’t narrow it down at all. However, three of the accounts had children registered in the hotel’s kids club, so I can take those rooms off the list. I start googling the names of the other seven guests, to see if any photos turn up that match my memory of the older man in the bathrobe.

  The fourth name I try is Dr. Stephen Markle. I find a website for a plastic surgeon in Wilmington, Delaware. Sure enough, when I click on his bio, up pops a photo of a serious-looking man in a doctor’s coat. His hair is darker and fuller in this picture, but I recognize him immediately. I smile. Only one more item to go.

  * * *

  I still don’t feel well enough to drive, so Nalani is behind the wheel. I’m trying not to worry about the mileage we’re going to put on the van and whether Marielle will notice and question me about it.

  Since my house is on the way, we decide to stop so I can run in and grab a few things. My mom is still out, but I’m anxious as Nalani pulls the van into my driveway. I’m not embarrassed by where I live, exactly, but my house is definitely a downgrade compared to what Will and Hayes are used to.

  I hear Libby meowing as I walk down the hall toward my room, and feel a stab of guilt for leaving her on her own so much. When I open the door, she tries to bolt between my legs.

  “Sorry, Libs,” I say, nudging her gently back inside with my foot. I close the door so she can’t escape, and that’s when I notice she’s clawed the hell out of the wood.

  “Libby, no!”

  She looks up at me, all squishy gray face and wide green eyes, and the irritation drains out of me. It’s not her fault she’s trapped in here. I really have to find a home for her. It’s not fair to keep her locked up like this.

  I sigh and lean down to scratch her behind her ear. Despite my better judgment—and my brother’s warnings—I’ve become attached to her.

  I quickly change her litter and set down some fresh food and water, then shoot my brother a text asking him to check on her tonight. I don’t tell him where I’m going, but he already knows I was spending the afternoon at the hotel with Will, so I’m sure he�
��ll make the leap and assume I’m still with him. He won’t be happy—no matter how well they all got along this morning, my brother definitely won’t be jazzed to know I’m spending the night with Will. Even if it is totally innocent. Will said he’d book a separate hotel room for me and Nalani, so there’s no need to feel awkward or weird.

  It’s only one night, so I don’t need to pack much, just a change of clothes, some pj’s, and sunscreen. I slip out of Will’s shorts and pull on a pair of my own. I stuff a couple of dresses for Nalani and me into my backpack, along with some T-shirts and hoodies.

  I’m about to leave the room, when I backtrack to grab one more thing. I open my closet and reach for the shoebox. After my accident this morning, I’m even more determined to send the rest of these stolen items back as soon as possible. I stick the shot glass in my backpack, promising myself that I’ll mail it to Delaware when I reach Hana.

  After saying goodbye to Libby, I stop in the kitchen to leave a note for my mom. I could just text her, but this way, she can’t say no. I can’t tell her that I’m working, because she knows my schedule, so I tell her a version of the truth: Road trip to Hana with Nalani. Home tomorrow. Love you.

  I’m sure she will blow up my phone when she gets the note, so I turn it off. I’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow.

  I lock the house and walk back down the driveway.

  “Everyone wants to have sex with Lara Croft,” Nalani says as I slide open the van door. “So that’s a boring answer.”

  “Fine, who would you pick?” Hayes is beside her in the passenger seat, working his way through a bag of sunflower seeds. I frown. I just know I’m going to find the shells for those seeds all over the van.