Six shrugs, unable to even pretend he cares about the inconvenience. “Sorry,” he says, sounding not at all sorry. “Time just got away from us.”
“Time got away from you,” Josh corrects. “She wasn’t the one who was supposed to text Mom.”
“Joel, we had reservations and this is a family trip,” his father begins. “We expect you to—”
Beth stops his lecture with a gentle hand to his forearm. “Jim, it’s fine. He made a mistake and he won’t do it again. Besides, we’ve probably overscheduled the kids. They deserve to have a few nights out without us old folks along.”
She’s covering for Six. She’s forgiving him quickly so that no one else can hold him accountable. All this time, I’ve felt like Six and I were in the same boat, the unloved black sheep of the family whose every misstep is magnified and whose every good deed still manages to be cast in a poor light.
But we aren’t the same at all. We are both black sheep, but Beth loves her son so much she won’t even let him suffer when he’s in the wrong. And my mother doesn’t love me enough to protect me, even when I’m in the right.
He grins at me now like we’ve gotten away with something. “Maybe I need a wife to keep me on the straight and narrow,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “What do you think, Mom? Should I keep her around?”
I stiffen. Never, not once, in all the time I’ve known him, has Six even hinted at marriage. I can’t imagine why he suddenly is now. You don’t decide you want to marry a woman you forgot about mere hours before. Josh stands frozen, staring at his brother as if he’s even more stunned and unhappy about what was just said than I am.
He opens the van door. Six tries to take the front and Josh snarls, “That’s her seat, she gets car sick,” and I start to wonder if I’ve made a grave error by remaining on this trip.
PART II
LANAI
“The tiniest of all the islands, and the loveliest as well.”
From Lanai: The Tiny Jewel
20
DREW
“It’s only eighteen miles at its widest point,” says Beth, reading to us aloud from her trusty guide book. “And it has no traffic lights. Can you imagine? No traffic lights.”
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.”