They paddle slowly toward the archway of rock. Caleb’s right: when they reach the opening it’s so narrow that they can’t paddle, have to stop to let momentum carry them through and into the cave. Hana tenses as the sides of the kayak scrape the wall, a rough, rasping sound, but a few moments later, they’re inside.
Instantly, the cave dims to a murky gloom. The limestone ceiling is low, blotchy with moisture. Barnacles and limpets lace the stone. It’s a few feet wider now, with room to paddle on both sides.
“Everything all right?” Jo turns.
“Fine.” Hana’s voice echoes off the low ceiling and walls. Paddling farther in, it gets even darker, the water nearly black. A musty smell pervades the air, fishy and stale.
Up ahead, the passage narrows again. “Are you sure it follows around?”
“Sure.” Hana can hear the hint of impatience in her sister’s voice. “Hold on.” Jo reaches for the slim tube of the flashlight hanging on a bungee cord around her neck, flicks it on. The beam picks out a curve in the wall about twenty yards ahead. “See?”
Hana’s fear gives way to a sudden euphoria, something she hasn’t felt in a long time. Adventures like this had not been in the cards since Liam died. He was the active one. Her default, without him, was sofa surfer.
The channel of water finally widens enough for them to paddle side by side. Jo directs the flashlight straight ahead, a thin shaft of light spilling across the water. It turns the surface smoky—an eerie blue-green—and casts long shadows against the cave wall. Unfathomable shapes appear within the stone, a frenzy of color and texture.
Hana paddles ahead, absorbing it all. “This is amazing,” she says, turning. Jo grins. Hana realizes that this is what they were missing these past few years—a shared experience like this. Coffees, quick meals, actual adventures together. Making new memories.
She’s about to voice as much when she hears the low murmur of Jo’s voice. Hana watches, dismayed as Jo directs the camera around her and Hana realizes that the smile she thought was at her is in fact directed at Jo’s phone. So much for family time. Was Instagram and TikTok what this trip was all about? An exercise in self-promotion?
“Can’t we just have a few minutes without that bloody phone? You documenting every single thing . . . Don’t you ever want to be in the moment rather than recording it?”
Jo turns, her face tight. “Han, for God’s sake, lighten up, it’s partly why we’re here. I’ve got to produce content about the retreat to justify the gifted stay.” She shakes her head. “It’s always the same with you. So bloody judgmental.”
Absorbing the hurt in her sister’s expression, Hana hesitates, regretting saying anything. Perhaps she is too quick to judge.
But before she can speak, Jo’s face softens. “But you’re right, I’ll put it away.” The edge has left her tone. “I forget how all-consuming it feels to other people; Seth says the same. I get it, but sometimes all this . . .” She nods at her phone. “It’s easier than the real world.”
Hana looks at her curiously. “What do you mean?”
“This edited version of life I’m putting out there. I prefer it sometimes. None of the messy stuff in real life, the weird dynamics between people.”
Hana smiles. “You’re trying to say we’re messy . . .”
“A little.” Jo grins. “It’s just still a bit odd, between us all, isn’t it? I keep wondering if it is a good idea, trying to force something that isn’t there anymore. You, me, Maya.” She hesitates. “How’s Maya been with you?”
“Fine, I mean, we’re still catching up, but apart from that . . .”
“You’re sure? She hasn’t said anything?”
“About what?”
A flicker of something in Jo’s eyes before she smiles. “Nothing in particular.” But as they paddle away, the smile stays fixed in place. A beat too long to be genuine.
9
Hana closes the restroom door and crosses the restaurant, threading her way between tables packed with diners. She inhales the delicious smells, the air heady with the smoky char of meat, the resin note of the pines above. The strings of lights crisscrossing above illuminate half-empty wine bottles, glistening puddles of olive oil, and pillows of focaccia.
The view from here is otherworldly, the harsh blues of daytime sea and sky peeled away to reveal something softer and subtler. The distraction costs her: as she steps forward, she stumbles, ankle giving way as her sandal catches on the uneven stone.