Jo wore her down, making Hana feel simultaneously old and prissy for declining. This was Jo’s modus operandi: she’s a leader, not in a bossy way, but by the sheer force of her personality. Somehow, you got caught in her slipstream, unaware you were even being led.
It never bothered Hana as much as it irked Bea. Bookish, and fiercely introverted, Bea found Jo’s energy and extroversion overwhelming. Perhaps it washed over Hana more because she was in between: academic, but not Bea’s level. Sporty, but not an athlete like Jo.
“I’m going to post a view of the island from here . . .” Jo takes a photograph.
Hana turns away. It pisses her off—this constant documenting of every move they make—but she can’t complain. This trip is a result of Jo’s frenetic social media activity: as a travel influencer she gets paid in kind with free holidays. She has nearly four hundred thousand followers who like that she’s natural, regularly commenting on her “relatability”—her slightly too-wide mouth, the Streisandesque kink to her nose.
“That can’t be ours.” Jo slips her phone back into her pocket. “Not already.” A boat is making its way across the water, leaving a foamy spume of white in its wake. Hana glances at the blocky lettering on the side. lumen. Jo checks her Fitbit. “Actually, it’s already five to. Where’s everyone else?” She turns to the beach. “Saying that, I think that’s Seth over there . . .”
Hana follows her gaze. “Is it?”
“Is it?” Jo mimics. “Conjure up some vague enthusiasm, Han.” She shakes her head. “I know you’re not a fan. He’s too ‘risky’？”—she makes quote marks with her fingers—“for you, isn’t he?” Jo’s face tightens. “I wish I’d never told you now. It wasn’t exactly serious.”
A bead of sweat trickles between Hana’s shoulder blades. Jo’s the master of this: the sudden turn. “A criminal record is serious. We were only looking out for you.”
“He got in with the wrong crowd. End of it.” Jo’s eyes flash. “Not everyone’s perfect, you know, not everyone can do happy-clappy songs all day, teach kids how to add.”
Hana looks at her. There it is. The sting in the tail. This is why this holiday is a bad idea. Because Jo, as usual, is able to chop her down with a few choice words. The worst thing is, it’s not just a gibe, it is what the rest of the family think of her—a reductive cliché, knee-deep in Play-Doh, singsong calling the roll.
They’d never imagine the reality: the kids’ sticky, pinchy fingers in hers, the nitty-gritty machinations of their brains that slip straight from their mouths, no filter, and how, after a term with them, Hana knew exactly what kind of humans they’d become.
Jo puts up her hand, waving, all smiles again as Seth approaches. Switch flicked.
“Yay,” she shouts. “You’re here!”
Hana does a double take. A well-built man in shorts and a T-shirt is walking toward them. The height, gait, the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes—it’s gut-wrenchingly familiar. With the sun in her eyes, his face is hard to make out, the similarities uncanny. Despite what her logical mind is telling her, her heart leaps before reality hits.
Of course it’s not him. Liam is gone. Dead, dead, dead.
Swallowing hard, she collects herself. It’s then she notices another, slighter figure behind Seth. It’s Caleb, Bea’s boyfriend. But no Bea. She asks Jo, “Where’s Bea?”
“She canceled.” Jo’s voice pitches higher. “I told you, didn’t I?”
“No,” Hana says tightly. “When did this happen?”
“Last week. Something came up with work, I think. A trip to the U.S.” Bea canceled. It shouldn’t be a surprise. She’s always been a workaholic, but the past few years have taken it to another level.
“So she sent Caleb instead. A placeholder.”
Jo shrugs. “It’ll be good to get to know him.”
“You didn’t want to rearrange it for when Bea could come?”
“No. Too late, and besides, we need this, Han.” There’s a look of quiet determination on her face. “To reconnect.” Before Hana can reply, Jo starts walking up the jetty, long, loping strides. “I’ll go and meet them.” But as she walks past Hana, Jo knocks over her own backpack, balanced on her case. Unzipped, the contents immediately scatter: hairbrush, diary, a purse. A half-empty bottle of water careers across the jetty. “Shit . . .” Jo grabs it, clumsily shoving everything back in before resuming her jog to Seth.