The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  24

  JOSH

  My mother is almost impossible to irritate, and yet I’ve managed.

  She doesn’t want to look at the trail. She doesn’t want to face her limitations. Clinging blindly to bad plans has worked for her thus far, if anyone would consider her marriage working. I’ve allowed her to do it. I’ve lived with her shitty choices and I’ve done what I can to keep her happy in spite of them.

  But this is different. I read about this hike on the plane. Even if she isn’t doing the dangerous part, it will still be steep and slippery, and while I want this trip to be everything she dreamed of, I can’t let her get badly injured in a reckless last bid to see the world.

  We arrive at the parking lot, and she’s tired simply from the quarter-mile walk to the start of the trail. She marches forward anyway, into the dense woods, reminding me a little of stubborn Drew on our first hike.

  I laugh quietly at the memory of her that day, so tired and thirsty because she refused to bring water.

  My mother looks at me over her shoulder and her expression softens. She’s unable to stay mad at me or Joel for long, which is a big part of the problem. If she’d ever been able to stay mad at my brother, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out to be such an asshole. “What’s funny?” she asks, with a hint of a smile. “I know you’re not already laughing at me.”

  “I was thinking about Drew, the day we hiked Pillboxes,” I tell her. I’m still grinning. “She’s so goddamn stubborn she wouldn’t admit she was exhausted. She wouldn’t even admit she needed water. All I had to do was tell her not to jump off one of the bunkers and she’d have done a swan dive just to prove me wrong.”

  My mother laughs. Already, not five minutes into this hike, her breath is labored. “I really love that girl,” she says. “I hope your brother doesn’t mess things up.”

  My chest is tight. My mother is too blind to Joel’s faults to see just how terrible he is for Drew. “I suspect he already has.”

  My mother waves a dismissive hand. “They’ll still end up together,” she says. “Mark my words. She’s good for him.”

  But he isn’t good for her. I think of her in Lanai yesterday, saying I’m not looking for that when I suggested she should be able to lean on someone. Whatever happened to her growing up, being with him will only continue the cycle, and I want it to stop.

  My mother continues to plow forward, though the path is muddy and it’s going to be a beast to come back down, part of what makes this hike so treacherous.

  Her pace is slowing. We have to step off the trail to let other people pass us. I can see in her eyes that she’s mostly given up. I hate it, though it’s for the best.

  “I know it’s hard,” she says, “and I know you’re very different people, but please make an effort with your brother. He’s going to need you when I’m not here.”

  I close my eyes in frustration. He’s the last person I want to help, he’s the last person I want to support, but there is so little I can do for my mom, other than this. Other than being civil to my father when he doesn’t even try to hide that he’s cheating, or being pleasant to my brother when I want to punch him in the face. “I know, Mom,” I tell her. “I’m doing my best.”

  We make it to the first lookout point. From here, there’s a clear view of the cliffs stretching out for miles and miles, the waves crashing hundreds of feet below us. My mom looks at it and swallows. Her eyes fill with tears.

  I wrap my arm around her. I knew the day I arrived in Honolulu that her cancer had spread. She was frail but also jaundiced, so it’s probably in her liver. She wants us to have this one last trip together without the weight of what’s coming. I’m trying to give it to her.

  “It’s a really good view,” she whispers.

  I swallow hard. “It is.”

  “Let’s get a photo,” she says, brushing away her tears. I hold the camera far enough to get the two of us and the coastline behind us. We both smile.

  I hope I can look at this later on and convince myself we were happy.

  25

  DREW

  Six and I sit out on the small beach overlooking Hanalei Bay and the cliffs of the Na Pali coast.

  I want to kayak down this little river that winds toward Hanalei, but Six is scared to be away from his phone and more scared of losing it if we go in.

  “I’m not letting Brian fuck me over,” he says. “Because you know he’ll try.”

  I can’t help but think that if I were in his shoes, he’d be saying Babe, chill.

  “Your mom was really upset about you missing the trip,” I tell him while he waits for his email to refresh. He nods distractedly and I put down the cocktail menu. “Six, are you listening to me?” I demand. He glances up—alarmed, slightly irritated.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he says as if I’m nagging, “my mom was upset. I’m here now. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

  Suddenly my patience with him evaporates. I’m not sure why, but this trip matters to Beth and it’s as if we’re all failing her, even me. She wants to bring her family together, she wants to see her boys settle down, she wants Jim to pay attention to Six the way he does Josh, and it’s like herding cats…the harder she works, the more they seem to wander off in different directions, evading her.

  “I want you to stop being a jerk,” I reply.

  He meets my gaze at last. “What?”

  “Six, take a look at your mother,” I tell him, and suddenly my throat is clogged. “Do you know how goddamned lucky you are? All she wants in the entire world is to spend time with you and make you happy. That’s it.”

  I have to stop because I really am going to cry and I’m not entirely sure why. I’m far too old to still be hoping for that from my own mother.

  His brow furrows. For a moment he reminds me of Josh and I feel the oddest burst of affection for that little trough between his brows. Except Six deserves to worry a little. As far as I can tell he hasn’t done nearly his share.

  “Yeah,” he says, “I know. What’s your point?”

  “My point is that you’re taking her for granted,” I reply. “My point is that she planned this entire trip for you and Josh, and you missed most of it, and now you’re talking about leaving Kauai, and just once, you’ve got to put someone else first.”

  He rolls his eyes and snatches up the cocktail menu. “I’m still here, aren’t I? It’s like you want to be mad at me about something.”

  “No, I want you to stop even referencing the possibility of flying home for two days for this interview. Stop sitting there on your phone when she’s talking to you. She had cancer. She got through it. Give her some indication you’re glad she’s still around.”

  His nostrils flare. He flags down the waitress. “You’re making me sound like an asshole.”

  I rise from my chair. “I’m pretty sure you’re making yourself sound like an asshole.”

  I wander down to the shore. The boulders and volcanic rock make wading out tricky and require constant watchfulness, but it gives me something to focus on other than Six and Josh and the fact that this whole trip seems to be getting increasingly screwed up as it goes on. And the most screwed up part of all is that I only want to be around the wrong Bailey son.

  I’m still out in the water when I see Beth and Josh walking down the long path to the beach, with him hovering a little over her, making sure she’s okay on the steep bits. And for a moment my heart just swells.

  I love everything about your face. My eyes travel over him as my mind spins quietly. I love your nose and your stern brows and your full lower lip that rarely moves into a smile. I love it more for the fact that it does move for me. And I love the way your eyes light up when you see me, even when you are otherwise perfectly still.

  I love the way you take care of everyone, the way you always try to do the right thing.

  Thank God you’re not even a possibility.

  Josh gets his mom set up on a lounge chair and comes to where I stand in the water. Hi
s eyes brush over me and then jerk back up to my face, as if he forgot himself for a moment.

  “Thought I’d better make sure you don’t need saving,” he says.

  I grin. “I never need saving. I’m in fantastic shape.” His gaze darts, for a moment, to my hips and then away again. “How far did you and your mom go?”

  He frowns. “We went up for about thirty minutes before she finally agreed it might be too much.” There’s a sort of sadness wrapped around him. I wish I knew how to cut through it. “It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow, so, uh, choose what you wear carefully. I’m guessing if the whole trail is like what I saw, we won’t reach the campsite ‘til dinner.”

  I take a cautious step forward, trying to get past the rocks. Between the pulse of the waves and all the boulders, it feels like I could topple right over. “Were you under the impression I was going to show up in a ballgown and heels? I’m not Sloane.”

  He gives a disgruntled laugh. “Glad you’re still managing to take potshots when she’s thousands of miles away. I just meant, like, don’t wear some stupid lacy thong that’ll ride up your ass the whole time.”

  I look at him over my shoulder. “Spend a lot of time thinking about my panties, do you?”

  He blinks, shocked and guilty. So guilty, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He schools his expression. “Fine. When you’re chafed, don’t come crying to me.”

  “Did you really imagine that if I had chafing on my genitalia, I would come crying to you? Oh, Josh, can you take a look at my vagina?” I ask in a whispery baby voice. “It hurts so bad.”

  “Jesus,” he grunts, plowing forward to where the water is deeper. “Forget I brought it up.”

  “You don’t need to worry about my panties!” I shout after him. “I’m not planning on wearing any.”

  He exhales then, and it’s not weary or disdainful. He sounds like he just got the wind knocked out of him. I hope he’s past the rocks, because he dives right in.

  26

  DREW

  January 30th

  I was nine when my mother announced she was leaving my father for Steven, her boss, who lived in New York City. She was full of promises about how much better our lives would be, but really it was her life she was concerned with.

  I didn’t want to leave New Jersey, or my bedroom, or my school. Most of all, I did not want to leave my father. “I’d give anything to stop her,” he told me on my last night at home, “but there’s nothing I can do.”

  My mother and Steven both had law degrees and money. They’d both been born in the US. There was no way my father could fight them. For the next two years, I heard my father say I’d give anything or I’ll do my best and it broke my heart every time. Because I believed him, and nothing ever came of it.

  The very last time I heard that phrase was the night I called to tell him my mother was removing his visitation rights. “I’ll tell them I want to live with you,” I pled in whispers, praying I wouldn’t be overheard. “Talk to your lawyer.”

  “I’d give anything to make that possible, Lina,” my father said. “I’ll do my best.”

  I know now I should never have taken him at his word. I know now when someone says those things what they really mean is I’m not even going to try.

  That’s how I know that when Six says he’s gonna do his best to come on the backpacking trip, it means he won’t be coming at all.

  Yes, he showed every sign of planning to come, frantically reorganizing both our packs while I was out of the room this morning, asking someone in the band to reschedule the Pitchfork interview. He even came all the way to the trail, but he didn’t get out of the car when we did and I should have known then.

  Josh was helping me with my backpack, which was too heavy for me. “Turn around,” he said, grinning way too much as he placed it on my shoulders like I was a small child going to school for the first time.

  “What are you trying not to laugh at?” I demanded.

  “You’re gonna go over like a turtle on its back with that thing on, and you’ll never get back up,” he said.

  “Don’t laugh too hard,” I replied. “If I fall, I’m taking you with me.”

  Our eyes met. “Of course you are,” he said softly.

  That’s when Six climbed out of the car and told us the Pitchfork interview was happening in thirty minutes. “I have to call in it for it, but I’ll catch up,” he said.

  I stared at him. I thought I had no expectations of Six, but I realized then that I must, because he was still consistently managing to disappoint me. “Catch up? You don’t even know where you’re going.”

  “There’s only one trail,” Six said. “It might be a push, but I’ll do my best.”

  As soon as those words left his mouth, I knew, unequivocally and beyond a doubt, that he and I were done. There was a time when I loved how rebellious Six was. I lived vicariously through his apathy. It was the middle finger I couldn’t entirely give anyone—my mother, the record label, Davis, my agent, my publicist.

  But today this was him giving me the middle finger.

  He was definitely an express bus, just like I wanted. But he was not heading anywhere I wanted to be.

  I don’t even glance at him as I turn toward the trail. I’ll wait until we’re back in LA to end things, for Beth’s sake, but this is the moment in my heart when I leave him behind for good.

  There are seven of us who meet at the trailhead, about a quarter of a mile from the parking lot. The guide, Kai, a couple from Belgium—Anna and Dietrich—and two women from Seattle, Kathy and Samantha, who I assume are a couple though I’m not quite sure. I tell them my name is Lina, but it’s a pretty earthy-looking group, the kind of people who might not have recognized me even with platinum hair. What’s also frighteningly clear is that, unlike us, they’ve done this before. Their packs aren’t rented and they have a thousand things hanging off clasps—water bottles, dry shoes—which leaves me worried Josh and I are grossly unprepared for this trip.

  “Who’s ready for some mud?” Kai asks and there are hoots and hollers from the rest of the group. I don’t holler. I’m from the city. We don’t really celebrate mud there so much. “You’ve all signed a waiver so you know this, but I’m gonna say it again: this is a difficult climb. Eleven of the hardest, most scenic miles you will ever hike out, eleven scenic miles back. Most people do this trail in four days. We’ll make it in two.”

  There are more cheers. I glance at Josh, wondering what the hell we’ve signed on for and what the hell Beth was thinking. Sure, Josh and Six and I are in decent shape, but we’re far from experienced climbers.

  “My buddy Chris will be leading the easier trip a little after us with another guide, and you’ll meet him at lunch. From there, he’ll come with us for the part I know you’re all looking forward to…Crawler’s Ledge.”

  Crawler’s Ledge? There’s nothing about either of those words I like, and I like them together even less. The terrain is already wet and muddy. I look ahead to the deeply steep climb and wonder how much worse it’s going to get.

  “You’ll be fine,” Josh says, placing a light hand on my shoulder as we start up the trail. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Turtle.”

  “That’s not my new nickname.”

  “Hard shell, soft interior,” he says. “You’ve got to admit it works.”

  It works for us both. On the surface he’s hard and unfriendly. His smiles are rare as dry earth in a rainforest. But beneath that exterior, he cares more than anyone I’ve ever met. I wonder if that hard shell of his is necessary just because he can’t stand to care for even one more thing. I feel the same way.

  We’ve barely begun before we are enfolded in jungle: deeply humid, densely green. The rocks and logs used to create steps up the steep cliff are muddy, requiring me to grab a branch here and there just to keep my balance. I try not to think about coming back down this hill, as slick as it is. Whenever I take a big step and feel my balance shift backw
ard, Josh’s hand is there, pressed lightly to my pack, making sure I don’t go over.

  We arrive, about thirty minutes in, at the first lookout point. I’m drenched in sweat, but the view makes it all worthwhile: cliffs to the north, the deepest blue waves crashing below.

  “Whale,” someone says, and then everyone crowds around us, trying to see. Josh tucks a finger into the waist of my shorts to make sure I don’t go over the edge. I resented it so much that first day in Oahu when he suggested someone hold my hand so I didn’t get lost. Now I sort of adore him for it.

  I pull the water bottle from my bag and, thanks to the ice Josh dumped in there, the water is freezing cold and nothing has ever, ever been more delicious.

  “Am I a genius?” he asks smug as ever, watching my apparent delight.

  “I’ll concede that you’re slightly less dull than I originally thought.”

  A half smile turns up the corner of his mouth. “Slightly less dull,” he says. “I’ll have to add that to my Tinder profile.”

  “You’re on Tinder?” I ask, and my stomach takes a ridiculous dive. Even if I wasn’t already with his brother, even if he didn’t live in Somalia, we are as ill-matched as any two people could be. Beginning with the fact that my education ended at the midpoint of his.

  His eyes brush over my face. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

  I shrug. “I kind of figured you just used some service that provides you a replacement robot when the last one wears out. Stick up her ass, heavily focused on her manicure.”

  I turn, no longer interested in the stupid view. Cliffs, water, whatever. I’ve seen it.

  “I’m not on Tinder,” he says quietly from behind me. “I’d barely have time to date in Somalia even if it was possible.”