The Moment of Letting Go

by J. A. Redmerski

  “Sorry.” I smile weakly because I’m still too tired and it’s all I can manage. “I’ll go next time. I promise.”

  With the backpack dangling from the bend of her arm, she crosses her arms tight over her stomach and cocks her head to one side with a disapproving smirk.

  Kendra is a cute girl, and a tomboy at heart. At first glance one would think she’s just another pretty face who might enjoy walking in the dominant shadow of a strong, attractive guy. But when one gets to know her, they realize quickly that she carries a dominant shadow of her own and few men in this world can keep up with it.

  Only one could equal it—Landon—and he’s long gone, so she’s in the same kind of limbo as I am when it comes to relationships.

  “Heading over to the resort today?” she asks.

  Seth walks past, making his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, he’s got a date with disaster,” he chimes in with laughter, and then the bathroom door closes behind him.

  Kendra looks at me curiously.

  Not wanting to get into any conversations with her—because I’d rather be sleeping—I brush off Seth’s comment altogether.

  “I’ve got a few appointments over at the school,” I tell her, “and then after that, I’m free. Too bad you two aren’t heading out later in the day.”

  “It’s an all-day hike,” she says. “We have to leave early.”

  I nod, yawn with a little less open-mouth, and go to close my door. “Well, I’m going back to bed,” I say. “Two more hours and I have to get up.”

  The door stops at the halfway mark when the palm of Kendra’s hand presses against it.

  “Luke, you’re starting to worry me.” All traces of a smile or a playful, nagging attitude are gone from her face. I witness it from time to time, and it always prompts a conversation with her that I don’t want to have—one she knows I don’t want to have.

  “Kendra,” I say exasperatedly, running a hand through the top of my disheveled hair, “I just want to go back to bed, all right? There’s nothing wrong with me.” I can never seem to get that through Kendra’s thick skull.

  “I miss him too,” she says, and it stings the hell out of me.

  Inhaling a deep, aggravated breath, I tilt my head back and let my eyes slam shut. The last thing I want to do is talk about my brother—it’s the one thing I don’t like to talk about, even on a small scale. I’m constantly having to avoid it around my friends and my family: How are you doing? they ask. How are you holding up? they ask. And sometimes people I don’t even know—new friends of Seth or Braedon—ask, How did it happen? Knowing damn well how it happened because Seth or Braedon already told them, and they don’t know what else to say, but feel like they have to say something. How about nothing? How about leaving it the hell alone? How about not constantly reminding me to open my eyes to my brother’s fucked-up, horrific death that was my goddamn fault?! How about that?

  My fist clenches into a rock at my side, then the other, until I slowly let out a long, deep breath and feel the calm wash over me and my fingers uncoil.

  “You have to stop doing this,” I tell her as my head comes back down. My eyes lock on her sad brown ones, which seem flecked with insult. “Everybody misses Landon,” I say carefully. “But you’re—”

  Seth comes out of the bathroom with a knowing look in his eyes and saves the day.

  “Let’s go, Ken-doll!” I hear a loud pop and see a flash of yellow behind Kendra’s head. A rubber band falls onto the linoleum floor at her feet.

  “Owww!” She reaches behind her, cupping her hand over the back of her neck, her round, doll-like face scrunching up like a head of lettuce. “You asshole!” A thud resonates through the confined hallway space as her knuckles make contact with his chest. Seth jerks forward and both arms instinctively come up to defend the area. They both laugh.

  Covertly, I thank Seth with my eyes.

  Kendra, still rubbing the back of her stinging neck, turns to me. “Next time you’re going,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “I’m holding you to that promise.” Then she points at Seth. “And he’s my witness.”

  I put up both hands in surrender.

  “I always keep my promises,” I say, and that stings too, because it’s a lie and I feel guilty playing that card—my brother wouldn’t be dead if I kept my promises.

  Finally they leave me to my room, where I hurry and close the door before Kendra thinks of something else to say. I hear the screen on the front door slam against the house as they walk out, and then their voices carrying on the air as they move past my bedroom window.

  Falling against my bed with my arms raised above my head, I stare up at the water-damaged ceiling, where swirling patterns of brown have eaten away at the material in spots. The damage was there when I bought this house seven months ago, and I’ve yet to do anything about it. Or with any of the other multitude of things wrong with this rare gem of a fixer-upper with a stunning ocean view! Those were the real estate agent’s exact words when she showed me the place. She was laying the bright personality on thick to prepare me to hear the price. It’s not the house you’d be buying, but the view, she had said.

  That was all that mattered to me, really. I needed a beautiful view, something to help smother the image of Landon’s closed-casket funeral, the blue and white flowers that covered his grave; the photo of us together with our mom and dad when they vacationed on Oahu that I buried with him. I needed to get out of the old house that I had shared with him because I woke up every morning expecting him to be crashed in the living room instead of his room, and it killed me when I saw that sofa empty. Every single day.

  This new house doesn’t smother the images of the funeral—nothing will ever do that—but the house is different, the sofa is different.

  My head falls to the side, and the numbers on the clock on my bedside table glow blue amid the slowly brightening light of the room. A breeze pushes through the open window, deftly touching the thin white curtain covering the screen. I shut my eyes and hope to drift back to sleep, but minutes later Landon’s face is still haunting me.

  I thought I’d be used to this by now, seeing his face everywhere, but just like the memories of his funeral, it’ll always be there, torturing me, haunting me.

  After a long time, and after suffocating myself with the pillow again to blot out the light, I’m still awake and I know I will be for the rest of the day.

  Then suddenly, it’s Sienna’s face strolling through my mind, instead of my brothers. I had hoped to have forgotten about her by the morning. That’s pretty much what happened to the last few girls I took more than a sexual interest in.

  But not this time.

  I spring up from the bed, resolving to end this before it starts. I shower. Eat. Brush my teeth. Sit outside on the lanai and look out at the ocean. Then finally I call Allan at the resort and ask if he can fill in for me today. When he confirms that he can, I dress not to surf, but to hike, and set out to catch up with Seth and Kendra.

  SIX

  Sienna

  He’s not coming.

  God, I feel like an idiot—I really wanted to see him again.

  Pushing down that uncomfortable feeling of being stood up, I rise to my feet and take my beach towel with me, tossing it over my arm without even shaking out the sand. Clumsily I step into my flip-flops and then shoulder my beach bag. I feel like I can’t get away fast enough, as if everyone on the island is looking right at me, whispering about the dumb girl who got stood up by the hot surfer; my stomach swims with embarrassment. And utter disappointment.

  There’s a small group of people on the beach learning to surf, but this time Luke’s not among them. Maybe he got sick and couldn’t come today. Or maybe he’s just running late.

  It doesn’t matter. I have to get ready to catch my plane.

  Without looking back, I leave the beach in a very dry bikini covered by a pair of white shorts and head toward the hotel.

  It’s for the best anyway. After today I’ll be
back at home in San Diego and there’s not one good thing I can think of that I’d get out of spending an hour with Luke. If anything, I’d end up liking him enough to want to spend more time with him and I’d have to leave Hawaii more disappointed than I already am.

  I saved the wedding from Veronica, Destroyer of Weddings. The caterer showed up as planned. The original band was a no-go when I finally contacted them. They said they’d already booked that time slot with someone else. But the guy took pity on me—after I’d apologized profusely for what Veronica had done—and made some calls. Turns out Veronica decided to fire them because they said they might be ten minutes late—unbelievable. At the last minute, just when I thought Mrs. Dennings’s angry gaze was actually going to set me on fire this time, I got the call. The new band showed up with just minutes to spare and everything else went smoothly the rest of the evening.

  Mrs. Dennings never actually said thank you, but she didn’t call Cassandra and manage to get me fired, and I figured that was the best she was willing to offer.

  Paige comes around the side of the building just as I’m walking up, a relieved expression settled over her features. Her pink-tinged cheeks blow up with air before letting it all out slowly like pinching the opening of a balloon.

  “I’m so glad that’s over,” she says.

  I don’t agree or disagree, but instead I look beyond her, afraid to meet her eyes. Because I’m not particularly good at this boss thing, especially when it comes to my best friend—another lesson learned.

  “Are you ready to pack up and hitch a ride off this rock?” she asks, smiling now, having no clue about what’s plaguing my thoughts that have everything—well, mostly—to do with her. Luke is still kinda there, floating around in the back in my subconscious, uninvited.

  I sigh, looking down at my feet.

  “Paige, I need to talk to you.”

  Her expression goes slack in an instant.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” She waits impatiently and then softens her features when I look back at her, almost as if trying to help me out. My shoulders fall into a slump and I let out a deep breath, dropping my beach bag and towel on the concrete as I sit down on the low brick border surrounding the landscaping. Moments later, she sits beside me; I can smell her fruity passion perfume.

  “Paige,” I begin, gazing out ahead at the palm trees on the side of the building, “you’re great at what you do and you help me tremendously, but—”

  “You’re firing me?” Strangely enough, her face softens even more, when I most expected it to shrivel up and make me feel awful.

  “What—no!”

  She smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” Her hand touches my shoulder. “I was actually going to put in my resignation.” She gestures her free hand and adds suddenly, “It has nothing to do with you, girl, so don’t think that for a second.”

  “Wait—you’re quitting?” Blindsided, it takes me a second to get anything out. “Paige, I wasn’t going to fire you. I just wanted to apologize for snapping at you—it’s not as easy being your boss as I thought it’d be.”

  Paige chuckles. “I can tell,” she says, and then lays her head on my shoulder for a brief second. “But I meant what I said about never putting you in a bad position. I think it’s better I find another job before I get you fired.”

  “So you’re really quitting?”

  She nods and her hands fall into her lap. “Not right now,” she says. “I mean, I’ll definitely stay on board until Cassandra can find someone to replace me, but I’m just not cut out for this stuff. I don’t have the patience for it—well, for people like that.” She laughs lightly. “I have to admit, if it weren’t for you, I might’ve told that bitch off.”

  I smile faintly.

  “So what are you going to do when you leave?”

  She pauses and says, “I’ve got something lined up—not that I’ve been planning to quit, but you know me. I’ll manage.”

  This is true. Paige doesn’t really need to work to live like most of us do; she comes from a wealthy family in the real estate business and wouldn’t have to work a day in her life if she didn’t want to. But Paige likes to work. It keeps her busy and off the Lazy Citizens of America list, as she calls it. But mostly it gives her more of a reason to spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes and shoes and all things expensive and in style.

  I nod, a small smile tugging my lips—this is all such a relief. Sort of. I hate to see her go. But I understand.

  “So then you’re still on for Jamaica?”

  She smiles. “Yeah,” she says, “but I was hoping my first time there would be more”—she twirls her index finger in the air, a concentrating look in her eyes—“enjoyable. I was excited about Hawaii, but it didn’t quite turn out like I envisioned it.”

  “Yeah,” I say simply and look out ahead again as the rest is cut off by my sudden deep thoughts. “I guess I can’t blame you.” My voice is distant.

  “It’s gettin’ to you, too, I can tell.”

  I look over. “What—” I smile to show her that she’s wrong. “Oh, no, I’m just tired. I’m always like this after an event.” This is only half true—this time I feel much worse.

  She hooks her arm around my back, her hand around my arm, and pulls my shoulder against her side.

  “We’re gonna go on a real vacation sometime,” she says. “We can go anywhere. Just name the place.” She points at me briefly and interjects, “Of course, it has to be someplace sunny where I can wear my bikini—nothing cold and no deserts or anything like that.”

  I chuckle. “We’ll figure it out,” I tell her with a smile in my voice.

  Paige stands up, her small frame hardly shielding me from the sun.

  “We should get our stuff packed,” she says. “I can’t miss this flight. My family reunion is tomorrow. My mom will kill me.”

  I stand with her, taking up my towel and beach bag and repositioning them on my arm and shoulder. As I walk alongside Paige toward the hotel, from the corner of my eye I see a tanned, athletic figure in navy cargo shorts and a red T-shirt tramping through the sand toward me. Squinting in an attempt to get a better visual, I put my hand up above my eyes to shield my face from the sun. And when I see that it is, in fact, Luke, my face breaks into a smile that I instantly try to conceal from my best friend.

  I turn to Paige, stopping her on the sidewalk.

  “I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,” I say.

  Paige, without asking any questions, agrees and heads inside the hotel lobby without me.

  I meet Luke halfway, stopping in the sand, glad that I’m wearing flip-flops this time and can stand up on my own. Luke appears out of breath, his feet like fifty-pound weights on the ends of his muscled legs, burrowing into the sand nearly to his ankles with every difficult step. His back is hunched over, his hands propped on his bent knees when he finally comes to a stop in front of me. The more I look at him, the more confused I become—surely he’s not serious? Everything about his demeanor seems overly dramatic and … strangely humorous.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he says between quick, unsteady breaths. “I ran all the way here. You’ll never believe what happened.” He takes a few more fast breaths, his hands still propped on his knees to hold up his weight, the muscles in his arms hard and defined. “I was on my way this morning when a bicycle came out of nowhere and clipped me as I was crossing the street.” My eyes widen and I feel the warm, salty air hit my teeth as my lips slowly begin to part. “And I hit the asphalt hard—”

  “Are you OK?” I look him over, seeing no visible injuries.

  He nods heavily, rapidly, and tries to catch his breath some more.

  “I lost consciousness and woke up in some house—weird beads and shit were hanging from a doorway, and it smelled like incense.” My forehead wrinkles as I try to put the odd scene together in my head. “My wrists and ankles were tied to a chair.” He points at me briefly. “You know those fancy patio chairs with cushions that you wonder about leav
ing out in the rain?” Huh? “It was that chick on the bike. Somehow she got me to her house and tied me up. I thought: OK, this feels a little like Misery—you’ve seen that movie, right?” He points at me again.

  Knowing now that he’s full of shit, I cross my arms, crushing the beach towel between them, and narrow my eyes.

  “No, I can’t say that I have,” I answer with a smirk.

  I catch him grinning, but he recovers quickly and continues with the charade that I find both ridiculous and charming.

  Luke falls down in the sand, lying with his back against it and his knees bent, his hands resting on his chest, the right one crossed over to lie flat against his so-called rapidly beating heart.

  “And just what did this girl do to you?” I play along.

  He gazes up at me as I hover over him—he looks so serious.

  “She wanted me to teach her how to surf,” he says matter-of-factly.

  I try not to laugh, pushing the urge down and putting on my own serious face.

  “So what did you do then? Did you teach her?”

  Luke’s head moves side to side against the white sand. He swallows and looks into the clear blue sky, recalling the “event.” “No,” he answers distantly. “I told her I couldn’t, that I was booked for the day.” He looks at me with concentrating eyes. “I said I had a very important, beautiful client today that I couldn’t reschedule under any circumstances.”

  My cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

  “The look on her face when I told her that, it scared the hell outta me.”

  “It must’ve been so awful for you,” I say dramatically, pressing my hand to my bikini-covered chest. “I just can’t imagine.”

  “I know, right? But I managed to get my hands free from the rope and then untied my legs. I was about to jump out the window when she came back into the room and saw me. A tray with chips and a sandwich fell from her hands to the floor. She lunged”—his hand juts out in front of him, his fingers arched into a claw—“like a cat.” He bares his teeth and makes a hissing sound—my serious face has vanished and I can’t stop smiling. “I leapt at the window, crashing right through the screen, and then rolled when I hit the grass outside. I ran all the way here.”