by Piper Lennox
“You want me to tell them?”
“Like you said,” she shrugs, sliding past us as the door opens to the galley, “you know these people better than we do.”
The clack of her heels gets engulfed in the bustle of the kitchen. Parker hesitates, his hand holding open the door, until I shut my eyes, nod at him, and sink back against the wall as the doors slide shut again.
Tanya
When I hang up with Mollie, my hangover’s gone. Maybe it was the water and ibuprofen, or the little bit of scalding sunlight I got making me sweat out the last of the vodka. I’ve got a feeling it was just her hard truths, smacking so much sense into me, there wasn’t room for much else.
“You think you need financial security and total independence—no relationship whatsoever—because those are the two things your mom never had,” she said. “Right?”
“Why do I feel like a kid getting a lecture?”
“Right?”
I threw my arm across my face. “Right.”
“But it’s deeper than that. Those things were the symptoms, not the problem.”
My lashes brushed my skin as I blinked, absorbing this. “What?”
“Your mom didn’t have emotional stability,” she said. “That’s why she hopped from job to job, guy to guy.... If she’d just figured out her own shit, you know, gotten herself emotionally healthy, and found a guy who was also emotionally stable, the rest would have fallen into place.”
I considered this. “You’re really reaching there, Moll.”
“No, I’m not. Jobs come and go, people change...you can’t possibly predict or control those things. So the best thing to do is make sure you’re ready to handle them if and when they happen. Trust me on this. As someone who used to eat her feelings 24/7, I’m basically an expert.”
My laugh was weak, but genuine.
“I’m not saying you and Luka will work out or not,” she continued, “because I can’t know that. I do think it’s worth trying, though. If I hadn’t taken a chance with Kai, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”
“Which means you’re very biased,” I pointed out.
“Which means,” she corrected loudly, “I’m proof that it’s possible. We both had our problems when we got together—”
“Amen.”
“—but we grew from them. We learned. So whether you go for it with Luka or not, or whether anything comes from it or not, doesn’t really matter. You need to try for you. To learn how to forget about all that shit with your mom and dad, and become emotionally stable. And the only way to do that is practice.”
“What does emotionally stable even mean, though?” I moved my arm and squinted in the sunlight, now pouring through the windows. “Like, everyone always says phrases like that, but I’ve yet to hear a definition that actually makes sense.”
“It means...feeling like you can handle things,” she answered, after a minute. “Not getting overwhelmed by every little unpleasant thing.”
“I don’t do that. You do that.” I waved my hand in the air. “Or used to, whatever.”
“It also means not blocking out every little unpleasant thing.”
I winced. She had me there.
“Emotional stability,” she finished, “means...knowing you’re going to be okay, even when you aren’t okay in the moment. Feeling like you can handle most things that come your way, even if you have no idea how you’ll do it.” She paused, letting this sink in. “And I know you’re really good at pretending you’ve got it all together, but that’s not always true.”
I looked at the recessed lighting overhead, glaring points of sunlight reflected in their metal housings. And for the hundredth time that morning, I thought about that day at South Point.
On top of that cliff, I wasn’t thinking about anything but what was happening in front of me. I felt completely peaceful. Which was ironic, considering where we were—but without any thoughts in my head but the present, I couldn’t worry about the future.
No deadlines, no dodging guys’ calls, no bank accounts. Just us. I knew all that stuff was still waiting for me, and that the moment wouldn’t last forever. But, right then, I felt like I could handle it all, even when the moment ended.
It was one of the few times in my life I can say I was truly just in the moment. Nothing but the blinding sun, water crashing around the rocks below, and Luka, laughing as he held my arm.
In fact, the only times I ever felt like that had been here, in Kona. I’d always assumed it was the magic of Hawaii, the paradise effect. Vacation at its finest.
But maybe it was something else. Someone.
Twenty-One
Luka
“Back already?” Garner, who’s returned to his post in the conference room—I don’t even know why those two have offices; they never use them—gives a smartass smile as I come in. I ignore him, my vision tunneled on Trixie.
“Do things right,” I tell her. My panting fills the room.
She squints at me. “Do what right?”
“Everything.” I put my hands on the back of a chair and squeeze. I’ve spent an hour after our last encounter pacing the resort property, fuming. Thinking.
Dad was right. I hated admitting it, hated combing through my memory and finding every underhanded, off-the-mark comment Trixie or someone from corporate had ever made, which I’d ignored. I believed what I wanted to believe.
Down the beach, I saw one of Rhett Silva’s shaved ice carts. Guests flocked to it in the white sunlight, eager for something cold.
When I was a kid, I skinned my knee at the end of the Silva family’s driveway, riding bikes with my brothers. They were way ahead of me, doing wheelies and racing; when I fell, they’d already vanished around the curve of the road, oblivious. But Mrs. Silva heard me crying and bolted outside, first aid kit in hand. I still remember the strange combination of relief and terror and pain, deep in the skin, when she used a tongue depressor to pry out the piece of gravel wedged in my wound.
“Look at that!” she exclaimed, dropping it into my palm. My blubbering ceased as I turned the bloody rock over. “You’re so brave, letting me dig that thing out of there. It’s huge!”
She knew me well enough to talk my language: instead of downplaying the injury, she talked it up, made it seem like a badge of honor. By the time Kai and Noe realized I wasn’t behind them and circled back, my knee was bandaged, all evidence of my tears were gone, and I was brandishing that red rock like a Purple Heart.
“You boys be careful on this part of the road,” Mrs. Silva called, after I thanked her and we pedaled away. “I’m not sure you two could handle it as well as Luka!”
We razzed each other the entire way home. “Be honest,” Noe prodded, bumping my back tire with his front one, “did you cry?”
“Of course he cried.” Kai veered over and hit my hand, wobbling the handlebars, trying to make me drop the piece of gravel I wouldn’t let go of for anything.
“Quit it!” I shouted. He laughed and sped ahead of me. “And I didn’t cry!”
I still have that rock, somewhere in my bedroom. Probably packed in the boxes I’ve already prepared for my house.
Today I pictured myself standing at the end of their driveway, right where I fell, and telling them the company they worked so hard to build—the one I promised would be safe—was going to fail, one way or another.
My stomach cramped up. I made it up the dunes and onto the back road just in time, puking into a bush. The acid I’d felt in my throat all day surged into my sinuses; my eyes watered. By the time I finished, it felt like I’d inhaled pure sulfur.
I straightened and wiped my mouth, spitting. The bile on the ground was streaked bright red. I tasted blood.
It wasn’t until I was in the truck, headed for the medical pavilion I hadn’t been to in years, that I let myself feel the fear: only a fraction of what I’d felt when Dad had his stroke, but still a good amount.
The office was deserted. I signed in, filled out the insurance form,
and sat.
“…you’re all about facts and statistics, ‘arming yourself with knowledge’ or whatever—except when it comes to yourself. It’s the epitome of denial.” Tanya was right on the money with that one. In more ways than she knew.
I did arm myself with knowledge, always. It took the fear away, or at least softened it. There was nothing scarier than not knowing.
But when it came to myself, I happily turned a blind eye. I’d done it with my schoolwork, growing up. I’d done it with this ulcer, and now I was paying for it. And I’d done it with Port, convincing myself everyone, all of Kona, was better off for having us here, even if they didn’t want to believe it. I’d even done it with Rochelle’s property. The thought of getting it now made me want to throw up all over again.
Even worse was admitting, with another twist of my stomach, that I’d created this monster. The affiliate program, the expansion projects—I’d wanted to make this company as big as possible.
But when a beast gets this big, it’s that much harder to keep it honest. And I’d stepped willingly inside it, letting it consume every part of my life and shutting myself off from whatever damage it did. Whatever people it hurt.
“Luka Williams?” the receptionist called, even though it was just me in the waiting area. I nodded, got to my feet, and took a breath as I went in.
For the first time in days, I caught a break: some light esophageal damage, according to the doctor. She referred me to a gastroenterologist for the ulcer, wrote me a prescription for stronger acid reducers, and scolded me about too much caffeine and alcohol. Then I was on my way.
In the car, I shook my head at myself. I should have gone to see someone sooner. I should have faced it sooner. That had long been my philosophy: when something scares the shit out of you, face it. Fast. There’s nothing worse than living in fear. When Noe died and it took me years to get back on the water, I saw firsthand how the buildup is always worse.
So now, staring Trixie down and gripping that chair like I’m ready to throw it through the window, I don’t have to pretend I’m not scared of her, or Garner, or anyone at corporate. I’ve already done the hard part: walking in here.
“I understand that ending the affiliate program is just a business decision. It comes down to numbers; I get that.” I keep my voice steeled, even though it feels like my lungs are about to collapse. “But it’s also about people.”
She rolls her eyes a little, tossing the papers in her hand onto the table. “Luka—”
“If you don’t keep on the affiliates we’ve got here,” I tell her, first speaking over her, then softer, “at least long enough for them to stabilize themselves apart from us again, and if Port doesn’t start doing things the right way...then I quit.”
Parker, Garner, and even the custodian emptying the trash look at me. I only look back at Trixie, as I let go of the chair and step away.
“None of that is up to me,” she stresses.
I fold my arms. “Then get on your phone and call whoever it is up to.”
“I can’t. This isn’t your family’s old hotel, where you could just call Daddy and he’d change anything you wanted. This is a corporation.” I’ve made her angry. The easygoing, almost blasé attitude I once loved from her just seems like ice, now. “When a decision is made, especially on numbers, that’s it. And get off your high horse, all right? God, standing there playing this ‘me vs. them’ game, like you didn’t see any of this coming.”
It stings, hearing her even come close to grouping me with them. But I deserve it.
“You’re right,” I say. She freezes, halfway to the door, and looks at me. “I did see it coming. Pretty much all of it.” I throw my arm out towards the windows, encompassing the entire view, but meaning all of Kona. “And I let it happen anyway.” I turn back to her. “So you’re saying you won’t keep the affiliates? You won’t call corporate and tell them no more high-pressure buyouts, no more sneaky bullshit tactics?”
Trixie rubs her temple. “I’m not calling anyone. Much less corporate to outline your ‘demands.’”
I take a breath, hold it, and release. “Than I quit.”
“Except,” she smiles, but it’s anything but friendly, “you can’t. You’re locked in with Paradise Port for another six years, remember? Unless you’re looking to buy your way out of your contract.”
Her reminder hits me like a sucker punch. From the way Garner struts out after her, I imagine I look as blindsided as I feel.
“Motherfucker.” I grip the chair again, this time throwing it down. The wheels are still spinning when I feel the blood stop rushing in my ears. The custodian is long gone. Now it’s just Parker, watching from the doorway.
“Let’s get some air,” he says, so calmly it almost sets me off all over again.
Outside, the sun is starting to set. I loved this time of day so much when I was younger: everything orange and red, the entire island alive, the whole night stretching ahead of me. I can’t remember when sunsets turned into...well, just sunsets for me.
Parker’s quiet, but purposeful, so I follow his footsteps willingly. I have no idea where the hell to go next, what I’m going to do, or how I can possibly fix this mess I’ve created. But at least he seems to know the first part.
“Okay,” he says, when we’re down the back road. He takes a seat on some sand-covered plank stairs that lead to the beach. I take the one above him. “I’ve got a plan.”
“I can’t afford to buy myself out of this fucking contract, Park,” I sigh into my palm, elbow digging into my knee. “And even if I could, it wouldn’t help the affiliates.”
“The contract your father signed,” he says, like he hasn’t even heard me, “and the one they made you sign, too, after he retired—it’s got another way out.”
In the shifting light, I study him. He’s been Dad’s assistant since I was eighteen, before the franchise was even in the picture. It still weirds me out to think of him as my assistant.
“A way out,” I repeat, lowering my pitch to match. “This isn’t some, like, insurance fraud shit, is it?”
He laughs. “Don’t worry, kid. Nice and legal.”
I laugh, too, the burn in my stomach slowly fading. Even my throat feels better. Maybe it’s the salt in the air.
“In the contract,” he explains, pulling a sheaf of photocopies from his briefcase I don’t remember him grabbing, “there’s an entire section about Paradise Port’s responsibility to its franchisees. If they don’t uphold them, franchisees have grounds to terminate the contract early.”
My hope shrinks down to microscopic levels. “Port’s done everything on the edge of the law, though. I don’t have anything on them. They’re assholes, treating locals the way they are, but there’s no law against being an asshole.”
“There is,” he says slyly, “when your franchise is in a location like Kona, where local opinion accounts for a lot.”
“So, what, I’d be blaming Port for my lack of popularity with local businesses? That’s not gonna hold up. Nobody around here likes franchises. It’s life. And they aren’t my customer base, anyway.”
“Luka, will you shut up and listen?”
Something in his voice is so much like my dad’s, I have to smile. “Continue.”
“Anyway,” he goes on, elbowing me, “one could argue that, after Port implemented your affiliate program, they intentionally let it fail.” He flips through more pages of the contract, but the text blurs into gibberish; my brain’s too overworked for the finer details. “They made your relationships with local businesses and suppliers suffer, just to expand their own business. Did you know that when they bought out Kona Tours and set up their own shuttles here, they bought shuttles for the other locations, too?”
“I thought they already had shuttles at other locations.”
“No,” he says, and instantly, the air around us feels colder, even with that orange sun still pressing down. “They didn’t have airport shuttles, tours, outside vendors, none of that�
�until Kona did. Even the infinity pool was a first for them. They talked it up to your dad and convinced him to add it.” Parker thumbs through all the pages like a flipbook, then drops them back into the open case at our feet. “I think they’ve been using Kona as a pilot resort. Implementing new things here, first, as a kind of test before they tried it anywhere else.”
I fold my arms across my stomach and breathe through the ache. “Why here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because your dad had money to spare, and the other franchisees weren’t as willing to invest beyond the basics.” He nods out to the beach. “Maybe because it’s Hawaii. They knew guests would always be available, no matter what they did.”
“Unlike Wales,” I add, thinking of Garner and the failed locations he used to help oversee. “Or Dublin.”
“Exactly.”
“So how do I use this? Sue them? Threaten them?” I swallow hard. “I can’t work for them another six years, man. Not knowing what I do now.”
“Your dad had a franchise lawyer when he signed on—start with him. I know a lot, but not even close to everything. That guy will help you get out of the contract.” His hand claps on my shoulder. “They’re gonna give you hell, Luk. I hope you’re ready.”
I lean back on my elbows, resting against the step above me. “Then I’ll give it right back.”
Tanya
“Booked my flight,” I text Mollie. She sends back a half-frown. I guess, after our talk, she figured I’d abandon my entire life back home—or the smoldering wreckage that remains of it, at least—and run into Luka’s arms under an umbrella of confetti and fireworks.
“Thanks for talking to me,” I add. “It really helped.”
“YW,” she texts. “If you need anything, just ask.”
A piece of me wants to push her charity into a drawer and forget it, the same way I shoved free clothes and food stamps out of sight as a kid. Instead, I remind myself that Mollie’s offer is genuine, not out of pity; I’d do the same for her. And it’s not wise to write off any options for myself, right now.
