by J. Haymore
Perfect health? Right. He knows nothing about what Ethan told me on that lifeboat. I might be physically okay, but it’s going to take me a long time to recover from that betrayal.
“Way to bounce back!” the doctor informs me cheerfully. I just stare at him.
When I return, I’m taken away yet again, this time to a small cabin containing only a desk and two Coast Guard officers. It’s an interrogation room.
I answer more questions. This time, they’re more thorough—starting with my relationship with Kyle and how it led to me joining the crew of the Temptation. They have me give details about every person on board, and I do, even about Ethan. I speak of Ethan with clinical detachment, as if he’s merely an acquaintance.
Their questions don’t dig deeper into what happened between Ethan and me, for which I am thankful. I have no doubt that they’ll get there eventually, though.
My deeply ingrained need for privacy shouts out in denial, but I don’t listen to that part of myself. I’ll tell them whatever they want to know, and I’ll tell the truth. If they want to hear in detail what happened during my sexual encounters with Ethan, I’ll grit my teeth and give them the details.
I’ll do anything to help them find the person responsible for the explosion that sank the Temptation. Mick. I want him to suffer for what he did to us. For what I fear he did to Nalani.
The lunch they give us goes down mechanically, though I forget what food I’ve consumed seconds later. They offer us freshwater showers, extra clothes, and a place to rest, and, in a foggy daze, I take advantage of all three.
When I return to the room with the kitchen, Kyle and Ethan are there. Both are subdued. They’ve obviously been talking, but I don’t ask what about. Probably me. But nothing they’ve said is going to change my relationship with either of them, so what’s the point in asking?
The Coast Guard cutter travels much faster than a sailboat, and we reach Honolulu that afternoon. We’re led off the ship and taken in a car to a police station, where the police, then the FBI question us for hours.
This time, the questions do become personal. “What is the nature of your relationship with Ethan Williams?” “What about Kyle Carlsson?” “Why do you no longer consider yourself attached to Mr. Williams?” “How many nights were you together before the man you believed to be Mick Tannenbaum disappeared?”
The FBI refuses to call him Mick. He’s always “the man you believed to be Mick Tannenbaum.” It’s such a mouthful, and I get tired of hearing it over and over again.
I tell them the truth. About everything. I’m guessing Ethan’s going to have an interesting questioning after they hear all the truths about him I’ve thrown at them—because I’m pretty sure that some of the things he did to “protect” me were illegal. It doesn’t matter, though—he’ll deal with it all in his calm, efficient manner. They’ll probably end up thinking that he was completely justified in doing everything he did, from the lies all the way down to the stalking.
By the time we’re driving to the hotel where the FBI has reserved us rooms, since we have no money or credit cards, it’s late—almost midnight. Exhaustion is a heavy blanket over my body. I just want to crawl under the covers and sleep.
But the thought of being alone terrifies me.
I turn to Kyle, who sits beside me in the backseat of the car. Ethan is in the passenger seat. “Will you…stay with me tonight?”
He glances in Ethan’s direction. “Um, sure.”
Ethan doesn’t look back at us but nods as if he’s satisfied, as if he’s thinking that if he can’t be nearby to take care of me, then Kyle will do a sufficient job. An uncontrollable surge of anger toward him rushes through me, but I clench my fists and look down before something regrettable pours out of my mouth. I don’t want to make a scene in front of the FBI agent who’s driving us.
Ethan’s room is on the same floor as ours. Kyle and I reach our room first, and Ethan pauses, watching me as I unlock the door, then close it in his face without making eye contact.
I find myself in a basic, generic hotel room with two queen-size beds and one window that looks out over a massive parking lot. Standing at the window, I gaze numbly at the view. This wasn’t exactly what I had planned for my trip to Hawaii. I expected warm air, swaying palm trees, and white-sand beaches. Now all I feel is cold and as gray as the asphalt below.
Why am I here? Why stay in Hawaii at all? I turn away from the view. “I want to go home.”
Kyle’s brows crawl into his hairline.
“Tomorrow,” I add.
He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen,” he says quietly. “We don’t have anything, T. We don’t have five bucks to our name right now. Plus, I don’t think the FBI will let us leave until they figure out what happened with Mick.”
“You’re right.” I sigh, sinking on to the edge of the bed, so exhausted my vision wavers.
Kyle lies back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Did you think they’d ever stop asking us questions? It was never-ending.”
“No. I didn’t. And the same ones over and over again.” I flop back onto the bed in my Coast Guard regulation T-shirt and black sweatpants and stare up at the ceiling. I don’t even have a toothbrush. Surely someone would have offered us a toothbrush? Probably the hotel would give me one, but I don’t have the energy to pick up the phone and ask.
We’re both silent for a long time. I thought sleep would take me right away, but it doesn’t.
Finally, I murmur, “Nalani…”
Kyle makes a noise. I can’t tell if he’s clearing his throat, or something else.
“Did you see what happened?” I still don’t know exactly what Kyle went through, or how he got rescued. The cops and FBI questioned us all in different rooms, and after the Coast Guard told us not to talk about it while we were together on their ship, we didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
He makes that odd noise again. When he speaks, the words sound twisted. Strangled. “No. She was in her cabin when it happened. I was on the bridge. The Plexiglas protected me from most of the hit, and I was thrown against the starboard bench.” His voice trembles as if he’s on the verge of tears. “The part that exploded—it was your bunk, Tara. I thought you were in it, and…and…I knew it must have killed you.”
“I wasn’t,” I say softly.
“I know. Thank God. Thank fucking God.”
We’re quiet for a while, and I force closed eyes that suddenly seem determined to stay open.
Finally, Kyle takes a breath. “Ethan told me something today. When you were with the doctor.”
I don’t answer.
Kyle continues. “He told me he knew Emily, and that you hate him for lying to you.”
“He told you that, huh? How kind of him to share my feelings with you about a private matter.”
“Tara…”
“What? You’re protecting him now? Why?” I squeeze my eyes tighter shut. “I thought you couldn’t stand him. I though you couldn’t stand to see me with him.”
“It’s not about any of that. Not right now. I just wanted to tell you what he—”
“I don’t want to hear about Ethan, okay?”
“Okay,” Kyle says slowly. “But I think you should know one thing.”
I groan.
“He said I should take care of you. That you don’t trust him anymore—which he seems pretty fucked-up about—so it’s up to me now to make sure you’re safe.”
“Kyle, that’s what you’ve always done.” But he’s done it in such a different way than Ethan has. He’s taken care of me openly, without deceit, shame, or secrecy. Without invading my privacy.
“Yeah. Always.” Kyle’s words shake with emotion.
If only… I turn to my side and gaze at him. “I wish I could do it,” I say softly.
“Do what?”
“Ethan was right. You’re so much better for me than he is.”
Hope blooms in his expression, and I instantly know I’ve made a mistake. I
need to stop that hope. Immediately.
“But I can’t do it, Kyle. I… Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He’s silent, and I murmur, “You know what I mean, don’t you? I do love you, you know that, right?”
“Yeah. I do. I get it,” he says gruffly. “I wish that wasn’t how it was. I think we could be good together.”
“It’s just not meant to be. Please, please don’t be hurt by this. We’re meant to be friends. Good friends. The best.”
“I’m not sure if I can go back to that now.”
I think of all the nights we spent on my couch, watching action movies and eating popcorn. The late-night talks where he told me about his current bedmates and how the surf was that day, and how his poli-sci professor was hot. The studying sessions where he used to grab handfuls of his own hair and tug hard while bemoaning the fact that he’d missed half the classes because he was surfing.
I remember how he was at my side when I woke up after the accident.
After all that, I’m not in love with him. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m as warped and screwed up as Ethan.
And we can’t go back to the way it was. Kyle’s right. There will always be that awkwardness that wasn’t there before, me wondering if he’s having thoughts… If I’m getting too close to him, if I’m sending the wrong message.
There’s no getting around it. It’s going to be different between us now.
“I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
He doesn’t speak again, and I turn off the lamp and continue to stare at the ceiling in darkness, wondering what happened. I’ve lost Kyle and Ethan. Nalani is probably dead. Mick is a deranged murderer. Nobody knows why he was after me, and he’s still out there somewhere.
Ethan. It’s impossible to wrap my head around all that he did. I told him I hated him. Twice.
And a part of me does hate him, but I’m so confused, because the hate is all twisted up in softer emotions I’m trying to push aside.
All I know for sure is that my heart is broken. Shattered, like a fallen glass. And the shards are so sharp, it cuts deep inside me, and it’s so painful I don’t know how I’m going to bear it.
He warned me he’d do this to me, didn’t he? He warned me, and I thought he was talking about us separating once we were in LA. There was so much more to it than that. The one time I don’t trust his words at face value, and look where I am now.
Naïve...and stupid.
I fall asleep with those words swimming in my head, and I dream about stupid, naïve things. Smiling and chatting with Mick, cuddling up with Kyle thinking there’s nothing more than good friendship between us. Letting Ethan make me come, his fingers and mouth on me, making my body quiver with pleasure…
And even as I sleep, my traitorous body cries out for more.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning, Ethan arrives at our door with envelopes full of cash for both Kyle and me. I turn away from the one he holds out to me.
“You’re going to need this,” Ethan says. “It’s going to be a few days before you have access to your own money.”
Kyle takes the cash, but I don’t. I can’t even look at Ethan. Instead I head into the bathroom, my limp more pronounced than usual thanks to all my bumps and bruises, and close the door with a decisive click before sagging against it. I hear Kyle saying, “We’ll pay you back as soon as we can.”
I take a shower, and when I come back out, Kyle announces, “The first thing we’re going to do is get some clothes.”
I shake my head.
“T, you can’t wear that for the next two weeks.” He gestures at my shirt.
I gaze down at it. It’s huge and falls to my knees. I’ve never cared less about what clothes to wear than I do right now. “Why not?”
He blows out a hefty sigh. “Really? You’re going to be like this?”
“Like what?”
“You told me you were looking forward to seeing Honolulu, going to Waikiki and Diamond Head. Still up for it? Thought we could catch a bus, maybe, and go this morning. That Mitsubishi guy from the FBI said they weren’t going to come by until one-ish.”
“Mitsumoto. And I don’t think so.”
“You’re going to stay in this room, aren’t you?”
Yes. That sounds just fine. I don’t want to be out there, back in the real world. The thought is terrifying. Facing it without Ethan, knowing Mick might be there planning something…watching…
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say stubbornly.
“You’re hopeless.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I get back into bed and pull the covers up over my head. “Go away, Kyle.”
He sits there for a long time, watching me. Then, without another word, he slips out the door.
* * * * *
The next day passes in a flurry of interviews. It seems like every authority in the Hawaiian Islands questions us.
They’ve kept the search on for Nalani, day and night, but by now it’s pretty clear that she must have gone down with the Temptation. In the afternoon, the three of us meet with her mother and her three sisters. Four women, just as beautiful as Nalani was, and Kyle, Ethan, and I are the ones who have to tell them about Nalani’s last days.
It’s excruciating, painful. I try to remember the times she was skilled, competent, and kind, and the words that come out of my mouth are about her fixing the compass, about how she took over my watch after I had the anaphylactic reaction, about how she gave me her candy bar when I had nothing left to eat.
By the end of it, Ethan is the only one holding it together. Kyle is bent forward on the table, his face buried in his arms. And a constant stream of tears has poured down my cheeks for the last hour. Nalani’s family is kind, though. They don’t blame us for what happened. But grief etches deep lines on their tear-streaked faces. When they leave, they hug us, then shuffle out the door, heads bent and shoulders bowed.
We return to the hotel in a foggy haze of grief and confusion, my body wrung out and sore, my mind no better off. As soon as darkness comes, I fall into a heavy sleep.
In the morning, Kyle is gone. He left a note on his bed, though, written in his seldom-used, messy handwriting. If we’d had our phones, he would have just sent a text. But today he was actually forced to use pen and paper.
T,
Need to go out for a while. Left you room service. Hopefully the coffee isn’t too cold.
K.
The coffee is, thankfully, still warm, and I drink it while systematically demolishing the plate of pastries without tasting them.
A few hours later, my eyes are glued to the TV. It’s a talk show, but the host is new to me. As if in a hazy dream, I watch the people arguing about the right way to raise toddlers, only catching snippets here and there. “All children should be raised with unending love.” “A child won’t learn the difference between right and wrong if he’s never reprimanded.” Etcetera.
The information doesn’t really penetrate. An oppressive feeling has settled over me, one I’m familiar with, and one I hate. But it’s like a fog covering me that my fingers just pass through as I try to push it away.
The key card makes a scratching noise in the door, and the lock clicks automatically, but I don’t move my focus from the television.
“Damn, it’s dark in here.” Kyle sets down a bunch of shopping bags on his bed, and goes to open the curtains. My palms press against my eyes to shield them from the cutting sunlight.
He walks back toward me, smiling. Not with his usual carefree grin, though. There are shadows behind his smile. A darkness that wasn’t there before.
“Mitsubishi is going to be here any second—”
“Mitsumoto.” The word is toneless.
“—and you need to get dressed.” With a flourish, he pulls out a pair of white capri pants, much like the ones I was wearing when I slipped on the ramp and Ethan came to my rescue. I remember that rush of attraction the first time our gazes met, and my t
hroat closes so tight I can hardly breathe.
Kyle doesn’t notice my reaction—a reaction that I know without a doubt that Ethan would have noticed—instead he pulls out a pretty, formfitting blue cotton shirt that’s gathered in on the sides to show its wearer’s curves. Not dressy, but not casual either.
Kyle didn’t get me these clothes. No way.
He pats another bag and clears his throat. I see the Victoria’s Secret label. “These are for you too.”
I look at it all warily. “No.”
No way am I going to wear a bra and panties or any clothes Ethan has bought for me. Even if something in my heart softens knowing he did this for me. I turn back to the TV. “I’d rather keep what I’ve got on. Thanks.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, T.”
“Why are you colluding with him, anyway?”
He raises his brows at me. “Colluding? I’m not colluding. We’re both… I mean, he wants what’s best for you.”
Wants what’s best for me, I think numbly. Wants…the best for me. He’s always claimed that—always shown it through his actions. But stalking me? Could he have really thought that was helping me somehow?
“Anyway, you need clothes, and you know that unless we’re talking string bikinis, I’m hopeless with this girly shit.” He gestures at the bags. “So he had someone go out and buy this stuff for you.”
“And evidently he knows my size, including my bra size. Isn’t that a little weird, Kyle?”
Kyle hesitates, as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.
“He knows about my allergies, which is why he brought those EpiPens. He probably knows my complete medical history, including my psychiatric records and my blood type. Do you understand why that’s wrong?”
“Emily asked—”
“This isn’t about Emily!” I snap. “This is about me and my right to privacy. He completely disregarded it, then lied to me.”
“Did it ever occur to you that the reason he lied was to protect you?”
“Protect me? From what?”
Kyle gestures at me. “This.”
I think of how he sees me. Sitting here at noon and watching TV with my hair unbrushed and wearing sweats and this giant, wrinkled Coast Guard T-shirt.
