Relapse in Paradise Page 10

  Boston loosened his tight grip on the steering wheel. Why was Emily doing this to herself? To teach him a lesson? To prove a point? Should he say something? Offer comfort?

  Emily’s eyebrows creased as she stared straight ahead at nothing, and her voice fell to a near-whisper. “I wonder how it feels. I want to hand my heart over to someone who wants it—not reluctantly or out of some sense of obligation—and will offer me theirs in return. Just to know.”

  When she finally met his eyes, hers were red-rimmed and swamped with emotion but as dry as sand.

  “Go ahead and keep your sad stories about Jordan,” she said. “I can’t relate, anyway.”

  Chapter 7

  The first half of their hike up the rugged mountain path went by in stony silence. Emily hadn’t even remarked on the warning signs posted at the trailhead. Boston didn’t exactly go out of his way to point out the glaring “Dangerous Trails Ahead” signpost or the sign plainly suggesting they not proceed past the parking area.

  He attempted to draw her to attention to the beheading rock of Kole Kole Pass, which had some creepy lore surrounding it.

  She hardly peeked at it as they passed.

  Whatever. Boston shrugged and kept going. He only had to get her to the end of the dirt path, the place where the trees opened up and they’d have an unobstructed view of the peak of Pu’u Hapapa and Lualualei Valley beyond.

  Experienced hikers could reach the summit and back in four hours or less, but Boston wasn’t equipped for the full hike to the peak, and Emily was a beginner. The warning signs at the trailhead existed for a reason. Things got a little hairy past the meadow.

  Didn’t matter when the meadow was the destination.

  He stopped and shrugged off the backpack containing the lunches Hani had packed for them, along with extra bottles of water.

  “That”—he broke the skin on their cone of silence and pointed at the craggy mountain face rising up in the distance—“is Pu’u Hapapa. Don’t ask me what it means because I don’t know. It’s too dangerous for us to attempt, but the view from this meadow is one of the best on Oahu. Kole Kole Pass is right over—”

  She gawked at him, wild-eyed. “People climb that?”

  The magnificent vista hadn’t pried Emily open up like a springtime flower the way he’d hoped, but at least she was speaking again.

  “Sure they do. At the top, the trail ends at an old helicopter pad. Hell of a view.” Boston made a seat from a suitable rock and laid his windbreaker out over a pad of grass for Emily. “You hungry?”

  She wiped the sweat from her brow and observed Pu’u Hapapa another minute. “It’s really something up here.”

  Boston unpacked the paper sacks. He peered inside one of them and offered Emily a grim smile as she joined the makeshift picnic. “Fresh fruit. Rice. Spam. No meal’s complete without Spam.”

  “Not if Hani made it.” She took her plastic container and bottled water without further complaint.

  A ponderous silence went by while they pushed rice and papaya chunks around in their plastic containers. At least until Emily let go of her fork and pointed at his left bicep, bared by his sleeveless gray T-shirt. “Your tattoo. What’s it mean?”

  He followed the line of her finger, even though he knew the tattoo well. “It’s says hema.”

  Emily tilted her head. “You’re sweet, Boston, but I can read. What does it mean?”

  Each one of his tattoos meant something personal, beyond what the words translated to. But what the hell. Emily had bared her soul back there in the van. He supposed he owed her. “It’s supposed to mean ‘unprepared’ or ‘clumsy.’ I don’t speak Hawaiian, so I had to take the tattoo artist’s word for it.”

  “Ah.” She peered at him. Her eyes squinted against the brightness of the day, despite the cloud cover. The sun reflected off the haze, illuminating the sky like a sunny day. She did her wise owl thing again, considerate and watchful. “That is, what does it mean to you?”

  The truth? The tattoo pinpointed his fears during the most trying times of his adult life—getting sober for the first time. His answer came as close to honest as he’d willingly get. “It represents my fear of the unknown. The concept is timeless. Trying something new is scary, whether it’s moving to Hawaii or learning to surf. You never feel ready for change. I needed to wrangle my insecurity into something physical. Tangible.”

  “And the other one? On your right arm?”

  “Ma’ema’e ola. Clean life.” He mustered up a flat smile. “Island living is pretty damn clean.”

  Her face went still. Again, she studied him. Did he have rice clinging to his face? “Akela told me you used to drink. I’m guessing the first tattoo came before sobriety. The second after?”

  Damn you, Akela. Anything Emily doesn’t know about me at this point? He rubbed the nape of his neck and had a hard time meeting her gaze. The stark face of Pu’u Hapapa seemed no more welcoming, perhaps, but less condemning and lacking the judgment he expected to read on Emily’s face.

  “Very clever. You always this interested in your guides? I should warn you I’m a leg man.” Despite his fear of judgment, he couldn’t resist a glance to catch her reaction.

  She grinned and responded to his leg comment with only the slightest blush on the apples of her cheeks. “I’m the observant type. And I can’t help but be fascinated with your tattoos, considering I don’t have any. Neither does my sister. Or anyone else in my acquaintance.”

  “Hmm. Not even Jack? He seemed the type.”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I have noticed yours, though. You have a yellow hibiscus on your hip, which I believe is the Hawaiian state flower. The Arizona state quarter on one wrist, another hibiscus on your calf, and one more. It’s on your ribs. Something in Hawaiian, but I can’t read the typeface any more than I can translate the words.”

  Boston inhaled and let fresh, muggy air fill his lungs.

  A hui hou.

  Once again, Jordan’s ghost butted her head in where it no longer belonged. “It means until we meet again. It means different things at different times. These days, it’s a reminder of my folks. In a few years, when I’m back home in my native desert wasteland, caring for my really, really old parents”—he swallowed—“or sorting through their stuff once they’ve passed on, the tattoo will probably be my ode to Hawaii.”

  Emily brushed her hands together as if dusting off crumbs and set her “lunch box” on the grass. Nothing remained of her fruit, but she’d hardly touched the rice. “I’m pretty sure my scene in the van covered our ‘uncomfortable display of emotion’ segment of the tour. I won’t ask about your parents if you’d rather I didn’t.” A loaded pause. “But I am curious.”

  He’d sort of asked for it, hadn’t he? “Eh, it’s nothing, really. They’re old. They’ve always been old. So old my friends thought I lived with my grandparents. Mom turned forty-two the year she had me. She and Dad are both in their eighties.” He recalled the last time they’d seemed young to him. “We came here on vacation when they retired. I celebrated my eighteenth birthday a few months before.”

  The island had practically pulsed with freedom. He’d been a studious kid. Worked hard, earned a free ride to a teaching degree. He was headed for the University of Arizona the next fall. But Oahu snagged his heart and imagination and never let go. “I graduated, taught high school in my hometown for several years. And then something happened.” He snorted and scratched his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving. “Actually, it’s more accurate to say nothing happened. Dry, stuffy parents in a dry, stuffy town. I had a dry, stuffy life.” He scraped up the last of his rice. “So, when I hit thirty, I left. I came here and started living.”

  Started hiding.

  Sure, maybe a part of him was hiding out. His parents kept getting older, and the longer he stayed away, the faster time seemed to fly. Any day now, he’d be called home, but he wouldn’t leave until he had to. No way he’d witness his imminent loss
firsthand. Only his experience with Jordan waltzing in and out of his life, elusive as smoke, rivaled the sense of defeat and powerlessness his elderly parents inspired. He’d face the regret when it came rather than fight a losing battle.

  Boston cleared his throat and popped the lid back on his lunch container, his appetite gone. “What do you think of the view? Throw me some adjectives. Stunning? Remarkable? A small pat on the back for finally getting something right on this vacation of yours.”

  Emily smiled and regarded the valley beyond Pu’u Hapapa. “It’s incredible. In fact, if I lived here, I’d build a yurt on the mountainside and forget the beach.”

  He chuckled at the image of Emily sporting furs and holding a spear. “You’d hunt wild pig to survive, huh? Pick seeds and berries?”

  “Oh, gosh no.” She managed to look sincerely shocked by the question. “I’d send my butler to the grocery store once a week.”

  A little dig to remind him of her place on the totem pole, as if he’d forgotten. He paused. Or maybe some self-deprecating humor? Hard to tell with Emily and her oh-so-dry sense of humor. “Or you could hire me. For a small daily fee, I’d be your personal hunter-gatherer.”

  She frowned. “I can’t imagine I’d have many resources living in a yurt. I probably couldn’t afford you both. I’d have to choose between you and my butler.”

  “I’m the obvious choice. Being nonfictional and all.”

  Emily wasn’t the bowl-over with laughter type of girl. Her small grin and quiet snort was as good as a hearty guffaw. “You’ve nearly made up for the last two days, but there’s one tiny thing you could do to bring it home.”

  Emily would be his neighbor for four weeks. That didn’t, however, guarantee she’d be willing to put up with him past the two he was contracted as her guide. His need for money hadn’t gone anywhere. Emily had to continue wanting his services.

  He’d do whatever it took.

  He placed their containers in the backpack and hitched it over one shoulder. “Anything.” Please don’t ask to do something boring. Or, God forbid, expensive. If she asked for a spa day, he’d fling himself off the side of the mountain.

  “Feed me something without rice.”

  “Oh, man.” Relief hit him first. Then the impracticality of her request sunk in. He dropped his chin to his chest. “You’re never gonna make this easy, are you?”

  She chugged the last of her water and licked her lips. “Not if I can help it.”

  * * * *

  Boston could’ve bounced a rubber ball off the tension in The Canopy.

  He spotted Hani, hands on hips, in animated conference with Akela and Thompson across the dining hall. Talk from the late dinner crowd prevented him from catching snatches of the conversation, but he had a damn good idea of the subject matter.

  Jordan.

  Being mute, Thompson lacked the ability to respond with words, but his body language told the story well enough. Strain deepened the worst of the wrinkles on his weathered face. Akela, too, gave plenty away with her lips pressed so hard together they were almost white against her almond-colored skin.

  He scanned the room and spotted Ryder tucking into a plate of rice, noting how the man kept one wary eye on his fellow down-and-outers. “Hey, Em, look who’s here. Why don’t you go say hi? Ask him if he had any luck tracking down Kale today.”

  She left his side so easily he might’ve been the one dismissed.

  Hani’s face lit up when he caught sight of Boston headed toward them, but not in a happy way. He clasped Boston’s shoulder and pulled him closer. “Oh, man, it’s about time you showed up. I’m about to go into conniptions. I need smelling salts or something.”

  Thompson bobbed his head in worried agreement.

  Akela wore an identical expression.

  Boston searched their distressed faces. Maybe this had nothing to do with Jordan, after all. “What’s going on? Did you get news of Kale?”

  Hani’s eyebrows snapped together. “Nah, brother. Worse than that. Phillip called.”

  Boston let out a low whistle and crossed his arms. Phillip Stacey, Jordan’s big brother and polar opposite. He’d never met two siblings more different. While Jordan had lived it up, Phillip had gone the college route, earned a law degree, settled down with a nice girl shortly after, and lived a squeaky clean life.

  So clean, in fact, he refused to have anything to do with his sister. One of those “helpful” family members, he’d be the first to drive Jordan to rehab but, in the meantime, he drew a hard line between them.

  It was all or nothing with some people.

  Boston’s personal association with the guy ran along similar veins. Back when Boston had been Jordan’s loser, drunk boyfriend incapable of keeping a steady job, Phillip refused to acknowledge his existence in a room. These days, things worked a bit differently. He’d been one of the first people to shake Boston’s hand when he bought the dilapidated building that had become the shelter and remained one of The Canopy’s most generous benefactors.

  Still, they weren’t exactly pals. Boston wouldn’t call Phillip the friendly type. One reason would compel Phillip to call The Canopy directly, rather than send over a courier or have his secretary make the call, and Boston had guessed it the minute he’d walked in the door.

  Damn if it didn’t always come back to Jordan.

  Hani, Thompson, and Akela stared at him.

  Boston guessed what had them so distraught. He kept his arms crossed. “You think I’m going to ruin everything because Jordan had another bad breakup? You can tell Phillip I appreciate his concern, but I already got Jordan’s message.”

  Hani’s stare went from anxious to animal. He pointed a fat finger in Boston’s face and pitched his voice low. “You don’t get to act like it ain’t happened before. I’ve got every right to worry. We all do, because it ain’t just you, man. We’re tied to you like a damn fishing line. If you get yanked out of the water, we all fry.”

  Akela put a hand over her brother’s arm. “Boston, she’s coming. It’s what she does. And if it were Jordan alone, we wouldn’t worry. But she has a way of—”

  “Dunking your ass in a bottle. Let’s be straight.” Hani was never one to mince words.

  Boston nodded and considered his friends. “You’re right. So, I won’t drink. Problem solved.”

  Doubt clouded their faces like a spring storm.

  Their reactions incensed him even as he understood them. “Guys, I’ve been sober for two years. I don’t even think about it anymore. That’s not lip service, Hani. You’d know if I’d been pining away for a drink this whole time.”

  Hani tilted his head back and chewed his lip. “Maybe. But last time Jordan came sniffing around, you were sober and had a girlfriend. What’s different this time?”

  “Last time I’d gone from homeless panhandler to business owner in the space of a few months and was seeing a woman for the first time since divorcing Jordan. Jordan spilled the beans about my past and convinced me this place would fail. It didn’t take a whole lot to talk me into a few shots of Jack, I admit it. But like I said—”

  “Two years. I hear you, man.” The pity in Hani’s plaintive gaze got to Boston worse than any amount of anger. “But this is Jordan we’re talking about. She is your addiction.”

  Boston shook his head and stepped back. Their lack of faith filled his mouth with the sour taste of the past. Like his parents saying he’d stayed in Honolulu after achieving sobriety was an excuse to fail, an excuse to stay within reach of the lifestyle, keep the toxic influence near at hand. In case. Like keeping a six pack in the fridge.

  They’d been wrong. Like Hani was now. “I busted my ass for this life. I saved every penny I begged for and gave every last cent for this place. Since we opened, I’ve slipped up once. I let Jordan sabotage a frail relationship and used it as an easy excuse to indulge. She led me like a puppy on a string. How can you believe I’d let her do it again?” His arms fell to his
sides, and he looked at each one of them in turn. “How can you have so little faith in me, guys? I work harder than anyone to keep us going. Hell, I’ve lied to my client.”

  A few heads turned, and Boston remembered they weren’t alone. He lowered his voice. “I turned into a common thief to help someone who needed it. I’ve taken every advantage of my situation, risked the very income that allows us to operate to help one guy. You’re right, though, Hani. If I go down, you’re going with me.”

  “Like a damn ship.”

  “Well, a storm’s coming. Batten down the hatches, splice the main brace!” He chuckled with more humor than the joke warranted. “Unfortunately, it’s too late to decide whether or not you trust the captain. But, hey, thanks for having my back. It means the damn world.”

  Hani closed the distance between them with a dangerous gleam in his dark eyes. “I will always have your back. You did this and that, but you ain’t done a damn thing alone. You remember that. When Jordan wipes the floor with you because your pride won’t let us help, I’ll have my mop bucket ready, brother.”

  Boston’s edged reply died in his throat.

  Threatening, towering Hani and his promise to be there for Boston no matter what… What the hell could he say to such infuriating loyalty? There was beauty in knowing he could say anything and be forgiven. Maybe not trusted, but at least forgiven.

  From the corner of his eye, Boston caught a glimpse of Emily happily taking Ryder’s arm as they strode toward The Canopy’s exit.

  He deflated. He’d planned on surprising her with gyros for dinner after they changed from the hike. He’d missed his chance, and Ryder hadn’t hesitated to dive in. In a way, it seemed like Jordan had already asserted herself and made his life twice as difficult as it had been two days ago.