Heat Wave (4 page)

“It is,” Charlie says. “Veronica, this Kate.”

“Hi,” I say as brightly as I can. “You can call me Ronnie.”

“Right, Ronnie,” Charlie corrects himself.

Kate studies me for a little too long, her expression hard to read.

She looks back at Charlie. “Shephard is still at the pool. He told me he'd give her the tour though, so don't think you don't have to get back to work.”

Charlie checks the clock on the wall. “Damn, time is a bitch.” He looks at me with a shrug. “Wish I could continue being your tour guide, sweet thing,” he says. He looks at Kate, who is in the process of rolling her eyes. “I'll leave her bags here, for now. Do you know where she's staying?”

Kate's dark eyes fly to mine. “She's staying with me.”

I blink at her, surprised. “Uh, I was under the impression I would get my own place.”

She laughs dryly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Right. Because that would be fair. Look, if you had a place to yourself, you'd be docked a lot more pay. Rent in Kauai isn't cheap. You're more than welcome to go find a beach house up the street or down in Hanalei, if you want to share with six other people, most of whom will leave empty beer cans lying around the place and piss on your head in the middle of the night, thinking you’re a toilet. Not that I’d know. But if you want to stay at the resort, you're staying with yours truly. Believe me, I don't like it either.” She sighs. “I just had a wonderful month with the unit to myself after Charlotte started shacking up with her boyfriend. But it is what it is.”

“Dude, Kate, lighten up,” Charlie says, taking me by the elbow and giving her a dirty look. “I'll come by and get the suitcases later.” He leads me out of the office. “I should also mention that I'm also the bellhop sometimes. So is Johnny. Or really any staff member who happens to be walking past guests with luggage. Be prepared to add that to your job description as well.”

I nod absently. “She seems . . . nice,” I whisper to him as we walk down the path and away from the office, skirting alongside one of the buildings.

“Kate? She's actually great once you get to know her. She's just one of those people who you can never tell is joking or not. Deadpan, you know? But she's good people. Hey that's your unit there. Corner one, great view.”

I look up to where he's gesturing, the second floor of the building, an outdoor staircase leading up to it.

“The units are nice,” he says. “I share one with Johnny over there by the pool. You guys get a view so there's that.”

“How many other workers stay here? Does Logan?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Shephard has a house up the street, just across from the beach.”

“The same one as before?” For some reason I thought that maybe the house would have been empty after the accident.

“Same one,” he says. “And Nikki and Shannon share the unit next to us. We get docked a bit in pay for it but it's not as much as if we were to live elsewhere, so no one complains. Only drawback is that you live where you work, you know? So in a way you're always working. Just try and have a nice evening off without someone knocking on your door, asking you for something.”

We pause outside a gate with a sign displaying the pool hours, lush foliage with bright hibiscus flowers on either side.

“Well this is the—” Charlie begins but is interrupted by a loud, “FUCK!” coming from the other side of the fence.

Charlie winces. “And that would be Shephard. Sorry you have to meet him on a day that he's losing his shit.” He pauses. “Then again, you know him. Try to think of the happier times.”

The happier times? My brain chugs back to the past, where all the happier times reside. It pauses on the sight of him, seven years ago, looking out over Lake Michigan in that uncomfortable suit, the way his eyes looked as they first glanced at me. Like I was someone he knew. Like I was someone he wanted to know.

I'm prepared not to know him anymore.

Charlie swipes his key card at the gate and it swings open.

To get to the pool you have to walk through a small, open-air structure that has the change rooms, washrooms, and a small outdoor kitchen. There are a few barbeques scattered about and an eating area, as well as some loungers, couches, and a fire pit, all surrounded by lush potted plants and palms, adding to the tropical feel.

Beyond that is the tiled patio leading to the pool where a tiny balding Korean man is hunched over the filter, concentrating as he sticks his hands inside.

“Anything yet, Jin?” A brash Australian accented voice yells from the right of us. We look over to see the door to a maintenance shed open, a tall hulking figure half-hidden inside.

“No, nothing,” Jin says. “It’s not the filter.”

Charlie swallows, looking nervous again, which in turn makes me feel like I'm about to throw up.

Get it together
, I tell myself.
You'll be fine.

“Still working on it?” Charlie comments.

“Oh hey Charlie,” Jin says, glancing up at us. “Seems like an element has gone out, I think.”

But I'm not looking at Jin. I'm looking at Logan as he sticks his head around the door and steps back a foot.

I feel the air being sucked out of me. I never knew how hard it would be to see him again, and somehow it's harder than I imagined. It's like a sticky, sharp feeling that settles in your bones, the result of having far too many emotions about one particular person. Hate, fear, disappointment, distrust, shame, sadness.

Affection.

Lust.

No
, I tell myself.
Don't even think about that one.

“Veronica,” Logan says and my name sounds darker when he says it, like I'm the name of a hurricane that's about to slam into the island. Maybe let another generation of chickens loose.

I nod at him because I can't think of anything to say. I haven't seen him since the funeral, and it feels like I did nothing more than glance in his direction as the coffin was lowered into the ground.

“I got her here safe and sound,” Charlie says rather awkwardly, looking between the two of us.

“You look just like her,” Jin says. Startled, I whirl toward him as he slowly walks over. He has kind eyes and smooth skin, even though he must be in his seventies, but his words are still jarring.

“Excuse me?” I repeat.

“Like who?” Charlie asks.

“Like his wife,” Jin says, nodding at Logan.

I try not to look at him.

“Juliet? Shephard’s wife?” Charlie asks and he takes a step back, eyeing me up and down. “I guess . . . I . . .”

“Well, doesn't she?” Jin says to Logan, adamant.

Now I dare to look at him. Logan is staring at me, his eyes dark and pensive under those arched brows, though I know inside he must be reeling at the comparison.

“Juliet smiled more,” Logan finally says. And the moment her name comes out of his lips, I realize how much of a mistake this was and how hard it's going to be.

I can't do this.

“Can someone fill me in?” Charlie says, exasperated, pressing his palms together.

“You didn't know?” Jin asked, brows raised. “This is Juliet's sister. Logan is Veronica’s brother-in-law.”

Was my brother-in-law, till death did them part,
I want to say but I don't dare. For all that I know about Logan, the horrible things he's done, the way everyone in my family feels about him, I can’t pretend that losing Juliet wasn’t hard on him. Even though I want to.

“You're Shephard's sister-in-law?” Charlie asks incredulously. “Dude, why didn't you tell me that?”

I don't say anything but Logan does. “Probably because she didn't want any special treatment. Isn't that right,
Veronica
?”

I hate the way he says my name. The last seven years have been all about trying to get him to call me Ronnie, like everyone else does. He calls me Veronica on purpose, only because it pisses me off.

“Pretty much,” I tell him, giving him a tight smile.

He holds my eyes for a moment, as if he's already trying to wear me down. I won't give him the satisfaction. I stare right back. Silence stretches between us, broken only by a calling bird.

“Uh, so Kate said you'd give her the tour?” Charlie asks warily.

Logan tears his eyes off me and I shudder inside with relief.

“I'll finish up here. Bloody pump isn't working. Might have to get a professional in here and go without heat for the rest of the week, fuck knows how fast I can get a guy.”

“It’s hot as balls. I don't think anyone will care aside from that couple from Boston. They've been complaining about everything,” Charlie adds lightly.

Logan's eyes narrow. “And we can't afford to have a single complaint, got that N-Sync?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie says. He looks to me. “Come on, I'll take you to your new home, you can get settled while the
habut
stops grumbling.”

“Okay,” I say quietly. I look to Jin. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he says with a wide grin. “We'll be spending a lot of time together.”

I don’t even have time time to wonder what work I’ll be doing with Jin the pool-man. I look at Logan to nod farewell, but he's already turned his back to me and is busying himself with the pool problems.

It isn't until the pool gate closes behind us that I finally let out a deep breath.

“So Shephard is your brother-in-law?” Charlie asks. “Or I guess,
was
your brother-in-law. Either way. Wow. Dude. This has got to be all kinds of…weird for you.”

You have no idea.

“I mean, Juliet,” he goes on, running a hand through his spiky hair. “Shit. I'm so sorry. I know I already told you how amazing she was but in case you need to know it again, there you go. She really had the hotel running at its best. To be honest Shephard has kind of been struggling with it ever since. I'm sure some of us stay here because we feel sorry for him.”

I don’t like the idea of feeling sorry for him. I want to feel
nothing
for him.

As we head back to reception to grab my suitcases, he says, “I guess coming here is kind of like . . . another way to say goodbye. Communicate with the ghost.”

I know Charlie is speaking metaphorically but even so, a shiver runs through me. Juliet's ghost is here, all over the hotel and the grounds, in the memories of the people who worked here, the man who runs the place, in the trees and the birds that saw her. I'd always thought that moving here would be another way to connect with her, to get a glimpse at the place that occupied her heart and mind for four years of her life.

But already it seems like it will be more than that. Her ghost might become something I can't escape.

We grab my bags at reception, Kate on the phone with someone as we do so, and head back to my unit. Even though I try and stay fit by jogging every morning, I'm out of breath and sweating again by the time I bring my bag up to the second level. Charlie keeps insisting he can handle both, but since he warned me that we all have to act as bellboys at one point or another, I figure I can use the practice.

He swipes the key card at the pad on the side of the door and it beeps open.

I step inside my new home.

CHAPTER THREE

The unit is exactly what I pictured. Well, aside from the whole having to share it with someone aspect, though I tell myself I'll get over it soon.

There are tiles on the floor and thatched walls that look like they're made from palm leaves. The whole place is open air except for the bathroom to the right and a bedroom to the left.

“So Kate is in there,” Charlie says, hauling the suitcases across the floor and nodding to the door. “And let me tell you, she's one lucky bitch. I think Shephard has a soft spot for her because that's the only room any of us have.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, following him into the apartment. There's a kitchen on one side, small and a little dated but totally functional, and a large living area with rattan and bamboo furniture with palm-printed cushions. In front of that is an expansive balcony with chairs and a table, the view stretching across a wide lawn and finally to the ocean. Many of the condos face inward to the grassy area, like a courtyard, giving us all a partial ocean view at the very least, palm trees swaying in the wind. Even though the screen door is closed, I can hear the ocean clear as day, the chatter of a couple as they walk across the lawn in their bare feet, towels draped over their shoulders.

“This is your room,” he says nodding to a sectioned off corner of the living room, tucked behind the kitchen. It's only half-walled in, so there's no real door, just some partitions you can slide across.

“Uh, this is a room?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, running his hand over his jaw and nodding like he's contemplating it for the first time. “In the hotel units, this is where the kids sleep, I guess. It's where I sleep in mine. The bed is really comfortable, by the way. And Johnny doesn't get his own room like Kate does, it's kind of done up the same way as this. No privacy for anyone.” He runs his hands along the edge of the partition. “Except Kate. Like I said, she’s one lucky bitch. She can have all the dudes over and you probably won't hear a thing.” His eyes seem to darken momentarily at that before he snaps out of it and gives me a cheeky grin. “You, on the other hand…”

I roll my eyes. “I don't think that will be a problem,” I tell him. I'd pretty much sworn off men since I left Piccolo.

“Even so,” he says. “You're better off staying the night elsewhere if you want to get laid. Though since Kate actually has a door, it shouldn't be a problem.”

“Doesn't it bother you to live like you’re in a dorm?” I ask him, folding my arms. “I mean, how old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-six,” he says, raising his chin in defense. “And, this isn't living in a dorm room. This is just an affordable way to live in paradise. Not everyone can be rich here. The rich get the private condos and houses. We ain't rich and it ain't about that anyway. This is about really living life and finding out what's important. What's important to you, Ronnie?”

I'm half-pleased that he's called me by my nickname and half-ashamed that I sounded so snooty. I swallow hard. “I don't know what's important anymore,” I admit, my voice dropping a register. “I just know that whatever it is, it’s not back at home.”

He purses his lips, eyes studying me. “Hmmm. Honest. I like that. Well, maybe that's why you're here. To find out what's important. What makes your soul sing. I told you this place would shake you up, didn't I?”

“You did.”

He jerks his head into the room. “Anyway, you do have your own private bathroom, so if you must get busy, you can get busy in there. I can't tell you how many dates have ended up with a blow-job in the loo.”

“All right, Charlie, that's enough,” I tell him. “Or is it N' Sync?”

He scoffs. “I guess you heard Shephard dole out that one.”

“Is that one of your nicknames?”

“One of them,” he says. “Take care, I'll see you in a bit.”

And with that Charlie leaves, while I ponder if the N' Sync comment is over his spiky hair or something else. He looks more like a surfing god than a boy-band member but I guess the best nicknames are the ones we don't suit. Or want.

With Charlie gone, for the first time in twenty-four hours, I am well and truly alone.

I'm not even sure what to do. Logan had said he was coming to get me for a tour but I don't know if I have enough time to shower or not. So I stand here for a few moments, moments that stretch into minutes, while I try and absorb everything that's just happened.

Here I am in Kauai, in my new home, and not only do I have no idea what to expect, I have no idea if I'm ready to start working with Logan. I mean, he is, was, my brother-in-law, and even though Juliet died two years ago, he's somehow still family, whether I want him to be or not.

And I don’t.

I just wish I felt something toward him other than . . . well, everything I feel toward him. The biggest one of all is resentment. I can't help but feel a hot fist of anger in my chest every time I think about the way he wronged Juliet. Even though I'd never confronted him about it, we all knew the truth, and that horrible dilemma that Juliet was living with in the months leading up to her death.

Even though she was hit by a drunk driver and her car plunged over the side of the cliff and onto the rocks below, I can't help but feel it's Logan's fault. Maybe if Juliet hadn't been so distraught by everything that was happening in her life, she would have been more aware, more on the ball. Maybe she would have survived. Corrected the car before it went over. I mean, it was Juliet Locke for crying out loud, my sister, the girl that could never do wrong, the girl who never made mistakes, the girl I spent my entire life living in the shadow of, trying to become someone half as good as her.

And Logan was her husband, the bastard who cheated on her.

We all knew. We could sense things were off before, about a year or two into the marriage, when Juliet would give a forced smile every time Logan's name was mentioned. My mother pulled me aside once when they celebrated Christmas with us and asked me, “Do you think Juliet's happy with Logan?”

At the time I thought it was my mother being a snob, because she always insisted her daughters do the best, marry the best, and Logan, for all his entrepreneurial spirit, wasn't considered to be one of the best. My mother would rather have the politician’s sons for either of us, but especially for Juliet, her shining light, the daughter she was the proudest of.

But instead Juliet settled for a rugged Australian with little money, who had dreams of opening a hotel in Hawaii (a pipe dream, as my father had initially called it) and when Moonwater Inn finally did open six years ago, it was done with the backing of his friend, Warren Jones, and almost all of my parent’s money. In fact, they're still part owners of this place, yet another reason why I think I was shipped off here.

Looking back now, I'm sure that's not what my mother meant, though. She must have sensed Juliet's unhappiness. Knew that Logan was having an affair behind her back. She’s a politician and they’re the first to sniff out the shady shit. Takes one to know one and all that.

When Juliet came to visit alone that one year, staying at my place, that's when the truth came out. Logan was a cheater. Had numerous affairs. Was an asshole of the highest regard.

I was livid on her behalf, knowing that I should have never trusted him, and I hated myself for initially being so attracted to the man. All before Juliet swept him off his feet, of course—and vice versa. Especially since my family had helped to fund his dream. This was how he repaid them?

But I never got to talk to Juliet about it again. She became more and more distant as the months went on and wouldn't talk about it. My emails, my texts, my phone calls—it was like it had never happened, that she had never admitted anything. Which, when I think about it, is totally a Juliet maneuver. It hurt her to admit that anything wasn’t perfect.

She wouldn't leave him either, which I never really understood. Was it that she had become so accustomed to the lifestyle that she was afraid to break it off? Was it that she still loved him somehow, despite all that he'd done? Either way, the Juliet I grew up with, my beautiful big sister, she never would have put up with anyone's shit. Her ego was strong, her pride was unbreakable. And yet she stayed married to Logan for reasons I'll never know.

But even still, I can't help but hold him partially responsible for her death. If anything, if she didn't fall in love with him, she would still be in Chicago. Maybe she'd show up at my restaurant and finally glimpse the career I was building for myself, see that I too was becoming something. Maybe we would have grown closer as we became adults. Instead I lost the last years of our relationship to long-distance. Kauai had become her new home and new life, and I was just the shadow left behind.

I was always the shadow left behind.

I sigh, trying to shake it all from my nerves. I refuse to be negative on my first day here. What I need is a shower.

I pry my phone out of my jeans pocket, the interior damp from my sweat in this tropical climate, and give it a glance. It's four p.m., October 2nd, and I think—I hope—I have just enough time to have a shower and wash the plane germs off me before Logan shows up. If he shows up.

I step into the bathroom, grateful that I have a private one, and get in the shower. The moment the hot water hits my skin, I sigh in relief. I literally stand there for five minutes, just letting it all soak into me, like I'm trying to wash every worry and fear away. I swear it works. By the times I lather up with shower oil, shampoo, and conditioner, I feel like a brand-new woman.

I step out and wrap the towel around me and lean over, wiping the steam away from the mirror. My reflection is a bit fuzzy, like I have the heaviest Snapchat filter on, which is probably why I look half decent. When Jin said I looked like Juliet, he wasn't exaggerating. We're not carbon copies of each other, but even so you can see the resemblance if you look for it, which is probably why Jin saw it (because he knew we were related) and Charlie didn't (because he didn't).

Juliet was tall and thin, with a giant rack which so wasn't fair, and light brown hair that was shiny like a Pantene commercial. In the summer she had Jennifer Aniston highlights from the sun, and that all came naturally. She was pale, but her skin was smooth and wrinkle-free, to the point that I started to suspect that our mother had given her the “treat” of Botox on more than one occasion. Her eyes were blue, just like our father's, and her lashes were long, looking positively fake when she loaded on the mascara.

As for me, my hair is medium brown and I have to pay for my highlights. I'm not very tall, about five-five, and while I'm somewhat thin, it's because I work hard at it. When you think of a chef or a cook, you think of a rather “rotund” person, and I do my best to buck the stereotype, and though I have a full ass and thighs that won't go away no matter how little I eat or many miles I walk, my upper body is tiny (which unfortunately means my boobs don't runneth over). My eyes are more narrow and dark brown, like my mother's (we give good resting bitch face) and my skin tans easily, which, for the first time ever, might be a good thing when it comes to living in Hawaii.

Overall I know I'm pretty. Not gorgeous like Juliet was, I mean, you couldn't find a person alive that would turn that woman down. She had everyone in the palm of her delicate hand. She was Blake Lively on beauty steroids. But I'm okay with myself, even if Veronica Locke is a person you usually end up forgetting in the end.

With that in mind, I slather moisturizer over my face, hoping to combat the dryness from the plane, and take in a deep breath.

I open the door and step out into my my room.

Logan is standing there.

I yelp, clutching my towel to my chest.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, taking a little too long to avert his eyes away from my legs and chest. “I didn't know you were in the shower.”

I glare at him. “But that still gives you the right to waltz on in here?” I ask incredulously. Talk about no boundaries!

His eyes narrow in response, the kind of look that can nail you to the floor.

I don't let it.

“The door was ajar, I knocked. Again, sorry.” When he finishes that sentence, his eyes trail down to my chest again, my boobs squished together by my hands at the towel. He clears his throat and looks away, staring out at the expanse of lawn and the ocean beyond it.

I hate, hate, hate the tiny thrill that runs through me from his gaze. This is so not what I want for my first day here. Even though it pains me to do so, I have to just push past all this and try my best to be the bigger person. Hell, Logan is almost forty but that doesn't seem to mean anything when it comes to being less stubborn.

“Well, give me a moment to get changed,” I tell him.

He nods and steps out of my zero-privacy bedroom.

I sigh and quickly close the partitions, then bring down the blinds on the window. I can hear him as he walks along the tile floor, to the kitchen and back to the living area, pacing.

I wonder if he’s nervous. Of me, of all people.

It’s because he knows what you think of him.

Even though it’s raining, I grab a tank top and slide on a pair of black board-shorts I picked up at Neiman’s just before I left. I pull my wet hair back into a loose bun and clean up the bits of mascara underneath my eyes that smudged from the shower. I would have liked to have had more time to actually dote on my appearance for my first day and all—I know how important first impressions are in a business like this—but this will have to do.