Heat Wave(47)

“Mr. Gruff.”

He laughs. “That’s a name of a dog. Somewhere in the world, there is a dog called Mr. Gruff.”

“How about Grumps?”

“Not sure if that’s much better, Freckles.”

“Sorry, you don’t get to choose,” I tell him, taking the beef jerky back. “Taste of your own medicine.”

“I guess it’s a good reminder that I have a reputation to uphold.”

But Logan doesn’t lapse back into the gruff grump I’ve known him as. Instead, our conversation continues to flow with a strange kind of ease. We talk about the island and how Logan’s changed since moving here. We talk about his brother and mother back in Australia, how he’d love to go visit. We talk about his childhood, how he grew up fatherless (his father was a deadbeat) and how I grew up essentially parentless, even though they were still there physically. My nannies raised me better than my parents did, even though there was always a revolving door of them and I never got to know one nanny longer than a year.

Soon night has fallen. The fire is still going, though it’s dwindling down into dark coals and glowing embers. The rain has stopped and we’re both fully dry now, the heat and the shelter raising our body temperature back up to a normal level. Though the roar of the stream has died down, it’s a steady reminder of why we are here. No matter what, there is no escape.

Our food is almost all eaten—the apple is saved for breakfast tomorrow—and it’s time to worry about how we’re going to sleep. Though the rain has stopped for now, odds are it will come back (it’s Kauai after all) and there’s barely enough room for one person to stretch out under the shelter.

Logan nods at me. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you lie down? There’s enough room between the wall and the fire.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll sit here.”

“And sleep?”

“If I can. Keep watch in case that cat comes back. I didn’t trust his face.”

I watch him for a few moments until he gestures at the earth again. Finally, I lie down, my back to the wall, my face to the fire, those last flames licking the logs. The ground is hard but it’s warm, and even though I’m a finicky sleeper, my head already feels heavy. To be honest, lying down like this feels like bliss.

But it doesn’t feel right. Logan should be lying down too, even though he has no choice but to lie with me. I wouldn’t mind. In fact, as I start to drift off, I can’t help but imagine that the warm, hard cliff at my back is him.





I wake up with what feels like a flashlight in my face. I blink, groggy, while everything comes back to me. My limbs are stiff and sore, and I feel exposed to the world.

I fully open my eyes to see the moon peeking out over a palm tree, full and bright and in my face, shadowed clouds passing beneath it. Crickets chirp over the sound of crashing waves.

Easing myself up, I look over for Logan. He’s sitting up, his back against the wall of the cliff, his head slumped to the side. Sleeping.

I have to go to the bathroom and don’t want to wake him up. I feel terrible that I’ve been lying down asleep and he’s had to sit up like that most of the night, but I’m still too afraid to insist he lie down with me. He’d turn me down, I know this, and I’d be asking for all the wrong reasons.

Slowly I get up and step over the fire, keeping my head low so I don’t hit the tarp. I don’t go far, only a few feet and off to the side to pee. When I’m done, I step back onto the path and run right into Logan.

“Argh!” I let out a cry while he grabs my arms.

“It’s just me,” he says, voice low.

“I had to pee,” I explain. My heart is beating a mile a minute. He scared me half to death and I’ve had enough scares to last me a lifetime.

“And I had to make sure you were coming back,” he says. He turns and I follow him back to our site. “It’s a gorgeous night,” he says over his shoulder as he sits down where he was before. “The full moons here are something else. You really feel the pull. That feeling of being on a planet in outer space. So small. So insignificant.”

I can’t help but shiver at that as I sit down, which he notices.

“Want me to start up the fire again? I might be able to get some kindling going.”

“No, it’s not that,” I explain, wincing. Everything hurts. “It’s that the last thing I want to be reminded of is how isolated and desolate we are.”

“Right,” he says. “Well, sometimes we need it. Helps put things in perspective.”

“I think I’ve had enough put into perspective in my life, let alone the last twenty-four hours. So, earlier,” I say, leaning against the wall beside him and hugging my knees, “when you said that you never listened to what my mother said…that you didn’t hire me because of her. Was that true?”