I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The truth is laid out plain and clear and I’ve been a complete fucking fool but even so, the hero-worshiping illness I have with my sister is too strong. “That doesn’t mean anything,” I say feebly. “She could have left it there…and been there for another reason. You don’t know it was her in the shower.”
He nods, a placating smile on his lips. “I got out of there. A few days later, Logan brings me aside. Asks me all about Bellamy. Breaks down and says that Juliet has been cheating on him. I’ve never seen him cry, Ronnie. But he did. I’m not saying his marriage with Juliet was full of love and roses. They were an odd couple and they had problems. But I know Logan was at least faithful. Juliet was not. She was still seeing Bellamy the day that she died. She was driving back from his place up on the ridge.”
I’m stunned. I’m stunned but I don’t feel anything at all. I’m just this grey, numb mass, and all the things I should be feeling are bouncing off me, deflected.
Everything had been a lie.
Juliet. Perfect Juliet. She had cheated on her husband and then turned around and made it look like he was the one at fault, not her. And oh my god. I believed it. So did my mother. So did everyone. She made Logan out to be the villain and we were all so blinded by her, we all believed her.
And then the strangest emotion comes crawling to the surface.
Anger.
Not over Juliet. No, I’m too numb to feel anything about her. If she’s a bomb shelter, I’ve taken some of that armor when I swooped overhead as the hurricane.
No. I’m angry at Logan.
“I have to go,” I tell Daniel.
“Oh fuck, please don’t say anything,” he says.
“I won’t,” I tell him, though I know I will probably will. I want to keep Daniel’s trust and I don’t want him in trouble, but this takes precedence.
I storm out of the restaurant and head over to reception, the rain warm and steady, streams of water forming in the parking lot. I fling the doors to the office open. But it’s only Shannon there, the nightshift worker.
“Aloha,” she says in her throaty voice. She always looks like she just broke out of women’s prison.
“Yeah, aloha, where is Logan?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level as I brush a strand of wet hair out of my face. My red cotton dress is already sticking to me from the walk over.
“He told me to come a couple hours early. Overtime. Double overtime cuz it’s a holiday. Like I would say no.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“He said he was going home,” she says.
As I run out of the office I can hear her call, “Happy Thanksgiving!” after me.
I haven’t been inside Logan’s house but I know what the interior looks like, thanks to Juliet’s Facebook photos. It’s a block or two from the hotel, across the road from the beach, and a modest rancher with nice landscaping.
I run down the streets of the small suburban area to the left of the hotel, my flip-flops smacking the wet pavement and echoing down the quiet road. I keep searching the houses as I go past, peering at them in the dark through the rain, until I find Logan’s. In some ways I want to keep running, even though I already feel like a drowned rat. It keeps my mind from dwelling on what happened, it keeps me focused on putting one foot in front of the other. There was too much truth to swallow along with those drinks and I’m keeping all of it on the backburner until I talk to Logan, until I finally hear his side of things.
I open the wooden gate and step into their yard, dimly lit in the darkness. There’s a narrow stone path of lava rock, the short, stiff grass bordering the sides, Logan’s Jeep in the driveway. Plumeria, banana trees, and naupaka bushes line the fence, giving the feel of a tropical oasis. Rain drops hit the thick leaves with a soft thwack.
I go up to the door, noticing a worn doormat beneath my feet that has dolphins all over it. Obviously my sister’s, she loved dolphins as a kid. Even the diary she used to have had them all over it.
Daniel can’t be right, I think to myself, but then I’m making a fist and pounding on the door. Moths fly around, bumping at the light above me.
I won’t stop until he answers.
Eventually he does, flinging the door open. He’s in grey sweatpants, no shirt. That’s a fucking kryptonite combo for me but I manage to ignore it. My anger and confusion override the eye candy.
“What’s wrong?” he says and his eyes are wide with concern. “You’re all wet.”
“You lied to me!” I yell at him, storming past him and into the foyer, not caring that I’m dragging water into his house. “You lied to me.”