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“Fine,” he bites out at last. “Here’s the deal. It’s about to be dinner. Everyone will be present, including Mac and his people. I don’t care if the idiot is my boss and friend. Safety comes first. I’ll make an announcement of the situation—”
“Are you going to talk to MacManus first?” I interrupt.
Vaughn looks so troubled on the subject, I genuinely feel for him. “No,” he determines at last. “If I tell him I know all this and he demands I say nothing, then I’ll be violating a direct order when I speak up. Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.”
Standing beside him, Ronin nods his agreement; Aolani as well.
I’m impressed. There’s a strength of character to this group I don’t encounter often. Maybe that’s what it takes to work this far off the grid, where safety and security really are your own responsibility. Bad decisions will cost you directly. Good decisions will keep you alive. I respect the straightforward math of such an existence. If I wasn’t from nowhere, I’d be tempted to be from somewhere like here.
“People can have till the morning to decide. Depending on the numbers, I’ll return to Mac with next steps. He’ll simply have to permit the use of his plane. I’m not the only one responsible for everyone’s well-being; he is, too.”
“And the authorities?” Tannis again.
“I’ll reach out. When I can get my hands on my damn phone again.” More hair raking.
“I can’t find any additional information here,” Aolani announces, rising to standing. “Wi-Fi is having one of its moments.”
“Or Mac is tying it up checking stock prices,” Vaughn grumbles. “I keep trying to explain to him…” Another heavy sigh.
“And Charlie?” Tannis speaks up, a challenging tilt to her head. “He just remains under house arrest. Guilty until proven innocent?”
Vaughn is clearly not pleased to return to a discussion of the man’s fate. “Look, I can’t answer the Charlie question. I like the guy, I’ve always liked the guy. But him heading out into the storm, without a radio… Does that sound like Charlie to you?”
Tannis’s expression falters.
“Something’s up there,” Vaughn continues. “I might not know what, but I know my responsibility to everyone else in this camp, which is when in doubt, play it safe. Personally, I think Charlie should be the first one on a plane to Oahu. Once you’ve lost trust…”
“Hey, stop staring at me!” I’m genuinely insulted.
Vaughn could clearly not care less. “The rest of you, out. You have better things to do than rehash old news in my office. You, on the other hand”—he pins me with his blue eyes—“you stay.”
I get looks from Aolani, Ronin, and Tannis ranging from open sympathy to “better you than me.” “Cowards,” I call out to their retreating backs as they file out of the office.
Then, it’s just Vaughn and me. He makes a show of taking a seat before his desk, then leaning back and propping his feet at the edge. He gestures to the chair across from him.
“Sit. Then tell me what the fuck is really going on.”
I take a seat. I’m tired all of a sudden. Exhausted, really, from the lack of sleep, and the unrelenting stress of trying to adapt to a new place where it really is wet twenty-four seven and I can practically feel the mold growing on my skin and I just want to be dry and comfortable and not lost on some remote island surrounded by people I can’t decide are friend or foe.
I want a break. From this place. From this situation. From me, and my mind that never shuts up, even when I want it to.
My gaze drifts to the locked cabinet of booze in the corner of the office. Then I contemplate the key worn on the chain around Vaughn’s neck, its outline just visible beneath his sweat-soaked T-shirt. I could hint in the right direction. Something casual but heartfelt—God, what I’d give for a drink after the day I’ve had…
He’d fetch us one. I know it with absolute certainty. Vaughn’s had a bad day, too. And he wants me to talk. So why not grab a bottle of whiskey, rum, tequila, and pour us both a shot.
I’ve spent so much of my life in this moment. Wavering on a precipice. Wanting what I know I shouldn’t want. Wanting it anyway.
I need a meeting. The comfort of a church basement where the only thing bitterer than the coffee is the brutally honest confessions: I promised my daughter I wouldn’t drink on her wedding day. So I stole a bottle of booze from the limo and downed the whole thing in the ladies’ room before staggering down the aisle and throwing up on the altar. I promised myself I’d have one drink with my friends, before staying till closing downing pitchers of beer. Then I got behind the wheel of my car, squeezing my eyes against the blinding headlights till I swerved to avoid hitting a deer. Except it wasn’t a deer, it was some poor dude walking home from his dishwashing job, and while I missed him, I plowed into his three closest friends.
I promised my children. My parents. My spouse. My friends.
I promised myself that this time, I wouldn’t do it.
Then I looked in the mirror and did it anyway. Just like me and myself knew I would.
I’m sweating again, and it’s not the heat and humidity given the air-conditioned space. It’s need. It’s hunger. Just a shot or two. Then Vaughn will lock it back up and save me from myself. Other people, when they have bad days…
I want to be like other people.
