Page 6 of Hearts Adrift
Did I break up with him more for his benefit or mine?
“What do you mean Dad needs to see me urgently?”
I’m back at the Hopewell Fair on the north side of the island, standing over my sister’s desk in the cramped office by the Ferris Wheel where she works. Heather is one of my two older sisters. Her long hair is wrapped up in a tight bun with numerous stress-strands pulled out and running down the sides of her neck. She pauses her aggressive typing to adjust the glasses resting at thetip of her nose before she responds, “He’s at the house.”
She’s been in a mood with me for a while. I’m not sure why. “What’s he need so urgently that you or Brooke can’t do it? I’ve been running flyers all over the island.”
“Don’t know. Talk to him, not me.”
I sit on the edge of the desk. “What’s going on, sis?”
“You’re on top of my calendar.”
“You’re not yourself.”
“And I’m not your secretary.” She yanks the calendar out from under my ass so quickly, I nearly fall off the desk. “Dad’s waiting. Wouldn’t keep him waiting longer. You’re wasting time here squishing my papers with your big butt.”
I’m about to come back at her when the door swings open and my other older sister—a thousand times sweeter, her neck-length hair streaked pink and blue today, her eyes bright—pops her face in right then and appears pleasantly surprised to see me. “Finn! You butthead, when’d you get back and why didn’t you tell me you’d be out all day long? I thought we were doing lunch!”
Genuinely forgot. “Fuck. Sorry, Brooke. I didn’t even eat any myself, I was out and about all afternoon.” Heather lets out a huff as she types away. I give her a look. “Really, what’s your deal with me?”
“Don’t mind her,” says Brooke as she slips inside and shuts the door quickly behind her. “Have you talked to Dad yet? I’m on the edge of my seat here.”
“Heather,” I press, not giving up.
“She’s just—”
Before Brooke can finish her sentence, Heather’s voice comes down like a hammer. “He was a good man, Finn. He didnotdeserve to have his heart broken like that.”
Brooke sucks her lips in and looks away.
It takes me a second to realize what she just said. I’mnot sure whether to ask if she’s joking, or if I’m completely misunderstanding what she meant.
“If you didn’t love Theo,” she goes on, eliminating any chance of my having misunderstood her, “you should have let him go more gently—andyearsago instead of stringing him along all this time. He wasdestroyed, Finn. You let a good one go.” She shuts her laptop, tucks it under an arm, and rises. “I’m off to the house. Brooke, there’s a birthday party at the Parrot. Can you make sure everything’s ready for it? Might be a mess. Aaron called in sick. Again.”
“On top of it,” insists Brooke, but Heather barely waits for the answer before heading straight out the door, leaving me staring after her still sputtering for a response. Brooke offers a sweet smile. “Just ignore her. She was so attached to Theo, you’d thinkshewas in the relationship.”
“When did I turn into the bad guy?” I ask with a spread of my hands.
“You did nothing wrong. Theo was a tool. Heather is unhealthily attracted to tools. I might get her a tool belt for her birthday.” Clearly eager to change topics, she comes right up to my side and hops onto the desk next to me, not caring what she just sat on. “I wanna know what Dad tells you. Everything.”
“What’s the big deal with Dad? Do you know what he needs me for?” Brooke looks like she’s literally about to explode into confetti from some exciting tea she’s dying to spill. I apparently can’t unscrunch my face, staring at her in confusion. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Okay, okay, okay,” she blurts out, “I can’t hold it in. I think it’s DiCaprio.”
“DiCaprio?”
“Someoneis staying at the Breezy Bungalow, someonebig, but Dad doesn’t know who. Absolute discretion, that’s what he requested. I think it’s DiCaprio. I did my welcome basket thing.No one’s called the office yet. I’mdyingto know who it is.”
I sigh. Just what we need. Some celebrity staying in a rental property down the street. “So what’s Dad gonna tell me? To keep an eye on our maybe-high-profile and likely high-maintenance guest? You know how much I hate high-maintenance guests. It’s why I don’t work at the resorts. Just one day of shadowing Beckett at the Elysian and I was ready to—Wait.” Her words just now hit me. “Did you say the Breezy Bungalow?”
“The one and only.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “By himself? Or—”
“Yep. Just one occupant, from what I understand. One, lone, solo, by-himself, no-one-else occupant.”
I can’t help but wonder what kind of crazy fool has to be so desperate to disappear that he’d pick such a rundown place twisted with superstition and bearing a dark history. I somehow cannot picture any Hollywood actor sitting inside it for longer than an hour before it starts to creep them out. Celebrities can afford reclusive getaways in the mountains. In other countries. Exotic places. Beautiful resorts.
