She knocked on the door and then looked down at her clothes one last time. There were no gratuitously disgusting stains. No obvious signs that she’d just crawled out of a garbage bin. She picked up a bunch of her shirt, raising the fabric close to her nose. It didn’t smell fresh. Nor did it smell of rank garbage juice. She imagined her own body smelled worse with all the fear sweating out of her in the last hour. She could use a shower, and a drink. Something comforting. Something she could escape into. A meeting with Jackson and his happy wife Mira probably wasn’t going to do that.

And when it was Mira, alone, who opened the door, Annica just broke out in laughter.

“What?” Mira said, laughing. “Hello?”

She got herself together enough for a greeting. And then an awkward hug that neither woman seemed to have wanted—or even initiated. But it happened nonetheless, their bodies coming together and colliding like two cars on an icy street. Arms like autumn tree branches coming around, dead, barely clutching. The soft patting of backs to hurry things along. And then, thank God, a mutual peeling away, and most likely the mutual relief that such forced affections wouldn’t have to happen again for a few hours, at least.

They were past the greeting and the hug, and—for the most part—the awkwardness of seeing each other. It was a necessary obstacle, and Annica could tell by Mira’s already tiring smile that they could at least share some mutual ground about something. It was nice. Even if that something had to do with a shared dislike for each other. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot at the first meeting, only days after Jackson had first met Mira, and the relationship between them had never fully recovered. Hadn’t had a chance, she supposed.

No, it wasn’t dislike. That wasn’t it.

And it wasn’t jealousy.

She had nothing to be jealous about . . .

“Yeah,” Mira said, showing Annica inside the cute, almost treehouse-like rental property. “It’s just a quick walk to the beach, right down off those steps there to the back. We’ve got it for the whole month, so feel free to stop by whenever.”

Sure. She would do that . . .

Mira showed off the beautiful redwood interior of their open-concept living room, the exposed vaulted ceilings, the teak furniture. Annica couldn’t deny its charm.

“I don’t know where he keeps finding all these properties,” Mira said. “He said something about rent to own, but I won’t push him on that. He’s already building something out in the Keys. But Hawaii’s no Keys.”

“Yeah,” Annica said.

“Where are you staying?”

“Umm . . .” Annica wondered how to best describe an extremely modest hotel that looked no different than any other big chain stay across mainland United States. Though she hadn’t even had a chance to check in yet. She hadn’t had the chance for anything.

“No,” Mira said, “I mean, where are you staying in Virginia? Are you still out by the coast, or are you moving toward the city?”

“I’m between living situations right now.”

“Oh,” Mira said.

“So . . .”

“Yeah.”

Annica laughed the awkwardness away. “Um yeah, but this is so nice.” They stopped by a window overlooking the backyard’s slope to the sea.

“Jackson calls it the pole house.”

“He calls it what?”

“I guess that’s the technical term for it here,” Mira said. “A beach house, raised up like this on those stilts.” She pointed down to the wooden poles propping up the house.

“I guess it’s good for a tsunami,” Annica said, chuckling. She looked down a little stone walkway which curved through the lush green of their backyard, all the way to the white sand of the beach.

“It’s been nice,” Mira said, raising her hands to the window. “I guess we should probably open this.”

Annica got tired of waiting. “So where’s Jackson? Surfing already?”

“No, he’s in town.”

Her heart sunk a little. “Oh?”

“Some sort of last-minute thing.”

Fuck . . . she would have to wait here. Alone with her. Annica tried to bury her disappointment, looking again out the window, but it came to the surface, frothy and angry like the tide churning across the beach below the house. “Why didn’t he tell me?” she said to Mira, a little too sharply. She forced herself to take a deep breath. The situation with Sharky had rattled her more than she wanted to even admit to herself. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I just thought he was here.”

“I’m sorry, then,” Mira said. “I should have told you.”

“It’s okay. I mean . . .” Annica had to look away from Mira’s skeptical smile. “It’s, whatever. I just thought he’d tell me. It’s no big deal.”

“No, it’s not. Have you had lunch?”

“No.”

“Want some?”

“Not really.”

“Want anything?”

Annica wondered how she could ask for a coconut, sliced at the top, and with a half bottle of rum poured inside. Was there an easy name for something like that? Alcoholism?

“Want a drink?” Mira said.

“Please.”

They were sitting outside soon after, in the shade of three closely clustered palm trees. Annica looked up at the coconuts nesting along the fronds, and then down to her own drink—a plastic cup filled with ice and rosé. Not exactly what she hoped for, but it would do. Anything with alcohol would at this point.

Mira had already apologized about the plastic, like it had actually mattered. She was used to wine without stems, or even glasses. She was used to inferior wine enjoyed in less-than-stellar settings. Though this, even with the awkwardness, was better than her cargo ship cabin. Anything was better than that—well, except for sliding through the darkness of secret-processing-plant chutes. She could go a whole lifetime without having to experience that again.

Maybe Mira’s sunlit terrace wasn’t so bad.

Maybe the wine would help her forget about lying face down in garbage. Maybe it might even be possible to carry on a conversation with a woman she’d never had to be alone with before.

But what could they talk about that wasn’t all about Jackson?

Was there anything else they had in common?

“How’s work?” Annica said, instinctively floating out a thoughtless prompt for small talk.

“Work is . . . busy.”

She suddenly pictured it, at Jackson’s downtown D.C. office, Mira working directly under his supervision, and perhaps under him literally.

She leaned back in her chair, downing the rest of her wine.

“I think they’re here,” Mira said.

“Oh,” Annica said, perking up. “They?”

“Your boy,” Mira said. “Your intern or whatever.”

It didn’t make any sense. Her boy?

Mira said, “You were supposed to pick him up at the airport?”

“Ethan!” Annica cried, standing up from her chair. “Oh, my God. I totally forgot.” She followed Mira back up the steps onto the main floor of the pole house, each step filling her with a tinge of guilt. Not guilt for leaving Ethan stranded, but for thinking of no one else but Jackson for the past hour. It was the only thing that would force visions of Sharky and that cold, dark tunnel out of her head.

Voices boomed through the high ceilings, through the open-concept beachside dream house where he and Mira had already, undoubtedly, fucked in every single room.

“Hey, Babe,” Jackson said.

Annica had to wait until she turned the corner before she could know, conclusively, that he’d not been talking to her. It was a stupid and perhaps half-drunk expectation. She had still not eaten anything today, and the wine had already warmed and dulled her. Were it not for the excitement of Jackson’s arrival, she might have been dozing off, letting the ocean breeze play with her hair, her mind drifting along with it.

Jackson pulled away after Mira’s embrace and kiss, and he smiled at Annica. She felt him light her up, warming her, his eyes doing more than the wine.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, coming nearer. “I was worried. What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” Annica said, moving in for a quick, polite, and utterly lifeless hug. “Well, something. But I’ll explain later.”

He gave her an odd look, brows pitched inward.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Well, it’s something.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

She looked over to Ethan, her shaggy blond, twenty-something intern fresh from J-school. He looked glad to see her.

“Hey? Annica?” Jackson was scowling at her. “Don’t make me dangle you off the railing out there.”

“Later,” she told Jackson, moving past him to greet Ethan, who, as evidenced by that hungry look in his eyes, wanted to grab on to her for yet another hug. But Annica had enough of those already, especially a hug from Ethan, the hopeless romantic. He’d seemed hopelessly crushed on her from the beginning, his eyes always following her around the office. Eyes that lit up a little too brightly when he’d heard about his opportunity to travel with her to Hawaii. For work, she’d told him. Not play. For work, and not the kind that he was hoping for.

“You forgot about me,” Ethan said, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. He seemed to be playing it off like nothing, but she was more than sure he’d eventually revisit the topic later when he’d require sympathy for some snub or another. At least, that’s the extent of what she would ever lend him. It would be the best she could do, a genuinely warm apology. That was all she had warm for him.

Annica looked at this shaggy, cute boy, and she smiled softly. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Jack gave me a tour.”

“Who?”

“Um . . . Jack?”

Annica laughed. “Jackson?” It was almost precious, Ethan already assuming that type of familiarity.

“I’m not supposed to call him Jack?”

“Call him what you want,” Annica said. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Like today. Sorry again, I just totally got wrapped up in the story.”

She thought again of her soft landing on a tangled mess of garbage. She got wrapped up, to say the least.

But Ethan didn’t seem too impressed. “Just don’t forget that I’m supposed to be in there, too.”

“In where?”

“The story,” he said. “Wherever you were today.”

“Trust me, you didn’t want to be there.”

Jackson said, “Be where?” giving her a dirty look as he passed by.

When Annica looked back at Ethan, he’d barely broken his gaze from her. “You okay?” she asked him.

“Yeah. What?”

“Staring at me like that.”

Ethan glanced her over again and said, “You look a little . . . You look messed up.”

“I’ve been drinking.”

“I’m serious.” He was looking along her arm. “Are those bruises?”

“Maybe.”

“Are those for our story or for something else?”

“What are you talking about?”

He frowned. “I just don’t want you to leave me out of it.”

“I know,” Annica said. “I won’t.”

“Dean sent me here for a reason.”

“I know.”

“For more than just getting coffee,” he said, sounding slightly wounded. “I want to help you. Really help you.” His eyes softened on her, still grazing across her body, until looking down and away from her like he was suddenly overcome with embarrassment. It was a worrying sight. Just what kind of help was he trying to offer?

“I’m sorry,” Annica said, “If I made you feel . . .” She trailed off.

What was it?

What the hell was this kid feeling?

She finally guessed with, “Unwanted?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, not used to your full potential.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, yeah.”

“You’re right; you’re here for a reason.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“This isn’t some little local piece,” Annica said. “For that kind of stuff, the only thing you could do was get coffee. But this is a little more substantial.”

“Good,” he said. “I just finally want a chance. I need it. I’m trying to get hired next year.”

Annica had to pretend that she didn’t know about Dean’s plans of testing him. The kid was good, in his limited opportunities. But they were also easy opportunities. She knew now that Hawaii offered more than either of them bargained for. “Maybe that’s why Dean sent you,” she said. “A test.”

“Yeah, I was kinda wondering why. Like, why not someone with more experience?”

“That’s what you’re here for. Experience.”

Ethan nodded. “Thanks, Annica.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said. “You’re also just here because you’re young.”

He smiled at that. An innocent, youthful smile.

“By young, I mean foolhardy,” she said. “And stupid.”

He was still smiling.

Annica made a polite getaway when her pocket buzzed with a new message. She waited until she was sufficiently alone, near the front doorway, before she looked at the screen.

It was her old pal from the cargo ship, the cook, Frankie.

She read the message, holding her breath the whole time, needing for it to be about Sharky. Was she right? Was he Cole?

He’s trying to contact you.