Page 6 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

“Come on. We’ll go to the concierge together and I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Okay,” she said, standing. “Thank you.”

The front desk gave us our room keys and a little map of the property, not that we’d be here long enough to explore. Our rooms were side by side, it turned out, but when we turned down a gravel path to our block, Bridget seemed to forget how twenty minutes earlier she’d wanted my help. Now she was power walking ahead of me, though her shorter legs weren’t taking her more than an arm’s length.

When we got to her door, she fussed with the key, suddenly avoiding my eyes. I didn’t know what I’d done to piss her off in the last five minutes, but I was too tired to try to dissect a woman’s body language. “So, I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”

Her eyes snapped to me, focused, intense. “I’m not stupid,” she said.

“What?”

“Earlier. I just had some other stuff on my mind. It didn’t occur to me that the ship wasn’t there. Obviously, it doesn’t leave . . . that was stupid.I’mnot stupid.”

I shook my head, surprised. “I didn’t think you were stupid.”

She looked away abruptly like she’d lost a game of chicken. “Okay.”

Her expression jabbed at me. That was the furthest thing from what I thought. Crazy, maybe. Vulnerable, for sure. But never stupid.

“I didn’t,” I said, touching her elbow lightly. “I thought you looked at peace about the whole thing. I sort of envied it.”

Her eyes were back on mine, burning gold and brown in the flame of the lantern sconces on the wall. She tilted her head and squinted, studying me. “Why aren’t you at peace, Nick?”

He’s finally at peace.

The infuriating refrain that people kept throwing at me burst through the enjoyment I was taking at Bridget’s face—a little bud of happiness smashed like a seedling under a heavy boot. A solid lump formed in my throat.

I didn’t answer and she didn’t push. I had to go. I needed to eat something. I had to call Willow and let her know my plans had changed.

“Good night, Bridget.” I let go of her arm, turning toward my door.

“It’s Brit.”

I looked over my shoulder.

“Only my parents call me Bridget. I go by Brit.”

I nodded. It fit her better, with that rainbow hair and spunky attitude. She didn’t feel like a Bridget. “Okay. Good night, Brit.”

“Good night, Nick.”

The door clicked closed behind me and I didn’t bother to turn on the lamp beside the bed. The curtains were open and the light from the outdoor walkway made the gaudy, tropical-print duvet glow orange in the middle of the dark room. I tossed my pack onto the mattress, then fell down beside it.

What a strange woman—Bridget, Brit, whatever her name was. She was like a glowing ball of light. I’d meant it when I said I envied it, though. I hadn’t just said it because I couldn’t stand to see her eyes flick away like that. Why did she do that? And why was she traveling alone? How could she seem completely unbothered by the fact that we were stranded, but somehow still look to me, a stranger, for reassurance?

Christ, I didn’t even know her and now I was analyzing her secret tics.

It was none of my business. I had enough to worry about. I sat up and pulled my sweaty T-shirt over my head, tossing it onto the armchair across the room, then I unzipped my pack. The bag of peanuts I’d swiped from the minibar in my cabin sat forgotten on top, and I nearly cried tears of joy. Opening them and pouring a few into my mouth, I dove back in and found the bandana, unwrapping it carefully.

“You son of a bitch,” I said. “Do you know what a pain in the ass this is going to be?” I pressed my lips to the top of the tin, noticing the air-conditioned room had already cooled the metal. I wished it would dry the sweat still pooling at my temples.

I set the tin on the bedside table and removed my watch, then pulled my wallet out of my pocket and laid them all side by side. “And is the lost girl part of your plan?” I asked. “If she turns out to be some psycho, dude, I’m going to kill you twice.”

Shit.Something reached up and squeezed my throat shut. I’d said it without thinking—Alex’s line. A memory flashed in my brain: My brother’s arm around my neck, his fist burning my scalp. “Come in my room again, Nick, and I’ll kill you twice.” Then the two of us sitting in his hospital room, pounding on Xbox controllers. “Make me lose this level and I’m gonna kill you twice.”

I couldn’t believe I’d said it, but I guess it was strange that it hadn’t slipped out of my mouth before now. Thank God I hadn’t said it in front of my mother. She was barely hanging on these days and something like that would have sent her down one of two roads: lying in bed for hours, shades pulled, or pouring a bottle of wine down her throat before lunch just to get through the day.

That was her preferred choice when we were kids, when Alex was just sick instead of dead. As fucked up as it was, sometimes it soothed me to hear the glass clinking when I spoke to her on the phone. I knew how to deal with this version of her. The playing pretend, the perfect soccer mom suit she’d tried on in between these bouts, it was those times she felt like a stranger.

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