Page 8 of Beach Bodies

‘Vic,’ I cut in– too forcefully, I realize, but I smear on a smile like a hasty layer of icing dragged over a botched cake and forge ahead. ‘You know Ialwaysstay in the East Suites—’

‘Oh, yes, right, but not this year. We flip-flopped staff to the back– complete redo. We updated the rooms– the guests get the sunrise– and of course we needed new plumbing because of—’ He flushes like he said something he didn’t mean to. Like a slap, it hits me what he’s talking about. What happened last year.

‘Because that’s the hotel biz, we gotta keep things fresh,’ Vic finishes in a kind of cheerful panic. His phone rings and he holds up a silencing finger at me. ‘Yes, hello? Mr Thorpe, what a pleasure. Yes, the inspector approved everything—’He makes an apology face at me before walking brisky away. I can hear his voice retreating down the hall. ‘Yes, by the end of the summer it will all be PVCs, as we discussed…’

‘What’s up with the plumbing?’ I ask Nick, gesturing to where Vic just disappeared, trying not to panic over the fact that what happened last year is still something Vic is dealing with.I fucked it up, I tell myself. But no, if I had truly fucked it up, I wouldn’t be here, right? ‘New pipes?’

Nick gives me an annoyed shruggy head-shake, like he’s saying,How should I know, and why exactly do we care?

Which reminds me, I shouldn’t make a bigger deal of this than it is. So they’re still replacing the older hotel plumbing? Fine. That doesn’t mean they’re still investigating the accident. I remind myself that it’s hard to get contractors out here on the island– I’ve heard Vic complain about it a million times. Also, it’s not like they can shut down the entire Riovan to replace all the old metal drainpipes at once. They’d have to do it slowly, so as not to lose revenue.

‘Your key,’ Nick says, and maybe there’s not smug satisfaction in his tone, but you know what, I choose to read that into it anyway, because I just need to hate someone a little bit right now.

The key is smooth and cool in my hand. Sweat trickles down my chest. Lily zero, Riovan one.

‘What’s the number?’

‘Room 2-2-0-8,’ says Nick. ‘See you at staff training tonight.’

Chapter Four

There are lots of ways to get around the Riovan, and I’ve learned them all.

With my key in the back pocket of my jeans and the bag of branded gear I just collected from Supplies pressed against my chest, I pick my way over sandy paver stones and grasses, a back way I discovered a few years ago that winds upward through the rocks, eventually looping back down to the West Suites. A rougher path, certainly not roller-bag friendly, definitely less efficient. But more private, and I’m in no mood to run into anyone... especially my past self.

Memories are a funny thing, aren’t they? They can be delicate as ghosts one minute, and wallop you like an old-fashioned backhand the next.

I speak from experience about the backhand. And no, my mom didn’t hit me, so you can dismiss that lovely trailer-park stereotype. It was one of her boyfriends. I was eleven. ‘Don’t give me lip, girl.’ What had I said? I wish I could remember. Anyway, it only happened once, but it’s not something you ever forget. Mom ended things with him immediately.Never let anyone treat you that way, Lily, she said, her mouth aflame with her favourite red Revlon lipstick, her eyes blazing like justice. Even though she was a petite woman, she looked about a mile tall that afternoon.

The sun is beating down, punishingly bright, the heat cut occasionally with a cool breeze off the water, which gleams down below, peppered with swimmers. I’m huffing and puffing. The incline is steeper than I remember, and I have to lift my bag awkwardly between the stones.

Further up the hillside, scattered like white petals along the cliff, are the Riovan’s most expensive– and exclusive– accommodation options: the Villas, single occupancy buildings that offer privacy, luxury and a killer view. The type of guests who can afford them mostly keep to themselves. I heard that one time Celine Dion stayed there.

When I finally reach the Vista West wing, with its more modest poolside rooms that used to be the cheaper option for guests, my shirt is stuck to my back with sweat. I swipe my card to gain access to the building. Immediately, frigid air conditioning spills over me.

Inside the elevator, low thumping mood music is playing, and I lift the moist tendrils of hair off my neck. I have no interest in looking at my dishevelled self in the mirrored wall, so I lean my head forward and close my eyes for the few moments it takes to rise from the ground floor to the second.

The doors slide open. I orient myself in front of the signage before taking a left. The hallway feels dystopian in its length, door after identical door. Has it always been this long? The wheels of my bag are nearly silent on the carpet.There– 2208. I pull out my key card and try to feed it into the slot, but it won’t go in.

Did Nick give me a bum key, just to screw with me?

Nope, it’s my hand, shaking so hard, the white card is fuzzy at the edges. I need to relax. Unfortunately, there are no manspreaders offering me free alcohol.Where’s a Kyle when you need one?

‘Come on,’ I coach myself under my breath. There’s a loud click, but it’s not from my door. It’s someone coming out of the room next to mine.

‘Hey, are you one of the new lifeguards?’ It’s a girl with bleached blonde hair shaved on one side, long on the other. She’s in the lifeguard’s red swimsuit, a sweatshirt and a towel hanging over her arm. I can’t help but notice that the resort-issued bathing suit this year is cut higher than ever before, displaying not only most of her ass, but her impressive leg tattoo that goes from ankle to left butt cheek.

‘Yeah, hi. I’m Lily,’ I say. Since I’m trying to overcompensate for feeling unstable, my voice comes out sounding a bit too mechanical, so I tack on a laugh.Great.Now I sound like a robot ditz.

‘Hannah,’ she says, moving her towel from her arm to her shoulder and cocking a slim hip. ‘Where’re you from?’

‘Cincinnati.’

‘Oh, cool, another Midwest girl. I’m from Chicago.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ I pause. ‘Have you worked here before?’ I already know she hasn’t, but it’s as good a conversation starter as any.

‘No, first time.’ She angles her head. ‘Are you… OK? You look a little—’

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