The resort, p.18
The Resort, page 18
I pick it up and look at it for a second, my skin burning as I take in her smiling face, before setting it back down on the bedside table, a bit more forcefully than I should.
The drawer is tightly packed with what appears to be all Cass’s residual belongings. I pick through it until my fingers brush against something that feels like cardboard at the back. I pull out all the stuff on top to reveal a white box with red lettering. Xanax. The familiar name jolts me. I open the box, quickly surveying the three blister packs, one of which is almost completely empty, before my fingers rest on something heavier. A small gold band tucked at the bottom. I flip it in my fingers, noticing the engraving. Forever Us Two. Their engagement band. But why would Cass keep it here? As if she didn’t want someone to find it?
Despite these questions, the sight of the oblong white pills, each tidily suctioned in its own little bubble, is temporarily distracting, blurring my vision with memories. I can almost taste their chalky texture on my tongue after the apathetic nurse at the college infirmary prescribed them. For a minute, I’m back in my dorm room, collapsed on my bed—where I stayed for weeks. Long enough for my roommate to request a room change and for the school to place me on academic probation. Every day, another handful of pills. Every day, wondering how many I would need to end it all. Always stopping just short of enough, waking up with a dry mouth, a pounding head, and a sense of regret for not forcing down one more.
I don’t know how long I stand there with the box in my hand, allowing the hazy memories to take over. Even now, the sight of those pills invigorates that need from years ago. I force myself to toss the box on the bed and get back to my search of the drawer, finding Cass’s passport buried beneath a half-full bottle of sunscreen and a mildewed paperback detective novel. I open it, knowing exactly what I’ll find, and snap a photo of the identification page with my iPhone.
In a final desperate attempt, I decide to check under the bed, dropping to my knees. The bed frame is too low for me to get a good look, so I lean my arm in the crack, swinging it back and forth.
It connects hard with something. The sound of plastic scraping against the wood floor rings out as the object skids a few inches. I reach in farther, blindly searching for the mystery object, until I feel my fingers grasp it.
I pull it out, and I’m staring at a model of cell phone that I haven’t seen in years. One of those old Nokias that no one other than cheating spouses and drug dealers still use.
But before I can wonder why Cass would have a burner phone under her bed, I hear something from the front of the house. My ears prick and my spine goes ramrod straight. It comes again, the rattle of metal against metal. A key in the door.
Logan must be home. Or Cass has come back again.
Either way, I’m screwed.
I shove the stuff back into the drawer as quickly as I can and slip the phone into the front pocket of my shorts. I whip my head around, trying to size up my options. There’s the bathroom, which is likely the first stop they’ll make. Or the closet, which is filled to the brim with clothes and shoes. Or the patio, with a steep drop to the rocky beach below.
I’m trapped.
22
CASS
I know before I turn the front door handle that Logan is back. The light’s on in our living room, and the window blinds are flicked fully closed. I look down at the doorstep as I approach the house, bracing myself, expecting to see a new envelope there. But it’s empty.
I take a deep breath. I know what I have to do.
Logan walks out from the bedroom when he hears the door. He’s wearing a towel tied loosely around his waist and a T-shirt patterned with droplets of water left from the shower. Without a word, he wraps his arms around me in a big bear hug, and the water on his skin soaks through the thin fabric of my shirt.
His face is laced with concern when we separate.
“I think we need to talk.” His tone is gentle but firm.
I nod. “We do.”
We take a seat on the living-room couch. It feels like something has changed in here, but I can’t put my finger on exactly what. It’s as if there’s a current in the air that wasn’t there before. I let Logan start, because I know what I need to tell him will change everything.
“Cass,” he says, his brow furrowed, his dark blue eyes staring into mine. “What happened the night of the Full Moon Party? Why did I have to cover for you yesterday?”
I take a beat and breathe. “I don’t remember.”
It’s not the response he was expecting. “What do you mean?” he asks. And then it clicks. “Wait. Did you black out?”
“Logan—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You did? My God, how much did you drink? And then you taught the next day?”
His disappointment is palpable.
“It wasn’t just—” I try, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“And you don’t even know what you did? That was the night Lucy died. You know how bad this looks, right? And I had to cover for you.”
I feel my shoulders straighten, my back muscles clench. The anger that seeped in while I was up on Khrum Yai starts to solidify, heavy in my veins. Where does Logan get off on judging me for drinking too much? He’s a bartender, for God’s sake. He serves shots to inebriated tourists—not to mention Doug—day in and day out. And I distinctly remember him taking generous swallows from that bottle of Thai whisky being passed around the picnic table at Frangipani that night. And now he’s mad about having to cover for me? I found his damn engagement ring next to Lucy’s dead body, and I sure as hell didn’t tell anyone about that.
I should pause and control my breathing. I should explain to him about the Xanax. But the bitter words sneak through my lips before I can stop them.
“Like you’re so perfect.”
“What does that mean?” Logan counters.
I clench my fists, the fury and disappointment and sadness that I felt when I saw him those weeks ago with Jacinta mixing with my newfound anger. All of it whirling in my gut like a tornado.
“I saw you,” I spit.
He scrunches his forehead, confused.
“With her. With Jacinta.”
It’s like I’ve pulled a knife on him. He backs up on the couch. “Cass, it wasn’t what it looked—”
“You were kissing her. It was exactly what it looked like.”
I can see how far off course this conversation has derailed but I can’t stop.
“And then I found your engagement ring next to Lucy. It was buried in the sand on the sea floor, right next to her dead body. Were you lying about losing that too?” I rush forward, before he has a chance to answer. “Were you hooking up with Lucy before she died? Is that why she had your ring? Or was it worse than that? Did you kill her?”
The venom pools out of me, the jealous accusations leaving my mouth half-formed. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ve never thought Logan was responsible for Lucy’s death or even that he was interested in her. But all of a sudden, I’m in that hotel room again, my back to the wall. I’m reaching for anything to deflect his anger, his disappointment.
Before either of us can say any more, I hear something. A small bang from the back of the house.
“What is that? Is someone here?” I ask frantically.
Within seconds, I’m in the bedroom. The doors to the closet and the bathroom are still open, humidity clinging to the air from Logan’s shower. I throw open the door to the patio and stick my head out, but the balcony is empty.
I don’t know who I’m looking for or what I’m expecting, but the feeling from the last few days returns with full force. Eyes on me, following me. Someone tracing my movements. And now that person is here. In my home.
I frantically rummage through the closet and get on all fours to check under the bed. Nothing. If someone is hiding in here, they’re doing a damn good job of it.
“There’s no one here, all right?” Logan says cautiously. “It was probably just a branch hitting the side of the house or something. You need to calm down.”
I ignore him, but he’s right. I do need to calm down. This anger isn’t accomplishing anything.
I give the room one last glance and settle on my bedside table. Everything is as it should be, except for the picture I keep turned to the bed of me and Logan. Now it’s turned away, our smiles facing the room as if on display.
“Did you move that?” The accusatory inflection in my tone isn’t lost on Logan.
“The picture? Why would I do that?”
“I always keep it facing the other way. You were snooping through my drawer?” I think of the Xanax I’ve hidden in there. He can’t know about it.
“Of course I wasn’t. Love, what’s going on?” Logan sits down on the bed, his forehead threaded with lines of concern.
I don’t know where to start. I haven’t had a pill since this morning, and my mouth waters. I glance back to the drawer. Only a short reach away.
“Cass, sit down, please.” He says it gently, pointing to the spot next to him on the bed. Once I’m seated, he turns his body toward me, his hands clasping mine, and despite everything, I feel warmth radiating through them.
“You’re right about Jacinta,” he says, and I feel something inside me break. Despite seeing it with my own eyes, I wanted him to convince me I was wrong. That it was all some big mistake. Instead, he maintains eye contact, his voice soft. “I had lunch with her one day. I shouldn’t have even gone, but I met her the night before at the bar, and when lunch was over, she—she kissed me. I don’t know, Cass. I can’t explain it. I had just bought the rings—our engagement rings—the day before, and I was planning to propose that week. But all of it just seemed so real, so permanent. I got scared. What do people call it? Cold feet?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I have no excuse for it. All I can say is, she—Jacinta—tried to do more after that, but once we left the restaurant, I stopped it. It was like I finally came to my senses. I realized how much I was sacrificing, everything I could be throwing away. And I couldn’t lose you. You’re everything to me. This life we’ve built—it’s everything.”
His voice breaks on the last word, and he stops, bending his head forward as if trying to regain his composure. When he looks back at me, a strand of curls rests against his forehead, and there are tears in his eyes.
“I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. But after that, I was certain. More certain than I’ve ever been about anything. You’re the person I want to spend my life with. The person I love.”
My tears are coming quicker now.
“And about the ring,” he says.
I move to stop him. He doesn’t need to explain. I was being ridiculous. I believe him. Lucy must have found his ring and had it with her when she went swimming. I was wrong about all of it.
But before I can, he shifts away from me, reaches his hands into the neck of his T-shirt, and pulls something out.
I suck in a harsh breath.
It’s his ring. Resting on the delicate gold chain around his neck, right where he promised to keep it.
“Cass, Sengphet gave this to me this morning. He said he found it on the beach the morning after the Full Moon Party when he was cleaning up.”
“B-but…”
This can’t be true. I have his ring. I stuffed it into the box of Xanax. I was planning on giving it to him in a few days, pretending like I had found it while I was on the beach. My eyes dart guiltily to the bedside table.
“You might have found a ring,” Logan says. “But it wasn’t mine.” He sighs again, preparing himself. “I know you’ve been going through a lot these last few days, so I didn’t want to say this.”
He looks down, and my breath catches in my throat as I wait for what he’ll say next.
“You need to stop taking the Xanax.”
The words are a punch to the stomach. He shouldn’t know about that.
“You were going through my things.” The coldness in my tone is palpable.
“I was worried about you. First the nightmare, and then all the stress you’ve been under. You haven’t been yourself. On edge. I just looked quickly in your drawer and saw the box.”
I don’t know what to say. It’s not as if I can deny taking the pills.
“That bloody stuff isn’t good for you. It fucks with your mind. I looked up the side effects and they’re crazy. Mood swings, sleep deprivation, paranoia, issues with your memory, even hallucinations.” He ticks them off on his fingers as he goes.
I knew the side effects, of course. I’d read them thoroughly when the doctor prescribed the pills three years ago. But I never experienced any of them. Back then, my mood was never stable enough to notice a change, and I didn’t want to remember. Plus, I don’t think it qualifies as paranoia when the entire country has turned against you.
But now it’s different. I think of the feeling I’ve had the last few days, that gnawing sensation that someone’s been watching me.
One question keeps niggling at me though. “If it wasn’t your ring that I found, then whose was it?”
We both know the answer before I finish asking the question.
“Cass.” Logan holds my hand up between us. “Where is your ring?”
I look down at the thin, pale strip on my fourth finger. I startle for a moment, but then remember. “I took it off before my dive on Saturday morning. I didn’t want to lose it. I put it in the ring box in my drawer.” I did. I know I did. I remember standing before the bedside table, pulling open the drawer as Logan slept beside me. There was never a question that my ring was there, safe in the confines of that small red box.
But I think of the words Logan just said, the side effects. Issues with your memory, hallucinations.
I yank the drawer open and begin rummaging through it until I find the ring box. But even before I open it, a small part of me knows what I’ll find.
I stare at the open box, at the thin divot where the ring should be. It’s empty.
Frantically, I reach for the Xanax box, buried under some other detritus that I relegated to the drawer, and wrench it out. I dump the contents onto my bed, and sure enough, a slender gold ring tumbles out amid the stacks of blister packs. The ring that I found near Lucy.
And then everything falls into place.
I must not have put my ring back into its box the morning before the dive. I couldn’t have.
Because it wasn’t Logan’s ring I found near Lucy’s body. It was mine.
“Cass,” Logan says, his hand tentatively touching my shoulder. “We should talk about this.”
23
BROOKE
A drop of blood sneaks through the crack in my lip, the coppery taste filling my mouth. Still, I keep my teeth clenched on to my lower lip. The pain has been a useful distraction from the growing cramps solidifying in my leg muscles. The one time I tried to move, my foot hit the side of the balcony, ringing out like a shot and piercing the quiet of the hills. The sound was enough to send Cass flying through the patio door.
I held my breath as the door sailed open, biting into my lip even farther as it ricocheted against my shin bone. I’d contorted myself into the small crevice on the side of the balcony, right behind the patio door, which shielded me from Cass’s view. If she had hung around a second longer or glanced slightly downward, she would have seen me, my feet visible in the few inches beneath the door. But she didn’t, and when she returned inside, she failed to pull the door completely shut behind her. It stays now where she left it, resting gently against its frame, the voices from inside the bedroom drifting out onto the balcony.
I’ve heard everything. Logan’s kiss with Jacinta and then Cass finding a ring near Lucy’s body. A fact that even as she tried to get me to believe we were investigating Lucy’s death together, as a team, she failed to mention.
And of course, the Xanax.
“How could my ring have gotten there? Just sitting near her body like that?” Cass’s voice trickles through the door, weepy and weak. It’s clear all the fight she had moments ago has left her. “I couldn’t have done it,” she says.
“I know, love. I know.” Logan’s voice is low and reassuring. “We’ll fix this, whatever happened. But I need to ask you something important.” Logan’s voice grows soft, and I crane my ear toward the door to make out his question. “Do you really not remember anything about the Full Moon Party? Nothing at all?”
She’s silent for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear her.
“Just flashes. I remember the fire twirlers and the music and…” She trails off.
“And something else?” Logan prompts.
She’s quiet, and I picture her shaking her head. “I should never have been so stupid to mix the Xanax with the drinks.”
Logan is quiet for a minute, and I picture him comforting her. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He pauses. “But why did you need the Xanax? Is something going on that I don’t know about?”
She’s quiet for a long while. I want so badly to peer in the window, but I can’t risk it.
“No, it’s just stress,” she says finally. “Everything with the engagement and all that, I just felt a bit overwhelmed.” Logan must react silently in some way, because Cass jumps in again. “No, babe, it’s not like that. I’ve never been happier. It’s just…it’s a lot of change.”
After a moment, I hear Logan’s voice again, a soft, gentle murmur. “Cass, there’s something I need to tell you.”
I tighten my body, straining to hear every syllable of whatever confession Logan’s about to make.
“I lied to Brooke last night. When she asked about where we were the night of the Full Moon Party.”
My heart stops. Biting my lip is no longer cutting it. I claw my fingers into the palms of my hands, bracing myself for what else he has to say.
“I did see Lucy that night. I talked to her. Nothing flirtatious,” he rushes to add. “Just normal talk about how her stay was going and whether she liked the island. It’s just that…well…do you think you might have seen me talking to her?”
