I stared at the letter in my hands, wanting the words on the page to be different to what I’d read on screen before I’d pressed print. I’d hoped my dad had gotten mixed up when I’d spoken to him a few days ago, but it was true, the insurance company was cutting Michael’s physical therapy. I slumped back into the chair in the internet café. They must have made a mistake. Surely.
My instinct was to go to the nearest travel agency, book a flight home and try to fix things. But it would only make everything worse, because now, more than ever, I needed my job. I’d spent the last few days with a pen and paper and calculator trying to figure out whether I could bridge the gap between what the insurance would cover and what Michael needed.
Whichever way I cut it, I was twenty thousand dollars a year short.
Guilt rose in my throat. It was heavy, suffocating. If I’d been a better sister, he wouldn’t have had the accident in the first place and if I was a better sister now I would be able to find a way to pay for his care. I should have gone to college, done pre-law or medicine—at least then my income would be going up every year instead of plateauing. I could have trained as a physical therapist or learned coding and come up with a great idea like Facebook or something.
I’d wasted my life. I’d walked away from college and the future I wanted for the money and it still wasn’t enough. What else was left? I didn’t know where to go from here.
I had nothing of any value that I could sell, and even if I got a job on one of those Russian yachts, I couldn’t make another twenty thousand a year.
Folding up the letter, I placed it into my bag, determined not to cry. I just had to find a way. I’d felt hopelessness like this when Michael was in the hospital, before we’d known if he was going to make it. And again when my mother left. Each time it had eventually lifted, or I’d become used to it—I wasn’t sure which—but for some reason, this time felt worse. Like before I’d had obstacles to get over but this time we were staring at a black hole that was threatening to consume the three of us.
For once, I wanted this to be someone else’s responsibility. I knew my dad was the parent here but there was nothing he could do. This was down to me. And that burden bore into me until all I wanted was just a moment without it. Maybe that was what I’d found in the time alone that Hayden and I had shared—a few minutes or hours where I felt lighter. It wasn’t as if the responsibility disappeared, more that being with him made me stronger somehow, as if he were lifting me up, reinforcing my strength. He’d be gone soon, and I didn’t know if this news about my brother’s insurance would have been easier to bear if I hadn’t escaped for a little while, if I hadn’t glimpsed a different life for a few hours.
I stood up, a little dizzy, and headed outside. I’d told Eric I wouldn’t be longer than thirty minutes. Hayden didn’t like me away from the yacht and anyway, I hadn’t touched his room this morning and I needed to clean the bathroom and change the sheets and do the hundred other things that needed doing even though we only had one guest on the yacht.
I squinted as I opened the door of the internet café and slipped my sunglasses on. Usually I enjoyed the heat, the sunshine and the blue skies, but today I wanted it to rain, hail, snow—anything that didn’t say vacations or money or happiness because that felt like someone else’s world. Not mine.
I started down the hilly, cobbled streets back to the boat. The last time I’d taken this route, I’d been in an entirely different frame of mind. I’d been so happy I couldn’t stop myself from smiling, talking to strangers—I’d wanted to sing out loud. Today everything was different.
“Avery.” A man called my name and a figure appeared beside me, as he tucked a newspaper under his arm. “How’s Mr. Wolf?”
I kept my pace the same, heading toward the sea as I realized that this was the same redhead, Phil, who’d approached me the morning after I’d slept with Hayden.
“What do you want? I’ve told you I have nothing to say to you.” There were more people around than there had been the previous time I’d met him—tourists wandering around and locals going about their business—but there was something in his overfamiliarity that made me feel exposed and vulnerable. As pleasant and polite as he was, there was something sinister buried below his pale skin and hard eyes. I stared right ahead.