Kyle open the envelope

He opened it on his kitchen table with a knife, like it might be a trap, which it was, somehow, he was sure, and inside was cash in banded stacks. He counted it twice with numb fingers.

Three thousand dollars.

Under the money, a glossy flyer, full color, an island on it, blue water, white sand, a couple on the beach at sunset holding hands, and a headline:

**PARADISE COVE — THREE DAYS. THE BEST DATE OF YOUR LIFE.**

All-inclusive. Couples only. Private cove, private villas. A phone number, a website, a departure date eleven days out, which was, he noticed, three days after finals ended.

And under the flyer, a smartphone. Brand new, still in plastic. He turned it over. On the back, where the logo should be, there was a symbol he'd never seen: a looped arrow bent backward on itself, pointing the wrong way. Reversed. No brand name anywhere.

He spent an hour trying on it. It was just a phone. Faster than his, actually. Everything worked, wifi, maps, camera, apps, all of it spotless and normal, and the only wrong thing in the entire device was that backwards arrow stamped on the case.

He sat back in the chair. Three thousand dollars and a couples' vacation to an island and a phone with no name. Jenkins was not a changed man. He was not capable of being a changed man. Kyle knew that the way he knew his own name; it had been drilled into him at fifteen in a kitchen he still sometimes dreamed about. Which meant the money was real but the reason was a lie, or the reason was real and the money was bait, and either way his father wanted something.

His father always wanted something. Seven years ago he'd wanted a woman who owed him, and now he wanted... what? A photo of his son on a beach?

Kyle put the phone in a drawer. He put the money in the drawer on top of it, and the flyer under it, and shut the drawer, and made dinner, and texted Allison, *home safe, stop looking at beaches,* and got back eleven beach emojis and a picture of her bikini with a frowny face drawn on it in pen.

The drawer stayed shut for three days. Mostly. He opened it twice, at night, and looked at the backwards arrow, and shut it again.

---

Allison came over Saturday morning with a bag of pastries. She let herself in with the key he'd given her in the spring, kicked off her shoes in the hall, and was halfway through telling him a story about her beach ideas when she stopped talking, mid-word, because the drawer was open. He'd forgotten to shut it that morning. He'd taken the flyer out at breakfast to look at the departure date, and she'd arrived, and there it was.

"Kyle. What is this?" She had it in both hands. "Paradise Cove? This is the one from the ads!! The couples' island, my roommate won't shut up about this place, it's impossible to book. How do you have this?"

"It was a gift."

"From who? Your mom?" She scanned the flyer, and the light in her face was doing things he hated watching, because he could see the hope assembling itself. "Kyle, this is three days, all-inclusive, couples only!! This is like... this is a honeymoon-level thing!! Who gave you!?"

He could have lied. He considered it, the way you consider a door. Then he said, "My dad," and watched the hope stop assembling.

"Oh, Your dad," she repeated. She set the flyer down carefully on the counter, like it had gotten heavier. "The one you don't talk about. That dad."

"He showed up outside campus last week. In a car that costs more than this house. He gave me money and this and a phone, and he said to hold onto it until the time was right, and he said—" Kyle stopped himself before *and he said it would change my life.* "He said I should find somewhere to go for the holidays."

"Okay." Allison leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, and he watched her work through it, because she was smart, smarter than her statistics grade, and he could see her getting there. "And your instinct is what? Because I know you, and I know your face right now."

"He's not a good person, Al."

"Okay."

"The thing he did to my mom was worse than cheating. He's the reason my mom flinches when people touch her without warning. That's who sent this."

"Okay," Allison said again, gentler. Then, after a moment: "And the money?"

"Three thousand. Real. I counted it."

"And the island's real, I'm assuming, because I've heard of it."

"It's real."

She looked at the flyer. Then at him. Then at the flyer.

"Can I say the thing I'm thinking, or do you want to keep looking tortured for another minute first?"

"Say it."

"You can take the gift without taking the man." She said it slowly, testing the weight. "He's not here. He's not coming. It's a boat and an island and me in a bikini and you with a drink with a little umbrella in it. Whatever he wants out of it, and I agree he wants something, he doesn't get to be in the room. We'd be in the room. Just us." She picked the flyer up again. "Also, and I mean this, I've wanted this place since I saw it on Instagram."

Kyle looked at her. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts over her swimsuit top like she sometimes did on Saturdays, and her hair was still damp from her shower, and she was holding the flyer the way his mother held lottery tickets she'd never buy, and he thought about eleven days from now, blue water, her laughing, the backwards arrow phone sitting in a drawer, and his father's voice saying *better find a place to spend it.*

"Allison—"

"And you said you wanted a trip for two. You literally said that." She stepped closer and put her hands flat on his chest, the way she did.

"So maybe, we could forget about your dad and let's use this vacation opportunity to remove him from your mind. It would be a great vacation don't you think?"

He looked at her smile. He'd never once managed to say no to it, and standing there, with the flyer between them. It's not like his father going to be there, it's the best to act first before it's too late.

With a smile he said finally. "...Yeah, okay," he said. "Let's go to the island."

She squealed and jumped, arms around his neck, and he caught her, and she was laughing against his ear.

Outside the window the summer was bright and wide open, and somewhere across town a black car sat in a driveway, and on a phone in a drawer, a backwards arrow pointed the wrong way. He smile as he drove away, knowing he has done one important part.