13. Chapter 13
Adam
I stare at the ceiling of the stateroom, listening to Rhonda’s soft snores from one bed and Millie’s restless shifting in the other.
The connecting door to my family’s room is mercifully closed, though it doesn’t completely muffle my mother’s voice as she complains to my father about the quality of the sheets.
This is day one of five on this floating prison, and I’m already contemplating how fast I could swim to shore if I jumped overboard.
“Adam?” Millie’s whisper cuts through the darkness. “Are you awake?”
I consider pretending to be asleep, but guilt prevents me. “Yeah.”
“I can’t sleep,” she says, her voice small and vulnerable in a way that once would have triggered my protective instincts. Now it just makes me tense. “I keep thinking about Dad. How he’d have loved this ship.”
“I know,” I say, because what else can I say? Eric would have loved it. He’d have been wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt, telling bad jokes, making everyone feel at ease in a way I can’t.
I hear the rustle of sheets as Millie sits up. “Could we go for a walk? Just around the deck?”
“It’s almost midnight,” I protest weakly.
“Please? I just… I need some air.”
Another rustle, and I catch her silhouette in the dim light from the porthole, hair mussed from tossing and turning, shoulders slumped. I sigh and reach for my phone on the nightstand, checking for any messages from Caitlin. Nothing.
“Fine,” I say, sitting up. “Just let me put on some shoes.”
Five minutes later, we’re walking along the deserted deck. The night air is warm and heavy with salt and the distant rumble of the ship’s engines. Millie walks too close, her arm occasionally brushing mine in a way that doesn’t feel accidental.
“Thanks for coming on this trip,” she says, leaning against the railing. The moon catches in her dark hair, silvering it at the edges. “Mom’s been… well, you know.”
“Yeah.” I keep a careful distance, positioning myself a foot away. “It’s hard for everyone.”
“But especially for you.” Her hand moves across the railing, closing the gap I created. “Being stuck here with me instead of with Caitlin.”
The mention of Caitlin’s name sends a jolt through me. I’ve texted her six times today, called twice. Nothing.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “She understands.”
Millie’s fingers brush against mine on the railing. “Does she? Really?”
I pull my hand away, pretending to adjust my watch. “We should head back. Early start tomorrow.”
“Right.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Mom signed us up for that snorkeling excursion. The two of us. She’s staying behind, says she gets seasick on small boats.”
Of course she is. Just like my mother booked the staterooms with me sharing with Millie and Rhonda instead of getting my own room like she’d promised. Like I’d promised Caitlin.
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Millie had said this morning when I complained about the sleeping arrangements, her hand lingering on my arm.
I hadn’t responded, but my stomach had churned with unease. That phrase, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, it felt like crossing a line.
“Adam?” Millie’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” I say, already turning back toward our cabin. “Let’s go.”
When we return, Rhonda is still asleep, her quiet snores providing background noise as I lie awake, staring at my phone and willing Caitlin to respond.
* * *
Morning brings no relief. My mother is in full form at breakfast, inspecting the fruit platter with pursed lips.
“The pineapple isn’t ripe,” she announces to our table. “And these strawberries are practically frozen.”
“It’s a breakfast buffet for two thousand people, Paula,” my father says, his patience visibly fraying. “Not your personal kitchen.”
“I’m just saying, for what this cruise cost—”
“It was your idea,” Dad interrupts, stabbing his fork into his omelet with unnecessary force.
Mom gives him a wounded look. “I’m only trying to make sure we get our money’s worth.”
“Then maybe try enjoying yourself instead of griping,” he mutters, but she’s already moved on to examining the platter of bacon with suspicious eyes.
Across the table, Lauren gives me a sympathetic look while Jake wisely keeps his attention on his plate. Hailey, seated beside Millie, is busy planning their spa day, heads bent together over the ship’s activity schedule.
I check my phone again. Nothing from Caitlin. The knot in my stomach tightens.
“You keep checking that thing like it’s going to explode,” Mom snaps, eyeing my phone with disapproval. “I’m sure your precious Caitlin is fine. We’re here to spend time together, not stare at screens.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, slipping it back into my pocket. “Just checking work emails.”
It’s a lie she accepts with a nod, satisfied that Kelley Property Management occupies my thoughts rather than my fiancée. The truth is, I haven’t thought about work once since we boarded. All I can think about is the look on Caitlin’s face when I left — resigned, distant, like she was already gone.
“Adam,” Millie says, leaning toward me from her seat. Her knee brushes mine under the table. “I’m really looking forward to our snorkeling trip. It’ll be just you and me, like old times.”
I shift my leg away. “Great.”
“Remember when we went swimming at Lake McConaughy? Right after I finished chemo?” Her voice takes on that wistful quality that always makes guilt wrap around my ribs like a vise. “You said the water would make me feel weightless when everything else felt so heavy.”
“I remember,” I say, because of course I do. Millie at seventeen, thin and pale, her hair just starting to grow back in wispy patches. The way she’d clung to me in the water, trusting me completely to keep her afloat.
“I’ve always remembered that,” she says softly, her hand finding mine under the table.
I extract it as gently as possible, reaching for my water glass. “Should be fun today.”
Mom watches this exchange with barely disguised approval, while Dad focuses intently on his coffee. He’s never been as invested in the Millie situation as Mom, but he’s never stood against it either.
After breakfast, I escape to the highest deck, find a quiet corner, and try Caitlin again. Straight to voicemail. I text: “Please call me. I need to know you’re okay.” The message shows as delivered but not read.
My unease grows as the day progresses. The snorkeling trip is beautiful, with crystal clear water, vibrant fish, white sand, but Millie sticks to me like a shadow, finding reasons to touch my arm, lean against me for balance, ask me to adjust her mask.
Each time, I carefully maintain boundaries without making a scene.
By the time we return to the ship, I’m exhausted and my patience is threadbare. I take a shower in the small bathroom, changing into fresh clothes for the formal Thanksgiving dinner. When I emerge, Millie is waiting, dressed in a blue dress that makes her eyes startlingly bright.
“You look nice,” she says, smoothing a hand down my sleeve. “Very handsome.”
“Thanks,” I say, stepping back. “You too. Is your mom ready?”
“She’s meeting us there. Said she needed extra time to get ready.” Her smile turns sad. “First holiday without Dad. She wants to look her best for him, somehow.”
The guilt resurfaces. Eric’s absence feels particularly acute today, and whatever my complicated feelings about this trip, about Millie, I know her grief is genuine.
“It’s hard,” I say inadequately. “But you’re both doing great. He’d be proud.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and before I can react, she’s pressing herself against my chest, arms around my waist. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here. For being you.”
I allow the hug for a few seconds before gently disengaging. “We should go. Don’t want to be late.”
The ship’s dining room has been transformed for Thanksgiving, with elaborate centerpieces, soft lighting, and white tablecloths. Our group is already seated, with two empty chairs beside each other for Millie and me.
Dinner is an exercise in discomfort. Mom complains about everything: the turkey is dry; the stuffing has too much sage; the cranberry sauce is clearly from a can. Dad finally loses his temper after her third remark about the gravy.
“For God’s sake, Paula,” he hisses, “you’re the one who booked this cruise. If you hate everything about it, maybe we should have stayed home where you could cook your own damn turkey.”
A shocked silence falls over our table. Dad rarely stands up to Mom, and never in public. Her face flushes pink, lips pressed in a thin line.
“I’m just saying,” she starts, but Dad cuts her off.
“Well, stop just saying. You’re ruining everyone’s dinner.”
The tension is momentarily broken by Rhonda, who’s been unusually quiet all evening, suddenly bursting into tears.
“Eric loved stuffing,” she sobs, reaching for her glass of wine, her fifth, by my count. “He always snuck into the kitchen and ate it straight from the pan before dinner.”
Everyone freezes, unsure how to respond. Millie reaches across the table to take her mother’s hand, but Rhonda is beyond comfort now, tears streaming down her face.
“He should be here,” she wails, drawing stares from nearby tables. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”
While everyone focuses on calming Rhonda, I slip my phone from my pocket and check it again. Still nothing from Caitlin. On impulse, I open Instagram, scrolling through my feed, hoping Caitlin has posted recently. And there it is — a post from Rachel, Caitlin’s cousin, uploaded three hours ago.
My blood turns to ice. The photo shows Caitlin in a kitchen I don’t recognize, flour on her cheek, smiling as she rolls out pie dough. The caption reads: “Thankful my favorite cousin finally came home where she belongs. Family Thanksgiving the way it should be. #HughesFamily #HomeSweetHome”
I stare at the image, uncomprehending. She told me she was spending Thanksgiving with a coworker in Mount Pella. Another photo shows her laughing with an older blonde man with a beard. I recognize him as her Uncle Peter, and standing next to them, a smiling woman I recognize as her Aunt Charlene.
My mind races. I know her aunt and uncle live in Cedar City, Oregon.
If she were going to visit family over the holidays, why didn’t she tell me?
Why did she lie about it? And a chilling thought enters my mind: is she coming back?
She has to come back, doesn’t she? She wouldn’t have ended things without telling me, would she?
I scroll frantically through Rachel’s other recent posts, but there is nothing else about Caitlin. And nothing at all on Caitlin’s Instagram.
“Adam?” Millie’s voice seems to come from very far away. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Looking up, I find everyone at the table is staring at me. “I… I need some air.”
I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over my chair, and walk away without explanation. Out on the deck, the night air does nothing to cool the panic rising in my chest. I dial Caitlin’s number again, and again it goes to voicemail.
This time, I leave a message: “I saw Rachel’s Instagram posts. You’re in Cedar City? Caitlin, what’s going on? Please call me back. Please.”
I end the call and grip the railing, staring out at the dark ocean. The ship continues its smooth journey through the night, carrying me further from shore, further from Caitlin. I’m trapped in a hell of my own choosing, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
What I didn’t realize in that moment was that it was about to get much worse.