Chapter Two #2
“Palmer!” Beth appears in the doorway from below deck.
I’ve never been happier to see her. Her shoulder-length dark hair is in a ponytail, and I’m glad to see she’s dressed as casual as me, in a long-sleeved shirt and shorts. I close the distance between us, glancing at the captain behind the wheel who barely looks up from the navigation screen.
“We’re sharing a stateroom,” Beth says, holding a half-drunk champagne flute. “Come check it out.”
The older man looks up from his screen and nods at me before I follow Beth down the narrow half flight of stairs. “Welcome aboard,” he calls. “I’m Captain Nojan.”
“I’m Palmer. Nice to meet you.”
He looks to be around sixty, and I hope that means he’s been sailing for decades.
Matt and I went on an Alaska cruise for our fifth anniversary, and even that made me nervous.
But that had to have been much safer than what we’re about to do.
As I descend the wooden steps, I think about the rain I saw on the forecast, suddenly imagining what it will be like to be stuck in the cabin with all of them, with no escape to the decks.
I remind myself that it’s nearly June, which means we should have calm seas.
I’m sure we wouldn’t be going if there were any forecasted storms, but I make a mental note to ask the captain before we embark.
“Wow,” I say when I reach the bottom of the steps.
Beth turns. “I know, right? The boat looks like it’s brand new.”
The interior isn’t huge, but it’s bigger than it looks from the outside, and it’s pristine. The gleaming countertops and light wood-paneled walls give it a modern yet warm feel. The hatches above our heads and rectangular windows at eye level fill the space with natural light.
To my left is a kitchen fitted with a microwave, stove, dishwasher, and fridge.
A bottle of champagne rests in a bucket of ice on the speckled countertop beside prefilled plastic flutes and a fruit tray.
Beside the tray, napkins are folded like origami, but I can’t tell what they’re supposed to be.
I grab a glass and follow Beth through the living area where a large white-leather booth wraps around a wood table mounted to the floor. Across from it is a matching couch.
“I was just about to change into my thong bikini,” Beth says. “After I change, maybe you can take some shots of me for my Snapchat.” Beth tosses a smile over her shoulder as I laugh.
“Gigi hasn’t changed since high school, has she?”
Beth shakes her head. “Not an ounce.”
“I’m surprised you even know what Snapchat is.”
“I don’t really.” Beth points to one of the two doors ahead. “We’re in here.”
I follow her inside, seeing now why Gigi’s assistant told us to pack light.
The room is just large enough for the double bed, which butts against the wall on either side, narrowing to fit within the curve of the bow.
There’s less than three feet from the head of the bed to the door—enough room for a small, padded bench on one side and a single cabinet on the other.
“Cozy, huh?” Beth asks as I set my duffel bag next to hers on the bench.
My gaze lands on a framed photograph hanging on the wall—my twin girls at an Oregon beach. I took it last summer, but I’d never sent it to Gigi.
“Did you bring that?”
Beth follows my gaze. “Oh, no. Gigi asked me to send her one of your girls for a surprise. I knew that was one of your favorites. The photo was already up when I got here.”
My breath catches at Gigi’s sweet gesture as I take in my girls’ beaming smiles. “That was so . . .”
“Thoughtful? I know.” Beth holds up a hardcover book, its cover streaked with crimson splatters that mimic dripping blood. Artfully fake, but also disturbingly lifelike. “Gigi got this signed edition for me even though it doesn’t release until next month.”
Seeing the author’s name, I recognize her as one Beth loves.
“Gigi contacted the author and promised to share the book on social media if she sent her a prerelease copy.” Beth opens the book to the title page. “And Gigi had her sign it to me.”
“That’s so cool,” I say. Maybe Gigi has grown up since high school. I peer through the open doorway, my pulse quickening. “Is Emma here yet?”
“Nope. I was the first one here.”
I plop onto the edge of the bed and feel some tension release from my shoulders, thankful to have a moment alone with Beth before I face the others. “Is Gigi’s husband here?”
Beth shakes her head. “Haven’t seen him. I’m surprised he didn’t come to see her off. I expected him to be taking the photos of her send-off, not her assistant.”
“Me too.” I’ve seen Gigi’s doting European hotel-heir husband in several of her posts online, where they appear joined at the hip.
After meeting in Milan, Gigi and Alex were married in Venice two years ago, an exclusive event to which none of us were invited.
According to one of her posts, Alex took most of her photos and did all the behind-the-scenes work for her vlog.
But Gigi’s following has grown so big, she must’ve had to hire more help.
“Can you do me a favor?” I ask. “Don’t say anything to the others yet about Matt leaving me.”
“Of course not.” Beth crosses her arms, glancing up as the sound of Gigi’s laugh carries through the windowed hatch above the bed.
She meets my gaze. “Look, I know you don’t want to go on this trip.
I didn’t, either, but now that I’m here, I really think it will be good for all of us to remember Courtney—together. And to let go.”
A look passes between us, an unspoken understanding of what she’s referring to.
Beth’s expression darkens. “We can’t change the past. We were kids. It’s not like you meant to—”
“Knock, knock!”
Gigi appears behind Beth in the doorway. I’m surprised I didn’t hear her come down. She’s tied a see-through mesh cover-up over her bikini bottom. She slides past Beth and holds her arms out to me.
“You disappeared so fast I didn’t get to give you a hug.”
I stand as she squeezes me between her long skinny arms.
I bulge my eyes out, pulling a face at Beth, who stifles a laugh. Gigi releases me and takes a step back, then leans her thin frame against the cabinet. I sense curiosity in Gigi’s gaze, along with a dash of judgment, as she takes in my appearance.
I point to the framed photo of my twins. “Thank you for putting up the picture of my girls. That was a nice surprise.”
Gigi smiles. “You’re welcome. I wanted you to feel at home.
” She puts her hands on her hips. “Emma is late, as usual. Even though I made sure to have my assistant tell her to be on time.” She rolls her eyes.
“Once she gets here, we’ll set sail.” She presses her palms together in front of her chest. “I’m so glad we can all get together to honor Courtney.
She would’ve wanted this. I’m just sad she can’t be here with us.
But she’ll be here in spirit. Sometimes, I still can’t believe she’s gone, after all this time.
We never got that closure, because, well . . .”
Gigi trails off, and I can see we’re all thinking the same thing. Because we never found her body.
“Anyway,” Gigi adds. “I miss her every day.”
No, you don’t, I think. She’s acting like Courtney was a saint.
While we all felt indebted to Courtney in some way, like the time she paid for Gigi’s prom dress when she couldn’t afford it, we were also no strangers to Courtney’s cruelty.
I study Gigi batting her eyes as if she were blinking back tears, and I wonder if her obsession to be constantly seen by the world in her best light stems from what Courtney did to her in our senior year.
Gigi twists to check her teeth in the small mounted mirror, and it hits me that her thirst to be seen as perfect is probably more due to us being labeled as murderers after returning from the rafting trip.
“I guess sisterly bonds never really dissolve,” Gigi says.
When I catch Gigi’s insipid face in her reflection, I see her as she was that day twenty years ago when her face was twisted in anger at Courtney, the rapids roaring behind them as they pushed off from the rocky riverbank.
Rage can do funny things to people, make them do things on impulse that they can’t take back.
Of course, I knew that better than anyone.