Chapter Nine
Present: Day Three at Sea
Giving up on sleep, I climb out of bed at the first spark of daylight, careful not to wake Beth.
I hardly slept, waking to my legs shifting from side to side with every swell.
Just as Nojan had warned, the four of us were mostly bedbound yesterday after we’d reached the open ocean.
My stomach feels more settled this morning than yesterday even though the Pacific’s waters are much rougher than I imagined.
When I step out of my stateroom, the smell of coffee fills the quiet galley. I pour myself a steaming cup from the half-filled French press before going to the upper deck.
Finding Adam at the helm, I sit on the cockpit bench and take in the gorgeous reddish sunrise peaking over the horizon. There’s no longer any land in sight. Instead, a seemingly endless ocean surrounds us in every direction.
“Morning.” He smiles.
“Morning.” I scan the deck, thinking Nojan must be below. It’s just the two of us.
“Did you find the coffee?” he asks. “I just made some before taking watch.”
I lift my insulated mug. “I did, thanks.”
I take a sip, the first I’d been able to stomach since we left the protected waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
It’s almost eerily quiet as we continue to sail away from the mainland, our only power coming from the wind.
After taking another drink, I send a text to my sister asking how things are going, even though she probably won’t be up for another hour to get the girls ready for school.
A few conversations down, I see the last text I sent Matt nearly a week ago asking why he wasn’t home, to which he never responded.
“Bastard.”
“Excuse me?”
Startled, I turn to the attractive first officer still at the helm.
I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone. “Oh, not you. My husband.” I lift my phone.
“Ex-husband,” I correct myself. “Well, almost. He just left me for someone he works with, who’s also fifteen years younger than me.
” I cringe at my oversharing to this handsome stranger.
Just stop talking. You don’t even know him.
“Sorry,” I fumble. “I don’t know why I said that last part. ”
His expression softens. “Don’t be sorry. That’s awful.” He flips a switch on the control panel next to the wheel and steps out from behind the helm. “He sounds like an idiot.”
My cheeks flush when he takes a seat beside me. I glance beyond him toward the wheel as the bow pitches over a swell. “Don’t you need to be steering?”
He shakes his head. “It’s on autopilot.”
“Oh, right,” I say, feeling stupid. “Of course.”
Adam gazes out at gently rolling waves. “I’ve never been married, but I know what it’s like to feel betrayed by someone.” He turns to me, close enough for me to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.
My pulse flutters. Damn, he’s hot. He’s even more attractive up close.
“I can’t imagine that person being your spouse,” he adds.
“It sucks,” I say.
He gestures toward the lower deck. “At least you’ve got some great friends here to help you through it. Seems like you’ve all known each other a long time.”
I follow his gaze. “Since we were kids.”
“You’re lucky. I’ve lost touch with all my friends from high school. You and Beth seem really close. Not everyone has that.”
I nod. “Yeah, we are. Can’t imagine going through this without her.
” I turn toward him, not sure how we fell into such deep conversation.
I’m suddenly self-conscious of saying too much, expecting him to be looking for an excuse to return to the helm.
But he looks completely relaxed as his kind eyes seem to search mine.
“That must be nice to have a group of friends that you can confide in.”
“Well,” I think of Gigi and Emma, asleep in their separate cabins. “It’s just Beth actually. The others don’t know yet about my split from my husband. It just happened, and honestly, their lives just seem so perfect, I couldn’t—”
“Don’t worry,” he places his hand on my forearm before getting up. “You’re secret’s safe with me. We’re all guilty of not being exactly who we present ourselves to be at some point or another. And if I had to guess, their lives aren’t as perfect as they’re letting on either.”
I shift in my seat. “Why do you say that?”
The companionway door flies open, revealing Gigi’s top half. Her blond hair is a mess of waves. Eye patches are stuck beneath her eyes, and she’s wearing tiny satin pajamas that could double as lingerie.
She looks past me without so much as a greeting. “Hey, Adam. Could you make me an almond milk latte and a veggie omelet? And can you put more veggies in the omelet today? I’m not one to complain, but yesterday’s was a little heavy on the egg whites.”
“Sure,” he says.
“And maybe less mushrooms, more spinach,” she adds.
After Gigi disappears below, he gives me a playful wink. “Just a hunch.”
Half an hour later, I go below. My coffee mug is empty, and I’d been sitting in mostly silence with Nojan ever since he got up to replace Adam at the helm. My stomach grumbles as I descend the steps. I felt too seasick to eat much yesterday, and I find myself suddenly hungry.
Adam looks up from the dinette table where he’s cleaning off Gigi’s dirty breakfast dishes. I cringe inwardly, seeing Gigi on the couch transfixed with her phone screen. Even my nine-year-old twins know to take their dishes to the kitchen when they’re done eating.
“Can I make you something?” he asks.
I separate a banana from the bunch on the counter. “No, thanks. I’ll start with this.”
I sit beside Gigi, but she doesn’t look up. I glance at her screen as I peel my banana, surprised to see she’s not on social media.
“Since when have you played chess?”
“Oh.” She glances at me for the first time since I came below deck. Her cheeks flush. “Most of my life, I guess. My dad taught me when I was six.”
I sit back. “I never knew that.”
“Well, it’s not exactly something I’m proud of. It’s kind of nerdy.”
I take a bite of my banana. “I don’t think it’s nerdy. I’m impressed.”
“Well, thanks.” Gigi pushes a pawn deep into enemy territory in what looks to be a sacrifice, then turns to me. “But don’t tell anyone, okay? It doesn’t exactly fit with my brand.”
She returns her attention to her game as I watch over her shoulder and take another bite. “What’s that?” I point to the number in the corner of the screen.
“My winning streak.”
I nearly choke. “You’re on a streak of forty-one?”
“Yeah.” Gigi bites her nail, looking nervously at her screen. Then I see why. I know the rules of the game, although I’ve never been very good.
Your Move flashes on her screen in bold white letters. It’s over. Her king was one move away from being exposed to a double attack.
Gigi opted against defending her king. Leaving it exposed, she promoted her pawn. I hold my breath, knowing her winning streak is about to be over. Then I see it. Her newly anointed queen trapped her rival’s king in checkmate. My mouth falls open as confetti explodes on her screen.
You Win! appears in the same white letters as before. I watch Gigi calmly close out the gaming app.
“How did you see that?”
She shrugs.
“That was . . . impressive.”
“It’s just a game,” she says as my stateroom door opens.
Beth emerges in flannel pajamas with a yawn. On her way to the bathroom, her gaze travels to Gigi. “Getting an early start on your content?”
Gigi flashes me a look before giving Beth a smile. “Sure am.”
As the boat rocks beneath us, I roll into Beth on our double bed and open my eyes to the afternoon sun shining through our small cabin window.
“I don’t know how you can read and not feel seasick,” I say, seeing the tattered paperback of The Handmaid’s Tale in her hand.
I binge-watched all five seasons of the show last summer, telling Beth she should watch it too. But of course, she starts with the book.
Beth shrugs. “I feel fine.” She turns the page. “Guess I should’ve been a sailor,” she adds without looking up.
I shift back toward my side of the bed, this time smacking into the wall as the boat dips to the side.
After lunch, Beth and I retreated to our stateroom for a short respite from Gigi’s animated live stream videos.
I reach for the Condé Nast magazine I found in the galley and read until my eyes grow heavy, which doesn’t take long.
I’m drifting when an angry voice in the stateroom next door jolts me fully awake.
“You’ve got to be shitting me. They can’t do that!”
I sit up, recognizing Emma’s husky, angry voice carrying through the thin wall that divides our staterooms.
“I don’t care! They can’t pull my line,” Emma yells. “You can’t let them do this, Ryan. It’s too late for them to back out. You promised me this wouldn’t happen. We have to fight this.”
A thump rattles the wall, likely from Emma beating her fist against it. Beth and I exchange a look.
“I am calm,” Emma shouts. She huffs a sigh. “All right, fine. I’ll call you later.”
Emma goes quiet, and I lean closer to Beth.
“I thought her fist was going to come through the wall,” I whisper.
“What do you think that’s about?” Beth asks in a muted tone.
“I don’t know.”
Beth glances at the wall. “Maybe we should go see if she’s okay.”
I lie back down, recalling the black eye Emma gave Luke Branson for making a snide remark after Gigi’s topless photo was spread around school. “I think we better let her cool off first.”
Emma’s stateroom door slams.
Beth leans back on her elbow. “You’re probably right.” She opens her book.
I wonder what Emma was referring to. It sounded serious, likely an issue with one of her current remodels.
Emma’s temper probably makes it sound worse than it really is.
I close my eyes again, wanting a nap before Gigi summons us to her group photo shoot on the upper deck.
“I hope it’s not rough like this the whole way. ”
A knock sounds, and Emma’s voice bleeds through the door. “Hey, Beth?”