Chapter 7
While we don’t see any dolphins on the way out of the marina, the view from the bow (that’s rich people for ‘boat-front’) is glorious.
Jules and I perch together on the front of the ship like Jack and Rose, our arms looped around the silver railing as we lean over to watch the cerulean water parting beneath us.
It’s almost enough to make me forget about Caleb blatantly snubbing me.
At least if he’s pretending we’ve never met, he’s got no way to spill the beans about my suspension.
And who cares what Captain Frigid thinks, anyway?
A warm breeze whips my dark brown hair across my face and lifts the sleeves of my t-shirt. Sunlight sparkles over water so still it could be made of glass. And to our right, island after lush, green island stands out against the blue.
Maybe Marianne was right. Maybe a reset is what I need.
After a little over an hour underway, we pull up at our first anchorage, Musket Cove, and drop anchor in a pristine palm-lined cove that couldn’t be more perfect if I’d painted it. If I weren’t so terrified of heights, I’d jump right off the bow into the sea.
“I’m going to see where Harry’s gotten off to,” Jules says, squeezing my hand. “He has a bad habit of getting sucked into work emails if I’m not watching his every move. Can I have Gia get you anything?”
I shake my head. At what point will the word “work” cease to make my stomach twist into some sort of disfigured balloon animal?
Instead of following Jules, I creep inside and back down to my cabin, where the gorgeous sketchbook she got me is waiting, untouched, on the desk.
These islands must already be working their magic on me, because instead of holing up in my luxurious cabin like a socially awkward troll, I slip it into my bag and head upstairs.
Unfortunately, I get lost about three times on different stairways and almost end up in the engine room.
Maybe the first sketch I’ll put in this baby is a map.
Once I reach the stern deck and check to make sure no one’s lurking around, I pull out the sketchbook from my bag, holding it in my palm like a touchstone.
The feeling of the soft leather is an anchor grounding me into the present moment, connecting me back to my breath.
I open it, slowly, as if it contains some sort of panicked bird.
But nothing leaps out at me from the pages.
Only a blank canvas that beckons to be altered.
I look out at the moon-shaped cove we’re anchored in, listening to the sounds of water softly lapping and Matthew and Steven splashing around off the swim-deck.
But when I place one of the pencils on the page, aiming to capture some of the swaying palm trees ahead, my fingers don’t move.
This used to be second nature to me, but I don’t even remember the last time I doodled on a notebook, let alone sketched deliberately.
What if I can’t do it anymore? What if the thing I was once most passionate about has been suffocated by the unending drudgery of the last three years?
If I’m being honest with myself, I’m too scared to try.
Right now, I can pretend I’m still an artist. I can blame burnout and business for my hiatus and call it a day.
But if I’ve really lost my creative spark, if what was once my lifeblood is buried too deep to dig out, I won’t be able to hide behind life circumstances anymore.
I’ve made a mess out of pretty much every facet of my life.
I’m not sure if I can handle knowing I’ve lost this, too.
I can’t handle that, yet. Not today.
I shove the book back in my bag and walk over to the railing, gazing out at the glittering sea below.
Immediately, a familiar queasy feeling spoils the insanely beautiful view.
When did I become so afraid of everything?
I’m paralyzed by heights. Afraid of my ex.
Apparently, now, I’m afraid to sketch. And I was so scared of standing up to Caleb that I didn’t even call him out when he blatantly snubbed me in front of Harry.
Just once, I wish I could be like Marianne, who never says no to an adventure and always says exactly what she’s thinking.
Like my sister, who moved to LA all on her own with no plan, no safety net, and two thousand dollars to her name.
I don’t want to go my whole life letting fear get in the way of everything I want to do. I want to be brave.
And I know the perfect way to practice.
I dart a look back to the stairs to make sure no one is watching and strip down to my bathing suit.
But when I step over the polished railing, my knees literally buckle.
I clench onto a silver pole beside me and wait for the fear rioting through my limbs to simmer down.
But it only gets worse. Nausea. Vertigo.
The sound of every nerve in my body screaming at me to back down.
What the hell was I thinking? I turn around and prepare to step back over the rail when I hear an unwelcome voice from around the corner.
“Sister’s a bit of a funny one,” Jim says, and I cringe as I realize he must be talking about me.
“Funny?” a familiar New Zealand accent responds. “She’s a liability is what she is. The last thing I need this week.”
Caleb. And he’s coming closer. Without thinking, I drop down to my knees behind the back of the bench, flattening myself as close to the ground as I can. And by ground, I mean the sparkling deck of a yacht half the size of a football field.
“She clearly has no idea how things work around here,” Caleb continues, his tone disdainful. “Harry already hit me with a lecture about enforcing protocol when he saw her carrying her own bag.”
I stifle a squeak. I didn’t realize my stomach could drop any lower, but Caleb’s proven me wrong.
“For the record, I did try,” Jim’s Aussie accent cuts in. “Was I supposed to wrestle it out of her hands?”
“Of course not. But it’s not your head that’s on the chopping block if the Warrens feel like the crew is slacking.
Harry may be easy going, but everything needs to be tight as a drum by the time his parents arrive tomorrow.
That girl’s lucky Patricia wasn’t here to see her waltzing up with her sandy feet, covered in mosquito bites. She’d have thrown her back to the sea.”
My face goes hot, and I feel like I’ve been slapped. Caleb has confirmed what I already knew—I’m not cut out for this. I stick out on this boat like a sea urchin. Maybe he does remember yesterday—he’s probably just too embarrassed to admit association with a disaster like me.
“Don’t be so hard on her, Caleb. She seems like a sweet girl.”
“Sweet? She’s got absolutely no sense of decorum,” Caleb says as they move closer to my hiding place. “If I didn’t know her sister, I’d think she’d been raised by wolves.”
I hold my breath and will myself, not for the first time, to simply evaporate.
In a few seconds, they’ll be practically on top of me.
And they’ll know I’ve been hiding like the coward I am for this whole conversation.
My heart is hammering for a different reason as I look down over the side of the boat to the turquoise water below.
The choice is clear: face the embarrassment of confronting Caleb, or throw myself to certain death.
Certain death it is.
I lean over the side of the ship, taking a deep breath as I get my legs under me and launch myself outwards before I get another glimpse of the impossible distance between me and the sea.
For a second I think I’ve blacked out, until I remember I’m still closing my eyes.
But when they fly open, everything gets so much worse.
My stomach rockets into my throat, giving me precious seconds to regret the decision before my feet connect with the water.
Could I actually die? What if I got the angle wrong?
What if a massive shark the size of a schoolbus is waiting just below the surface, its jaws open to scoop up anyone idiotic enough to leap off the side of a yacht?
My skin stings with the impact as I pass through the invisible border between water and air, and I remember just in time to plug my nose as my head goes under.
My body plunges down, five feet—ten—and I open my eyes to see the ghostly light of sun filtering through the empty depths.
The heavy salt burns my irises and I hold my arms out to slow the ascent to the surface
Adrenaline rockets through my veins, filling me with a high I haven’t felt in years.
I did it. I’m alive! I allow myself to float in stillness for a moment, my legs tingling with the impossibility of what I’ve just done.
It’s so peaceful beneath the water: full of the aching silence of undisturbed oceans.
No motors, no crash of waves—only blue. The ocean cradles my limbs and body like a warm cocoon, suspending me in zero gravity as I float towards the surface.
Maybe drowning feels like this. Maybe it’s only the endless quiet swallowing you whole.
Then the quiet cracks open.
My eyes fly open as something plunges in next to me. I feel hands grab tightly beneath my arms, yanking my ribcage up towards the air with incredible force. I recognize Caleb’s curly golden hair as we break the surface together, each gasping for air.
“What are you doing?” I sputter as soon as I can catch my breath.
“Hold on, I’ve got you!”
In four long strokes, Caleb has us back at the swimstep, where I haul myself up.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him as he climbs up to meet me. He’s still in full uniform, his white shirt soaked so thoroughly I can see the lines of distractingly defined muscle beneath it. Stop staring, stop staring…
“Are you alright?” he grabs my arms, looking me over for signs of injury. “Are you hurt?”
Does he think I fell off the deck?