Chapter Three
This can’t be good.
Emmy and I lean against the railing on the hotel balcony, staring wordlessly at the dark, angry clouds in the distance.
Humidity rolls off the ocean in waves. It feels like standing in the bathroom with the shower temperature turned all the way up.
Eight in the morning looks more like late evening.
But the sky directly above us is still blue.
I glance at Emmy, and she frowns. “The boat leaves in an hour. He would have texted us if the trip was canceled, right?”
“You tell me. When did you last hear from him?”
“He sent me the time the boat leaves and the address for the marina. He said he’d meet us there. We’ll need to pay a port fee and go through security to get to the docks. It’s a single metal detector, so it doesn’t take that long. And then we get on the boat.”
“Did he send you all that this morning? As in, after he would have seen that sky?”
“No, last night. When he booked everything.”
“You might want to text him.”
Her phone dings, one message after another, and considering the way she smiles at the screen, I know it’s him. She shows me the messages.
Benny Bear:
Today is going to be a blast. ??
You guys leaving soon? I’m already here.
Don’t forget water! I’ve got the snacks covered. ??
Gag me with a spoon. “Benny Bear? Are you serious, Emmy?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up. That’s not the point. I guess it’s still on?”
“You should ask him to confirm before we take a thirty-minute cab ride for nothing.”
She types out a quick response, and her phone dings within seconds of her pressing send. She holds it out to me again.
Me:
Are you sure it’s still on? The weather looks a little sketchy.
Benny Bear:
Absolutely! Captain says we’re good to go. ???
I cast another wary look at the clouds rolling in.
I guess the boat captain would know what counts as bad weather and what doesn’t, but I don’t love the look of that sky.
I guess we could always come back early if it gets choppy?
I don’t want to spend the day getting tossed around and hurling over the side of the boat.
The clouds are out on the horizon. Maybe they won’t reach us until tonight?
The sliding glass door opens behind us, and Jackson sticks out his head.
He’s wearing navy swim shorts with tiny white anchors on them and the black “Game of Holmes” T-shirt Emmy got him for Christmas.
The front is a graphic of Benedict Cumberbatch sitting on the Iron Throne.
Jackson spins his sunglasses around by one of the earpieces. “Is this thing canceled or what?”
He sounds so hopeful that it instantly sparks Emmy’s annoyance. “Sorry, you giant wet blanket. The boat trip is still on.”
“Em, look at that sky. Nobody with half a brain is going to take a boat out in that. The waves are going to be insane.”
“Ben says it’s fine.”
Jackson laughs so loud it echoes. “Yeah, because Ben Mulholland is an expert in sailing and ocean conditions.”
“He knows how to sail!”
“He knows how to pay someone to sail for him.”
“You’re such a dick!”
Jackson slips on his sunglasses, and the blue mirror lenses throw our reflection back at us. “She says, to the person who can put a stop to this whole day by sitting my ass on the couch and refusing to leave… Smart move, airhead.”
“You wouldn’t—”
Jackson slams the door.
“I’m going to kick him into the ocean,” she grumbles.
I gently nudge her back inside. “We have to get to the ocean first, and if we don’t hustle, we’re going to be late. Come on. Chop, chop.”
Emmy grabs her white lace beach cover-up and throws it over her pink bikini.
She takes a second to smooth the frills in the mirror, then grabs the woven straw bag Ben bought her at the market from the foot of the bed and fishes through it to make sure she’s got everything she needs.
Next to her, I look frumpy as hell in my navy blue two-piece and black jean shorts.
She’s all strings and bows and bright colors, and the shoulder straps on my sporty bathing suit are wider than the fabric on her hips.
I’d bet mine is more comfortable though.
And less likely to malfunction when we jump into the ocean.
I pull one of my beach cover-ups from my suitcase. This one is a dark teal, and I throw it over my head so my stomach isn’t showing as we walk through the lobby. Stuffing my phone in the pocket of my shorts, I’m ready to go.
Emmy blows a kiss at her reflection, and I grab my bag off the bedroom door handle as we leave the room and throw the strap over my head. It’s stuffed with a towel, sunscreen, my freshly PV sticker-ed water bottle, a waterproof lanyard pouch for my phone, and my sunglasses.
Jackson’s waiting in the kitchenette with nothing but his phone and a scowl. “This century?”
Emmy sticks her tongue out at the back of his head, and I stifle a laugh.
We take the elevator down to the lobby, and they have us in a taxi almost immediately. We whip around traffic and down the highway until the outer edges of Puerto Vallarta come into view.
The road curves around the bay where the cruise ships are docked, and I have to duck to see the tops.
I never gave much thought to how big a cruise ship is.
It’s like a floating skyscraper, and looking at them makes me a little sick to my stomach.
Or maybe it’s the way the roads wind back and forth.
Either way, I’m queasy by the time we pull up to the circular drop-off in front of the marina and pile out of the car.
That doesn’t bode well for this sailing adventure of ours.
Maybe I should have stopped at a pharmacy to get some Dramamine.
Jackson stops beside me on the sidewalk, staring off at the cruise ships. “Those things look like a waking nightmare. Cross that off my bucket list.”
I nod. “You couldn’t pay me to get on one.”
Emmy puts her hands on her hips. “I would. Looks like a blast. Some of them have roller coasters on board.”
“Nothing more exciting than flying off roller coaster tracks, straight into the ocean,” Jackson mumbles.
I nod. “Yeah, that’s a no from me.”
“You guys are super boring. Where’s Benny?”
Jackson pretends to puke into a bush by the entrance, and I snort laugh. He’s in a surprisingly good mood for a hostage.
Emmy stalks toward the glass doors. Before she reaches them, one opens, and the man himself emerges with his arms flung wide. He’s wearing expensive-looking khaki swim trunks and a short-sleeve white button-up.
“Welcome to today’s adventure!” Ben says, waving us inside. “You all ready? We only have a half hour until the boat leaves.”
It only takes about ten minutes to pay our port fees—Ben generously covers them for everyone—and then we wait in a small line of cruise ship employees and tourists to go through a metal detector. Once we’re through, wide glass doors at the end of the hall open to docks upon docks full of boats.
The cruise ships sit down the way in their own docking, and wide concrete aisles take up most of the left side of the marina, jutting into the water between large boats with giant colorful tour company logos on the side.
We pass empty double-decker pontoon boats, their awnings furled.
Ben veers to the right, down the farthest concrete aisle, and we pass nearly a dozen boats with no passengers.
Jackson clears his throat as we make our way farther from the building. “Hey, ah, Ben. There’re a lot of boats here. Like…a whole lot. Are you sure tours are still going out today?”
Ben spins and walks backward as the dock shifts from concrete to wood planks. He plays with that gold lighter he bought at the market yesterday, flicking the metal lid open and closed, open and closed. The metal-on-metal click is more than a little annoying.
“Of course! My stuff is already on the boat. It’s only a few dark clouds. Nothing to worry about.”
Click, click, click.
I frown. There really are a lot of docked boats.
Maybe it’s still early? We walk past a small fleet of yellow sailboats, quietly rocking in the little waves.
A middle-aged guy pops his head up as he tugs on the ropes securing a sail cover before he leaps off the boat onto the dock and heads toward us. Away from the water.
This doesn’t bode well for our adventure.
Click, click, click.
I’m going to chuck that damn lighter into the ocean.
The guy from the boat stops and nods toward the water.
“You kids might want to check your reservation,” he says, with a light Spanish accent.
“Charters are canceled. A couple of storms are coming down the coast—the first should hit Banderas Bay midday. No tours are going out until they pass. For safety reasons.”
He smiles apologetically, as if the storms are somehow his fault.
“What?” Emmy whisper-shrieks. “No!”
Ben smiles at the older man and, finally, blissfully, snaps the lighter shut and sticks it in his pocket. “We’ll check with our boat. Thank you for the heads-up.”
The man smiles. “No problem. Have a nice day. Stay dry!”
Emmy grabs Ben’s arm. “Is it really going to be canceled?”
Ben gently tugs her forward, down the dock. “Nah. Keith has it covered. Don’t worry.”
Who. The fuck. Is Keith?
Jackson raises an eyebrow at me, but we follow them to the farthest dock.
Ben stops at what must be a fifty-foot sailboat. He gestures to it like a game show host. “Here we are!”
I look for the logo on the side, like the other charter company boats have, but it seems like a normal boat.
I glance at the others docked around us.
They’re all normal boats, in varying size, some sailboats and some powerboats.
None have logos. We’re definitely in the personal vessel section of the marina.
When Ben steps to the side, the boat’s name pops into view, painted on the back in bold, navy letters.
The Be-Yacht-Ch.
I stop dead in my tracks and grab Emmy’s arm. “Hold on. There’s no way this is a tour charter.”