I exhale, watching a family make their way down the pier, the father with his kindergarten-aged daughter on his shoulders. The girls think Matt is on a business trip. He agreed we should tell them the bad news together when I get back. Dread fills my stomach like a bag of cement as I imagine their shattered faces when we tell them he’s moving out.
Aside from Kate and Beth, I haven’t told anyone about Matt’s leaving me, not even my mom. I’m dreading telling her nearly as much as the girls. She’s always loved Matt; thought he could do no wrong.Will she blame me for his cheating? Wonder what I did to make my “perfect” husband stray?
“This is your stop,” the driver says louder than before, as if I didn’t hear him the first time.
“Thanks,” I mutter, grabbing my duffel bag as I slide out of the back seat.
I saunter toward the water, scanning the rows of boats while trying to remember where Gigi’s assistant said the sailboat would be docked.
I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder. After reading the email from Gigi’s assistant last night, I’d swapped my suitcase for the bag. Yesterday morning Beth, Emma, and I were copied on the formal email specifying what to bring and telling us to pack light and make sure we bring soft luggage that could be easily tucked away in the boat’s limited storage. The idea of the four of us, plus the two crew, stuffed into a boat too small for regular bags is about to give me a panic attack. I shake my head, thinking about how Gigi herself couldn’t be bothered to give us the trip details and how little she’s changed from high school.
I shade my eyes with my hand from the sun reflecting off the water and take a left after stepping onto the dock, then head past a line of large yachts toward a row of sailboats. A seagull squawks overhead. When I checked the weather forecast last night on my phone, it showed that Seattle will be getting rain later in the week. But today the sky is clear, and the Sound is smooth as glass. Hopefully, we’ll avoid the rain as we sail south on the Pacific. With nearly two dozen rows of boats, the marina is bigger than I expected. Now, I wish I’d paid better attention to where Gigi’s assistant said the boat would be.
I scan the dock for a sign of Emma, dreading what it will be like to see her again after all these years. The four of us stay in loose contact through a group text thread, which stays silent most of the time aside from the occasionalhappy birthdayor funny meme. The last time we were all together was ten years ago when Beth graduated with her doctoral degree from Elliott Bay University. It was before Emma’s home-renovation career took off and when Gigi was still anaspiring lifestyle and travel vlogger. There had been so much going on at graduation that the four of us never had a quiet moment to outwardly reflect on Courtney not being there. But I could feel it, and I’m sure the others did too.
I start down a row filled with more sailboats than power cruisers. Three slips down, I stop in my tracks at a young woman untying a sailboat from the dock. Her long red hair cascades down to the middle of her back just like Courtney’s did. A middle-aged woman appears on the vessel’s deck. Her short hair is the same shade of red, only mixed with some gray.
“Do you want your hat, Mel?”
“No, thanks,” the younger woman calls, jumping onto the boat.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. It’s been years since I thought I’d seen Courtney. After she disappeared, I used to see her everywhere: at the store, on the beach, driving a car. But it was never her.
I study the size of the vessel as they pull away from the dock. A tremor runs through my veins as I imagine taking a boat of that size all the way to San Diego. What was I thinking, letting Beth talk me into this? What if I never come back? A shudder runs down my spine as I envision my twin girls being raised by Matt and his twenty-three-year-old girlfriend.
I should go home.
I start to turn around when I hear a giggle—more like acackle—from the next row over and recognize it immediately. Gigi.
I amsonot ready for this.
Gigi is propped up on the sailboat’s railing, scantily clad in a checkered bikini even though it’s barely over sixty degrees. I glance at my cutoff jeans and faded T-shirt, imagining how I’ll look in the modest one-piece I packed. I’d picked black, hoping it would have a slimming effect on the ten pounds I’d put on over the last few years.There’s no way I’m getting a photo next to Gigi in my swimsuit,I think as I continue down the floating walkway.
I watch Gigi’s long blond waves lift into the air from the wind coming off the water while a younger woman takes her photo from thedeck. I head toward them, but Gigi doesn’t seem to notice me as I move up the dock and turn down the adjacent row.
When I get closer, I’m relieved to see the sailboat is much bigger than I expected. The white vessel with navy blue trim is twice as long as the one I was just looking at.Thank God.Its polished, brand-new exterior gleams in the sun. Above one of the four diamond-shaped windows that adorn the hull’s side,Nautical Nirvanais painted in blue cursive. I can see why the San Diego yacht-rental company is paying Gigi top dollar to document the boat’s maiden voyage from Seattle. Even at first glance, it’s stunning.
I scan the boat deck but don’t see any of the other women despite yesterday’s email stressing the importance of being on time. On the rear deck, a man with salt-and-pepper hair stands behind one of the two large steering wheels, his blue polo tucked neatly into his khaki shorts. Not seeming to notice me, he taps the screen of an instrument pod mounted above the wheel. According to Gigi’s assistant, the boat came equipped with a captain and first officer who doubles as a chef.
Gigi tucks a strand of long hair behind her ear. “Wait!” she yells at the woman taking her photo. “Take that one again.” She cocks her head. “My hair was in my eyes.”
The young woman holding the phone, whom I assume must be Gigi’s assistant, points in my direction. “There’s someone behind you.”
Gigi turns. “Oh. Hi, Palmer. Come on board, but do you mind staying on that end of the boat for a minute? I’m just having my assistant get some content before we depart.”
“No problem,” I say, stunned by how little Gigi has changed.
Gigi wastes no time rattling off more instructions to her assistant as I search the side of the vessel for somewhere to climb on.
“As soon as Palmer’s out of the way, get a video with the other boats behind me. Start on my left side and then pan to the right.”
A muscular man with a full head of wavy brown hair and a short-trimmed beard emerges from the boat’s belowdeck interior, wearing the same shirt and shorts as the older man behind the wheel,only he looks about twenty years younger. Seeing me, he strides to the middle edge of the boat where there’s a gap in the outer railing.
“You can come aboard right here.” He gestures to the plastic steps on the dock. “I’ll take your bag while you climb on.”
I meet his gaze as he extends his hand toward me. He’s close to my age, maybe a little older—probably early to mid-forties.
I slide my duffel bag off my shoulder and allow him to take it before I climb the steps. “Thanks.”
