“That’s…a relief,” I concede.
Fiona cocks her head. “Do you have any proof thatASOSASwas yours?”
“That’s the whole point,” I say, frustrated. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Then Viv must think you’re compelling and believable enough to stand on your own truth,” Fiona says, shrugging. “She takes care of herEmpressgirls.”
“Does she?” I ask, thinking of Elena. “You told me Piper needs help and she can’t get it because Viv won’t let her leave.”
“That’s different,” Fiona protests. “Piper’s situation is…complicated.”
I roll my eyes. “Doesn’t seem that complicated to me. And what’s the deal with the food? Why is there so little of it on this boat?”
Fiona’s shoulders rise toward her ears. “Viv is very strict about it, but it’s to keep us healthy. We have set eating times and customized portions, but Rachel keeps us well-fed.”
“That sounds like diet culture,” I press.
Fiona’s voice turns defensive, her hackles raising. “She only bans things that are bad for us! Things with sugar and fat, mostly. Oh, and salt. She does not like salty foods.”
“Fiona, that’s fucked up, you know that, right?”
“There are rules we all follow,” Fiona hisses. “You haven’t been here long. You’ll learn. You’ll see that everything Viv does, whether or not we like it, is for our own good. We’re a family.”
I’m sick of hearing that. Workplaces that call themselves families are always teeming with red flags and boundary issues, and I should have realized it sooner. Viv has a stranglehold over these girls, and knowing she’s banning certain foods and enabling Piper’s drinking makes my stomach sink.
“Why do you always defend Viv?” I ask.
Fiona shrinks back, shrugs. “You don’t get it, though you should. Viv saved my life by giving me this job. I was about to be kickedout of my apartment. My parents don’t live in Florida. I would have been in a bad spot. I owe her. We all do. She gave me a new life, and she did the same for you.”
So what? Viv feels ownership over us all because she happened to have a job opening?
Maybe Vivisthe one who killed Elena. Maybe Elena didn’t try to leaveEmpressat all. She could have broken one of Viv’s weird rules and her punishment was death.
But even as I think it, the accusation withers away. That would be extreme, even for a control freak like Viv. Maybe it was an accident. A cover-up. Or maybe it was one of the men. Carl clearly doesn’t care about boundaries. Maybe he was cheating with Elena too.
Something isn’t right here. If I can quietly investigate, try to find some more evidence of what happened to Elena before the storm ends, I will. It’s not okay that she just vanished and no one ever came looking for her. I can’t change anything has already happened, but if I can help get justice for Elena, it’ll be worth all the bizarreness I’ve experienced so far.
But my generosity has a time limit. Ghost or not, I’m getting the hell off this floating prison the second the weather clears.
Chapter 22
Dinner is mostly a disaster.
After my tense conversation with Fiona, she announced we’d be eating at seven and flounced off. The interaction left me unsettled, and afterward I understood it was because it felt like Fiona was checking up on me. Would she run off and tell Viv everything I said? Or would she be the Fiona who sneaks another beer behind Viv’s back and keeps it to herself?
When I arrive at the main level though, Viv says hello cheerfully and Fiona waves.
We all take our seats at the large mahogany table between the kitchen island and the front panel of windows. The storm has blotted out the view—the glass is covered with water; water running down from the roof, water being splashed against the hull, waterin the form of raindrops that cluster together and create rivulets racing down the panes.
I can’t tell if things outside are getting better or worse. The wind is loud; the waves are slamming against the caissons underneath us. YetEmpressis holding steady and staying watertight. It’s the strangest dining experience of my life.
Rachel has prepared the mac and cheese unearthed from the crew mess with cooked leftover veggies from the party. Although I definitely feel much better scarfing down the warm meal, I can’t forget my conversation with Fiona. I notice Viv clocking who finishes their food (Fiona, Ashley, me) and who doesn’t (Rachel, Piper).
“So, did we figure out if the radio can be fixed?” Viv asks Trey and Carl, who are wolfing down Rachel’s meal with fervor.
“It’s totaled,” Carl says, taking a bite and then hacking the food back up. He coughs, forcing a hunk of half-masticated pasta into a cloth napkin. “Sorry. Wrong pipe.” His breath comes out staccato and raspy.
“Chill, babe,” Fiona murmurs, patting him on the back.
