Cord held his head in his hands. Fear filled him. Dread pulsed inside his stomach. He was going to keep drinking, and he was going to lose Giovanni. Whatever he’d inherited from his father was going to kill him. He might as well stop fighting, open the minibar, and imbibe. He’d already checked out the selection: small bottles of everything from vodka to Malbec. Cord let the possibility of giving in fill him with shameful joy.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that the choice was real and quite possibly final. He could abandon himself to the booze or he could keep trying to stay true, to feel both the pain and the glory of ordinary, beautiful life. Cord stared at the tiny refrigerator.
WHEN REGAN WOKE, SHEwas alone in bed. Matt was sitting on the balcony, head bent over his phone. Regan’s dreams had been harrowing. Inside them, she’d been back at the Come On Inn with Mr. Ragdale, her high school art teacher. He’d convinced her they were meant for each other. Or maybe she’d convinced herself.
The sour sheets, the smell of cheap cleaning fluids. Regan had known as the days wore on that running away with Alphonso had been a mistake. But she couldn’t call Charlotte. Feeling as if she were soiled beyond redemption, Regan had called her sister’s ex-boyfriend instead. And Matt had come for her, riding all the way to Statesboro on his motorcycle, banging on the flimsy motel door, confronting Mr. Ragdale, even poking him in the chest with an index finger, gathering Regan and her duffel bag of belongings.
The wind whipped her hair as she burrowed against Matt on the long ride home. He had been her savior. But that was a long time ago.
Regan didn’t have to open the email from Zoë. What was the point? She was furious that Zoë had called Cord. They all thought she was so dumb, that she had no plan, and was just going to float along like a goddamn cruise ship, letting everyone walk all over her.
They were wrong.
LEE WOKE UP TOkisses along her neck and rolled into Luigi’s sweet embrace. He was one of the captains, not the main one but still Italian, and had sent her a bottle of Cabernet at the Capitano Cocktail Lounge, where Lee and Cord had ended up after dinner. It was dimly lit, and Lee had had to squint when their waitress brought the wine and pointed to the table of men in uniform. Luigi had stood and bowed, blown her a kiss. He was a bit too old for her, but when he stopped by their table and asked if she’d like to walk along the Promenade, she’d smiled and said yes.
“Hey,” Cord said, grasping her wrist as she stood. Lee looked at her brother, his drunken, pleading expression. “Lee Lee,” said Cord. “Come on. Don’t go. I haven’t seen you in so long. We need to talk.”
“Oh, Cord,” said Lee. She looked at Luigi, waiting. “This is a cruise,” she said. “I’m just having fun.”
“Just having fun,” said Cord morosely. “I get it, Lee Lee. I fucking get it. Adios.”
Lee wanted to ignore Cord’s words—write them off to his being drunk—but of course, hedidget it. For a moment, Lee contemplated sitting back down and talking to her brother, confiding in Cord about her botched career, her confusion, telling Cord how their father’s face had been blue when she found him hanging from the bathroom door. How she’d lifted him, wrapping her arms around his legs, and screamed. She’d stood in the bathroom holding him up for what seemed like hours. But Winston was already dead.
Cord looked bereft. But being with him reminded Lee of a time she wanted to forget. Cord and Regan didn’t even know about Winston’s suicide. Charlotte had told them their father died from a heart attack.
“I’m just having fun,” Lee insisted both to her brother and to herself. Luigi put his arm around her waist.
Cord didn’t answer, didn’t look at her, just raised his hand to order another drink.
—
THE PROMENADE AT NIGHTwas magnificent, so high it felt as if they were closer to the starry sky than to the sea. How could Lee help but submit to Luigi’s embrace?
She’d thought the awkward but appealing moonlit kisses might lead her to his secret, fancy captain cabin, but he’d taken her to her room instead. The sex had been pleasurable—Luigi’s unabashed thrill at her body was a huge turn-on—but then he’d gotten a call and had rushed off.
Luigi phoned late at night and asked if she’d like some dessert. She would, Lee told him. He arrived a few minutes later with a molten chocolate cake and coffees. Lee enjoyed both, then another round of lovemaking.
Afterward, he climbed from bed. Lee gazed up at the ceiling to avoid seeing his belly and wrinkled skin. “If I encounter you tonight,” said Luigi, “I will be with my wife and my family. The next night, I am free for a visit, if you like.”
“Yourwife?” said Lee. Her head began to pound: she should have known.
“I told you, did I not?” said Luigi, standing and struggling into his pants.
“You didnot,” said Lee. She was surprised by her anger. The sight of Matt and Regan together had made Lee realize how fiercely she wanted somethingreal,something she could count on. Yet here she was, discarded by a married man.
“I think I did so, yes,” said Luigi.
Lee knew how to feign strength. She strode to the door and opened it wide. “Get out,” she said, blinking back tears.
“Americans,” said Luigi, shaking his head condescendingly.
Lee took his shirt and captain’s hat and threw both into the hallway. Luigi sat on Lee’s bed, his arms folded over his chest. “Bring me back my clothings,” he said.
“GET OUT!” screamed Lee.
Luigi stood, and got out.
Lee collapsed on her bed and pulled out her phone. She scrolled—as she often did to alleviate loneliness—through Regan’s pictures of her family with Matt. Somehow, the images produced not only envy but also a painful pleasure. It made Lee glad to look at photos of these well-loved girls as they moved through the world, a peace in their smiles unlike any Lee had ever known. What must it be like to feel safe?
