“Don’t worry. I promise to keep you safe.”
8
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
(Two days before the wedding)
WE ROW A FEWstrokes away from shore, quickly getting into a rhythm so our oars are moving in sync. The sun glistening off the water looks so inviting, I want to dive in, but I settle for dipping my hand into the waves and pouring some water on the back of my neck. I didn’t realize how hot it was.
“That can’t be her,” Finn says to himself, but keeps rowing.
“Oh, sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…” I twist around to see his reaction to my off-keyGilligan’s Islandtheme song, and he shoots me an annoyed look. “So I’m guessing one of the two badges you missed was the water-sports badge?” I try again to lighten the mood, but Finn just continues his withering stare. “Come on, she’s just aroundthat bend up where that kayak is going.” I point with my oar to a neon-orange kayak a hundred yards ahead of us.
Finn has a point though; something doesn’t feel right. Sybil has always loved being out on the water, but she’s never been much for manual labor. Waterskiing across Lake Athens? Sure. Sunset cruise off Marina del Rey? Definitely. Riding in a little boat in Central Park taking selfies while her companion rows her around? Yes, and I have the blisters to prove it. But kayaking by herself through somewhat choppy waves? It doesn’t really add up.
The kayak ahead of us disappears behind a rocky outcrop.
“Let’s just catch up with that kayak up there and ask if they’ve seen her. If not, we can go back and keep looking around the hotel.” At this point my empty stomach is churning and I am really regretting not ordering anything off that pool bar menu.
We lapse into silence, focusing our attention on paddling.
It’s nearing one o’clock, and the sun is really beating down now. I feel a tightness settle in my chest. I pull at the neck of my life jacket to try to get some relief, but it doesn’t help. Sweat trickles down my temples, leaving an itchy path in its wake. Shit—did I reapply my sunblock after my shower this morning? My nose tingles. It’s probably already flaking.
We round the rocky outcrop, finally catching up to the blond girl in the blue-and-white sun shirt. I increase my paddling efforts, nearly capsizing us in my efforts to pull up alongside her.
“Emma!” Finn yelps, but we manage to right our boat before any damage is done.
I tap my oar onto the back of her bright green kayak. “Sybs,it’s us.” But the girl who turns around to face me is definitely not Sybil. My stomach drops as the stranger gives us a confused stare before paddling off.
Oops. I guess Sybil reallydidsee that swim shirt all over Instagram.
Finn calls out an apology to the woman and begins to turn us back to shore. I can feel his unspokentold you soradiating off his body in judgmental waves. I don’t know what it is about Finn that brings out this need in me to be right all the time. I have to consciously unclench my jaw and take in a deep breath. Except I can only seem to get air into the top half of my lungs. Between the mountain run this morning and the exertion of paddling this kayak under the baking sun, my body is spent.
“So I’m thinking the Del Double Cheeseburger with the works and one of those rumrunner drinks they were advertising by the pool before we get back on the road,” Finn says.
Like a Pavlovian dog, I start salivating at the mere mention of a burger. But at the same time, the thought of it makes me nauseated—the heat and the motion of the kayak making my stomach churn harder now. I can’t believe I’m out here, probably contracting melanoma, and definitely sweating off my mascara, when I could have been in a dark, soothing room with cool cucumbers over my eyes and the strong hands of some guy with a name like Jan gently easing twenty-eight years of tension from my trap muscles. The minute, and I mean, theminute, I locate Sybil, she starts paying for this. But wait…
“Get back on the road to where?” I ask Finn, turning around to make eye contact.
“Back to Malibu. Sybil’s clearly not up for the welcomeparty. We should just go back and explain everything to Jamie. Sybil will come back when she’s ready.”
“Clearly you don’t know her as well as I do. She needs help. I promised to keep her grounded this weekend—to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
“It’s just a cocktail party, Emma.” Finn rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’ll all survive. Don’t worry, you’ll still have two days’ worth of wedding-related events to micromanage.”
I huff a sigh and turn back around to face front. Typical Finn. “Well it may be ‘just a cocktail party,’” I say, mimicking his condescending tone, “but Sybil’s the freaking host. She made a commitment. People are counting on her to be there. Not showing up would just be selfish and rude.” I lean hard on those last two words.
I hear Finn’s knuckles crack as they tighten on the oar, and he paddles us forward with more force than necessary.
“What are you saying?” he asks, clearly gleaning my double meaning.
But I’m not about to rehash old drama with Finn while we’re trapped on a kayak together.
“Nothing. Forget it. I just think Sybil should be there. We don’t need to make a thing of it.”
Something in my words seems to trigger Finn, who slams down his oar to rest on the kayak between our bodies. “No, you know what? We need to actually talk about this.”
“You shouldn’t put down your paddle like that. It could slip into the water.”
