Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Do you need any help getting your wet suit on?”
“Oh.”
I must have zoned out for a second. Everyone else is wiggling and jiggling their bodies into some kind of moisture-wicking spandex material, and I’m meant to be doing the same, but instead, I was just staring off into the distance, comatose.
“I think I can manage it,” I say, really looking at him for the first time since I boarded the little snorkeling boat.
He has longish, floppy blond hair, stormy-gray eyes, a jagged scar near his left eyebrow. His smile is nice and straight and white, and the way he’s looking at me proves that, on the outside at least, I’m still whole. None of the sadness has eked out of me to pool on the surface and turn my skin a pallid, sickly gray.
He looks at me with a sort of funny expression. “Are you okay?” he asks, likely now wondering just how far gone I really am. He’s probably worried he’ll have to call the coast guard on me.
“Totally fine.” I stand and pick up my wetsuit. “Now, what’s your advice for getting this thing on?”
I have a tiny bit of fun, at least while I’m out in the water, swimming above a coral reef. I spot a giant sea turtle and all sorts of tropical fish. Way off in the distance, there’s a reef shark, but he leaves us alone, wanting nothing to do with a bunch of annoying tourists. Smart shark.
We get to go out twice, and when it’s time to wrap it up, I’m the last one to get back on board. I don’t want to leave the water, even though my biceps and calves burn from all the swimming I’ve done. It’s a good ache—a physical reminder that I am alive and well, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the moment.
Our guide tries again to engage with me on the way back in.
“Want to steer the boat?” he asks, all lopsided grin and boyish charm.
I’ll bet that works really well for him. He’s probably pulled dozens of tourists with that same exact line. I’m not in danger of falling for him, though, so I shrug and stand. “Sure, why not?”
Because I’ll probably never get another chance to steer a boat through the crystal clear turquoise waters surrounding Saint Thomas, so I might as well go for it.
“You’re a natural,” he says, sidling up behind me, a little too close. “Do you have plans la—”
“Not interested,” I say quickly, mildly, like I don’t mind at all that he’s asked, but I’m not willing to go down that road even a tiny bit.
He nods, unbothered. “Roger that. Would you mind letting me take over again, then?” he says, edging me away from the wheel. “You’re steering us in circles, actually.”
Chapter Nineteen
PHILLIP
On Sunday, the first day of this cruise, if you told me Vivienne was going to show up unannounced on Saint Thomas, I would have breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She’s come to her senses. Finally. Vivienne and Phillip, together forever. We’d move back into my place in New York City. We would reunite our separated household items. I’d get my beloved air fryer back. Then we’d discuss how best to tell our friends and family that we were going to be mature and put the past behind us to begin anew, afresh, and better than ever.
Now, though?
Now?
It felt like I was having a heart attack when I read Vivienne’s text last night.
It was simple and to the point.
Look out on the pier . . .
There she was, standing alongside her best friend. They saw me when I walked out onto the balcony, and they waved wildly.
I had no choice but to walk down to the gangway and retrieve them.
“What are you doing here?” was the first dumb thing out of my mouth, and I said it slightly accusatorially, as if I were annoyed to see Vivienne. As if she had no right to be here.
For a fleeting moment, shock and hurt flashed across her face, but then her expression cooled, tempered, eased as she tucked those ugly emotions deep under a mask of peaceful compliance. That’s the thing about Vivienne. She’s the most agreeable person I’ve ever met.
I’m not so far removed from our relationship that I don’t remember the ease of having a partner like her. Nothing was ever important enough to warrant a real negative emotion. Crying? Screaming? Absolutely not. That was uncouth, simply not done.
I never had to worry if she’d be in a bad mood when I got home from work late or if she’d be annoyed when I wanted to get Italian takeout for the second time in one week. Whatever I wanted was what she wanted. I’d tried to bring up her military-like compliance with her once, gently, of course. How do you look someone squarely in the eye and ask them why they have no backbone? Why she seemed so eager to mirror the likes and desires of the people around her rather than promote her own?