The Lion's Den(85)
I swallowed the lump in my throat, slathered a piece of bread in peanut butter, and placed it in the toaster oven, watching through the glass door as it bubbled. But when the oven dinged, I found I had no appetite.
I could almost see Eric lingering in my doorway, the morning sun in his eyes, not two months ago. He was so full of life.
I blinked away the vision and forced myself to eat the damn toast. Casting about for a distraction, I addressed the heap of mail on my kitchen table. Circulars, bills, political mailers, a wedding invitation…and a parking ticket. Strange. I hadn’t gotten a parking ticket lately, at least that I was aware of. After once getting the boot on my car for failing to pay a pile of tickets during college, I’d become a meticulous sign reader.
I opened the envelope and read the citation: ninety-seven dollars for failure to display a valid parking pass at California State Park number 24476 on July 22 at 1:42 p.m.
It had to be a mistake. I hadn’t been to any state parks lately. But the license plate and car description matched mine.
I opened my laptop and entered the park number. A map popped up, showing a park about two miles inland from the beach in Ventura County. My heart dropped.
July 22. I had a sinking feeling about what day that was, but pulled up my calendar to be sure. I was right: July 22 was this past Saturday. The day Summer borrowed my car to go to her mother’s house in the desert, the opposite direction of Ventura. The day Eric went missing.
Day 6
Thursday night—somewhere off the coast of Italy
I’m nearly finished packing when there’s a knock on my cabin door. I open it to Camille, who holds a dinner tray, a sympathetic look in her eyes. I tuck my hair behind my ear, trying to look less rattled than I feel. “I guess I’m the one stuck here this time,” I joke. She doesn’t seem to catch my meaning right away, though, so I add, more seriously, “I sent the money.”
She sets the tray on my bed as I rifle through my wallet for the receipt and hand it to her.
“Merci beaucoup,” she says, her eyes reddening again. She takes a breath. “I’m sorry you eat in your room. If you want, there is un petit crew deck, opposite the upper deck. Guests not allowed, but no one will see. We serve tonight. If you go there, you will be alone.”
“Wow, thank you,” I say. “That sounds a lot better than being stuck in here all night. My seasickness isn’t great down here, even with medicine.”
She smiles, indicating the door at the end of the hallway. “The crew door is open. Take the stairs to the top.”
“I will. That is so kind of you.”
After she leaves, I sit on my bed to eat my dinner, ruminating about what I could have done differently this week, but I can’t come up with anything that would have made a difference. Regardless of whether I’d remained completely sober at Marlena’s birthday party and been three minutes earlier to meet the boat today, I have a feeling Summer would’ve just come up with another reason to find fault with me.
I’m almost finished with dinner when Amythest opens the door and slips inside, checking that no one is in the hallway before closing the door behind her. “Hey.” She’s on edge, whispering, her teeth stained purple with wine.
“How’d dinner go?”
“Well, first off, Brittani cornered me on the way up the stairs and chewed me out for the way I’ve been acting, said I was ungrateful and had embarrassed her and she wished she’d never brought me here.”
Brittani, embarrassed? “Why was she mad at you?”
“Because her sister’s giving her shit for bringing me, I’m sure.”
“But what is she saying you’ve done wrong? Brittani doesn’t know about John, does she?”
“She does now.” Amythest smirks.
I’m incredulous. “You told her?”
She laughs. “She thinks she’s better than me just because her sister’s screwing a billionaire? Well, I am, too, so fuck her.”
Oh God. “And then what happened?” I ask, fearing the worst.
“I mean, dinner was pretty uneventful. John wasn’t there. Summer was trying to act like everything was normal, but everybody was real quiet. It was weird that you weren’t there. Then Brittani made some comment about how if Summer was going to banish you, she should banish me, too. I’m sure she was saying it just to try to get back on Summer’s good side, but Summer got upset and said she makes her own decisions and not to tell her what to do.”
“Brittani used the word ‘banish’? I’m impressed.”
She nods. “All right in front of me, like I wasn’t there. Then, after we finished dinner, I saw Brittani whispering with Summer. Everybody was going to the front of the boat to watch the sunset, but I snuck away to come down here. Summer followed me down the stairs and grabbed my arm so hard it’s bleeding.” She displays her arm.
I inspect the little red half-moons around her elbow. “Damn.”
“And she said to ‘stay away from my man, you little whore,’ and I said ‘Or what?’ and she said ‘You don’t wanna mess with me,’ and then she went upstairs.”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. This whole trip has been like The Real Housewives on a boat, only there’s no television crew to mediate, and I have a terrible feeling it’s not going to turn out however Amythest thinks it is.