The Lion's Den(88)

Rhonda points at the railing just past us. “It just happened.”

Julie speaks into her headset. “Man overboard, starboard bow, deck two. Man overboard. One to two minutes.”

“She can’t swim,” I say.

Everyone looks at me.

“She told me on the plane over here.”

I hear a tender splash into the water behind the boat, followed by another two splashes in rapid succession. Then the engines of the tender and Jet Skis fire up and speed off. The boat begins to slowly turn. I follow Camille to the railing where Amythest fell and look over.

We both see the streak of deep red smeared down the side of the boat at the same time. My hand flies to my mouth. This streak is not wine. My heart sinks like a stone.

Julie leans over and looks, then speaks into her headset. “PIW injured, most likely unconscious.”

I see something glint and kneel down next to where Amythest went overboard. Half of a bedazzled red nail rests on a fresh deep scratch in the wood. I feel the eyes of the other girls on me as I point it out to Camille and Julie.

“What happened?” Julie asks.

“She was drunk.” Summer folds her arms across her chest. “She just fell over. None of us could get to her in time. It happened so fast.”

Julie studies the railing. “What was she doing before she fell? It’s a high railing to fall over.”

Wendy and Claire huddle together against the wall in stunned silence with their arms around each other, watching the exchange.

“She was playing on it,” Summer says. “We told her not to, but she did it anyway, and she fell.”

“Which way did she fall?” Julie asks.

“Over,” Brittani snaps, choking on her tears. “Can you just fucking go get her?”

“Brittani—” Rhonda warns, grabbing her arm.

“Frontward or backward?” Julie asks. She’s trying desperately to maintain an air of composure, but I notice her hands are shaking.

“I don’t know!” Summer retorts. “She’s in the water, and you should be saving her, but you’re just standing here asking stupid questions. It’s gonna be your fault if she dies.” She buries her head in her hands, and Rhonda puts her arms around her.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. We’re trained for this sort of thing,” Julie says evenly. “Let’s get you all inside while we wait for the Coast Guard.”

“Where’s John?” Summer asks. “He knows people. He can get the best people out here.”

In the living room, we find John and Vinny waiting for us with a couple of the other crew members. Summer rushes into John’s arms, crying, “Oh, it’s just terrible! I saw her go over, and I couldn’t do anything!”

Wendy and Claire huddle together on one couch; Rhonda and Brittani cluster on the other. I take a seat next to Wendy and give her a little hug. She’s trembling.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Shock, I think.”

I reach across her and pat Claire’s knee. She looks at me and bursts into a fresh round of tears.

Brittani pops up and paces between the two couches, cracking her knuckles. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” she repeats over and over.

“Brittani, sit down,” Summer orders. “You’re making it worse.”

Brittani drops onto the couch beside her mother, continuing to wring her hands. Rhonda rubs her back, whispering something in her ear, then flags down Hugo. “Can we get some more of that panna cotta?” she asks. “I think everyone could use a distraction.”

Hugo blinks, as though unsure he’s heard correctly. “Let me see what I can do.”

Summer’s gaze darts about the room, landing briefly on each of the other girls as though clocking their emotional state.

“And coffee,” Rhonda adds. “I bet we’re gonna be up awhile, and I could fall asleep sitting up right now.”

“That’s a good idea,” Summer says. “I’ll take a double vanilla latte with almond milk and only half the amount of vanilla you usually put in. And a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

“Anyone else?” Hugo asks.

“Bring a pot of coffee,” John instructs, “and the rest of the panna cotta.”

Summer excuses herself to change into something more comfortable, and as she moves past me, I notice the strap of her dress is ripped, holding on by a thread. On her shoulder is a long scratch, raised and red, the lower end dotted with fresh blood. John follows her back to their room, leaving the rest of us to sit staring at one another.

Brittani hops back up and resumes pacing while muttering expletives, her mother looking on nervously. Wendy strokes a still silently sobbing Claire’s hair, her eyes downcast.

Out on the water, a siren grows closer.

“That must be the Coast Guard,” I remark.

Brittani narrows her eyes at me. “I thought you were supposed to be in your room. What are you doing up here?”

“I heard the scream and was worried,” I say, exasperated.

Brittani cocks her head, unconvinced. “You heard the scream all the way from your room?”

Anger simmers in my chest. “Why do you even care right now?” I retort. “Your friend is literally dying somewhere under this boat.”