The view from the balcony was breathtaking: an azure ocean dotted with colorful boats under cottony clouds floating across the bright blue. The aura of the day was enough to make anyone joyful, but Sasha’s sour mood was evident by her wrinkled brow. On the phone, he’d been distant; he’d agreed to the meeting, but now he was late.
"Are you ready to order?" A waiter at her elbow interrupted her drifting thoughts.
"I’m waiting for a friend, but you could bring me a cup of coffee in the meantime. Thanks."
She was waiting for Roy. So much time had slipped by. She hadn’t seen him at all since the funeral. His suffering demanded solitude, so she reigned herself in.
The sheer beauty of the bay drew her attention. It was difficult not to look and admire. A sleek yacht sailed out of the horizon into view. She paused, taken in by the similarities: the sails, the size, the color.
"God! It could be Esmeralda!" Words tumbled: "Obviously, obviously, it’s not..."
"What was that, miss? Here’s your coffee." He slid the cup off the tray. His eyes questioned her sanity.
"The yacht out there looks similar to... oh, never mind. It’s nothing. I was admiring it out loud. Thanks." She lifted her cup, dismissing him. She hoped that he hadn’t noticed her unsteady hands or the way the cup shook.
She’d buttoned up her mind. She promised herself that she wouldn’t revisit that night. But the yacht, so real, forced a recall. She put her cup down to still her shaking wrist. An almost inaudible gasp escaped her. Memory floated unbidden.
She’d never been on a yacht. She’d never been near Roy in a casual social setting. Dimitri, their boss, invited the staff on board to celebrate a coveted account they’d landed.
The first person she saw was Roy. He was taller than the crowd. She saw him bow his head in conversation. Then he turned his chin in her direction, as if he sensed her presence, and smiled at her. She felt her heart skip a beat as she gravitated toward him. She’d put effort into hope; she’d prepared—her hair was a question mark of delight, hanging alluringly across her back. She had pearls against her throat. A glitter of gold at her wrist and the scent of a thousand flowers on her pulse points.
Music echoed in the royal blue of the night. Her dress, so very white, hung against her curves like temptation. His eyes were on her, and his appreciation was evident.
"Sasha, it’s so good to see you. You look amazing. Come," he took her by the elbow, "come and meet my wife, Claire."
She couldn’t breathe. The air was too dense to breathe.
Why hadn’t she guessed?
Why hadn’t he said?
Of course, she was gorgeous. Elfin, dainty, elegant, and blonde. Beautiful! She’d grinned graciously at Sasha, a knowing twinkle sparkling in her eyes.
Sasha couldn’t remember what she’d said. The conversation was a blur. She’d extricated herself but couldn’t recall the excuse.
Then she was on the deck, the wind blowing her perfectly coiffed hair into disarray. The first rumble of thunder, followed by a claw of lightning, brought crew members to the deck. She watched with detached interest while they lowered and covered anything that might attract the energy brewing in the sky.
But the crew didn’t do enough.
From the moment the bolt struck, chaos reigned. Shouting, instructions, and people everywhere. The deck, a slippery peril. The rain blinded, and waves broke on deck.
A hole in the hull. Who knew that lightning could do such a thing?
Capsules that looked like barrels were dropped into the churning sea. A call for order rang out; life jackets appeared, seemingly out of thin air. The capsules split as they hit the water, inflating as if by magic into life rafts that looked like floating tents.
The cacophony of panic competed with the thunder for attention. People were told to hold a lifeline and jump for the raft.
Sasha felt the air leave her lungs as she hit the water. She felt as if she were a splinter, exploding in the spray.
A light on the raft throbbed. A beacon, a light to follow. The waves pounded. The horizon wavered. Everything, except the light, looked gray, curtained by the rain. An echo rode the waves, forcing her to detach herself from her single-minded endeavor. A wave crested, lifting her. She saw Roy’s wife, no more than a foot away from her. She saw her lose her grip on her lifeline. Turbulence dragged the woman within reach; her eyes held Sasha’s for a moment.
Sasha tugged on her line and pulled herself forward; she pulled away, ever closer to the light, while the notes of life sung boldly on the breeze.
Then she was at the raft, soaking wet. Pulling lifesaving ropes with unimaginable force. Sound stalled despite the power of the weather. She had to pull herself up. Her hands were clay, and her mind was empty. The only thing she could taste was salt.
The raft rocked relentlessly. Women clung together in sodden clumps, whimpering. Only women; the men sent the women off first; their capsule was to the right. The men’s capsule was on the other side of Esmeralda.
She watched the entrance, but no Claire. She turned into the floating tent, refusing to dwell. Her mind, a retaliation of obliteration. The rope burn on her hands ached.
"Miss, it’s been half an hour. Don’t you want to place your order now? Perhaps your friend has been held up elsewhere?"
Saha stared at him, speechless, for a moment, the sound of her memory still rushing in her ears.
"I’ll have a glass of Cabernet. Then you can bring the bill," she blurted, admitting to herself and the waiter that Roy wasn’t going to arrive.
She turned to the ocean, only to see that the lookalike yacht had inched far closer.
Turning away, she knocked over the flower vase on the perfectly white table; the dampness spread like an outstretched claw.
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feature by me and Dall-E