Page 111 of The One
To my siblings.
“It doesn’t matter what you knew or what you didn’t. You do not take a risk like that when there are other people on your boat!”
I slipped my hands into my pockets to stop them from fisting. “But we weren’t anchored, sir. I was just pulled over in the water so we could talk?—”
“Argue.”
“Regardless, the circumstances aren’t what you’re describing. If I was going to anchor, the engines would have been off. That wasn’t the case. I was only stopping for a second?—”
“I don’t give a fuck what your circumstances were, young man. What you did on that boat killed my daughter!” He put his hand in front of his mouth, like he was trying to either hold himself together or prevent himself from exploding.
I took a deep breath.
And then another.
“She was my responsibility. I fully accept that. But there’s nothing I could have done to stop her from jumping?—”
“As the captain, she was under your care, and whatever you said to her led to her jumping.” He took another step, the door staying open as he released it, his finger aimed and pointed at me. “You failed her, son. You failed her, you failed my wife, you failed me, and you failed Lainey.” His face was turning red, the veins in his forehead sticking out.
He was right. Since I had been the captain, Penelope had been under my care—a role I took seriously. A promise I’d made to him when I spoke to him on Lainey’s phone before I even got on the boat.
I’d failed him. He was right about that too.
“I’m sorry.” Words that weren’t strong enough. Words that had little impact as he stared at me. “I don’t know how to express how sorry?—”
“That’s not fucking good enough.”
“What can I do?—”
“You could have not argued with my daughter—that’s what you could have done. You’re the reason, Rhett. You’re the goddamn reason!”
He was putting this all on me.
He was making me out to feel like a murderer.
I shook my head. “That’s not it. It’s not what you think.”
“The report I read from the police said there was an argument between you and my daughter about getting to the beach house. Why didn’t you just put the boat in gear and drive the rest of the way there? Why did you stop in the first place?”
I had been careful about what I told the police.
Not for myself, but for Penelope.
“I wanted to get going, but she was?—”
“She was what?” He waited. “Are you going to blame something on an eighteen-year-old girl who’s no longer here? Who should be heading off to NYU in a few months, but isn’t? Who I just watched get lowered into the fucking ground?”
Jesus.
I couldn’t … I couldn’t stop the shaking.
In my knees. In my hands. In my entire body.
His finger got close to my chest, but it didn’t touch me. “When the witnesses got on your boat to help you with the CPR and wrap her wounds, they saw you throw Penelope’s bag overboard. Who the hell does something like that? Someone who’s pissed off—that’s who.”
I knew how that’d looked. I knew how it could be interpreted.
But I’d had a reason.
