Page 103 of Ship Happens

Owen shakes his head.

And Jacob nods slowly. “Welp . . . fuck.”

Chapter Seventeen

TSA, the Organization That Famously Loves Trans People

“Got it,” Jacob says from a few feet away, his hands tucked under his armpits, cell phone sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder. “Yeah, we left everything on the boat. Cell phones, passports, IDs, luggage, everything.”

“So, your friends booked this entire cruise just to get the two of you back together?” Dani asks, blowing the smoke from her weed pen away before offering it to Owen.

“Friend, singular. Jacob’s sister,” Owen corrects before taking a long hit, holding it for a beat before he exhales through his nose.

To say their options were limited was an understatement. With the port building closed, and no phones to call the 24/7 hotline advertised on the outside of the building, they’d just started to walk toward town.

Jacob, ever the optimist, kept promising that they’d find a way back home, that things would be okay, but the words did little to alleviate the guilt and anxiety that stirred in Owen’s stomach. And he remained silent as they walked through downtown and back onto the road that’d carried them out to the SeaLyfe rehab center earlier that day.

“Dani was always a total night owl in school; there’s a chance she’s still here,” Jacob said, ringing the intercom at the front door. “Even if she isn’t, maybe one of her coworkers can help us get in touch?”

A security guard answered the door for them, obviously skeptical of two strangers approaching a marine life rehabilitation center in the middle of the night. Owen couldn’t really blame him. Jacob’s pleading worked, though, and the security guard finally relented and gave Dani a ring on his walkie-talkie.

“No one else had any idea, I guess,” Owen finishes, passing the vape back to her.

“That’s so fucked, dude.”

“You’re telling me.” He digs his heels deeper into the gravel that lines the lot. No matter how bitter he is, it still doesn’t feel right to talk about Kaitlyn like this. Maybe it’s too early to forgive, or maybe it’s the weed. He’s certainly not happy. And when they somehow get back to San Francisco, they’re going to have to have a conversation about boundaries.

But Owen’s not mad at her.

“She only did what she did because she cares,” he tells Dani, rejecting the vape when it’s offered back to him. “Maybe too much.”

“Still . . .” Dani says.

“That’s great, yeah. Um . . . we’ll probably have to call around, see if we can arrange something somewhere.” Jacob nods, turning to look at Owen and Dani, shooting them both a quick thumbs-up. “Thank you. Yes. Uh-huh. Yeah, you have a great night too.”

He straightens, handing the phone back to Dani, the gravel crunching under his feet. “So, there’s good news and bad news.”

“What’s the good news?” Owen asks, following Dani and Jacob back inside. Dani slaps the button to call the elevator.

“The cruise line is going to contact the ship and let Kaitlyn and Abby know what happened to us,” Jacob explains.

“That’s all they could do?” Owen hates the petulant tone of his voice. “How are we going to get home?”

“That’s the bad news. We’re pretty much responsible for finding our own way back,” Jacob says, clearly exhausted.

“Okay . . .” Owen huffs, mind already racing with exactly what that means. Booking a flight? Or getting on a second cruise when another boat comes around to port? Driving through Canada? How are they supposed to do any of that without passports or money? “So . . . what do we do?”

“We can book a flight that’ll take us to Seattle, and we’ll get to San Francisco from there,” Jacob explains just as the elevator doors open again to let them back onto the lab floor.

“Didn’t you guys leave your passports on the boat?” Dani asks as she scans all of them back into the lab.

“Yeah . . .” Jacob’s shoulders slump.

“IDs too?”

“Mm-hmm . . .” Owen confirms.

Evidence of Dani’s late night at the lab is flung all over the place: the fast food that she’d ordered for dinner, The Sopranos paused on her laptop. One of the aquatic patients she’d apparently been observing is sitting in its tank on the table, camera set up to record, its attention drawn to the laptop like it was watching the show along with her. “Well . . . sounds like you’re up shit creek without a paddle.”