"Ladies and gentleman, we are preparing to make our final descent into Rhode Island..."
Dammit. These flights are never long enough.
As the captain's voice cuts through the soft music playing through my headphones, I tear my eyes away from the angry gray clouds outside. A pristinely dressed flight attendant shuffles my way with a smile plastered on her face, extending a flimsy trash bag toward my row. I pass an empty can and pretzel wrapper into the sack, trying to ignore the dread coursing through me as a different voice over the intercom continues, "Please fasten your seatbelts and return your seats to their upright and locked positions. Large electronics and tray tables must be—"
I stop listening. I've been nervous to the point of nausea for the last 48 full hours, dreading the moment when my plane will touch down in Warwick and solidify my return to Rhode Island. Not even the ginger ale I guzzled has settled my stomach. This last week has been stressful enough—what with exams and packing my bags for the summer—but the feeling has only grown stronger every mile I've gotten closer to home. I close my eyes again, taking a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, just like my therapist taught me.
The clouds on the last leg of my flight have gone from fat and white to heavy with rain, so I know that the weather on the ground will suit my mood. At least I'll have the drive to Ravensport to unwind and prepare myself for what's to come. The little coastal town—mostly made up of estates, boutiques, and restaurants—is a good 45 minutes from the airport, and I have no illusions that my parents will bother coming to get me themselves. No, I won't have to face them right away.
If I'm lucky, the summer's social calendar will already be in full swing, and we can get over the unpleasantness of my bad news without a full-on meltdown. If I'm not lucky... Well, my parents aren't exactly known for their patience and flexibility.
God, I'm in such deep shit.
The wheels hit the tarmac with a jolt, and I ignore the rush of sound in my ears as I focus on the soothing notes of the song now drawing to a close through my AirPods. Cracking open an eye, I switch my phone off airplane mode and wait for any notifications to roll in.
Normally, I'd expect a few messages from my best friend, Sadie, but she's on her way back to her own family in San Francisco and won't be home for hours yet. We said our goodbyes at the airport in New York, and she promised to come visit me this summer when my parents get over the fact that I'm failing half my classes at Cornell.
If they get over it. More likely than not, they'll finally skin me alive and leave me on the beach for the seagulls to eat.
I sigh through my nerves. At least I know Sadie will be there to help me pick up the pieces when it's all said and done. I don't know what I'd do without her. My parents have made few decisions for me that I'm truly grateful for, but sending me to a boarding school in Vermont when I turned thirteen is strangely one of them. I met Sadie there, and she's been the biggest dose of sanity in my life ever since.
The plane comes to a stop at the gate, and I lose myself in the bustle of gathering my belongings. The chatter of others reaching for their luggage is a dull hum as I double-check my seat pocket and disembark the plane.
Despite my best efforts to really drag my feet at baggage claim, I step out into the May air a mere 20 minutes later with suitcases in tow and a scowl on my face. I look up and down the line of cars and quickly spot the black SUV that our driver, Franklin, favors for trips to the airport. I wave as the tall man spots me and smiles, lowering a sign that reads Katrina Vaughn.
"Miss Katrina," he says fondly as I draw even with the car. "Welcome home."
"Thanks, Franklin." I look out over the busy sidewalk, feigning disinterest as a shield against my discomfort. "Was the drive okay?"
"The same as always," he says as I pass him my suitcases to load into the spacious trunk. "Uneventful."
I survey the car with mounting dismay until I catch Franklin smiling at me from behind his heavy mustache. I'm not sure whether I imagine the sympathy on his face as he opens my door and waits for me to climb in.
"I suppose that's good," I tell Franklin. "Thanks for coming."
He doesn't say anything, probably because it's his job and he doesn't have much of a choice. He's chauffeured our family since I was a kid—it's not like he's here out of the kindness of his heart.
I curl up in the spotless back seat as we make our way to the highway, privately missing the chaotic filthiness of the robin's egg blue Volkswagen Beetle that Sadie drives us around in at school. All of Franklin's cars smell like leather and carpet cleaner, nothing like the sickly sweet vanilla of the cheap perfume Sadie keeps stashed in her driver's side door.
After a few long minutes, Franklin simply says, "Your parents are having a party tonight."
I prop my head in my hand as I survey the gloomy sky. "Oh?"
A party, huh? That could work in my favor... or not.
The fit older man nods, but doesn't take his watchful eyes off the road. "They wanted me to ask you whether you had anyone you'd like me to pick up before the event. Any friends?"
I scoff. "No, unfortunately not, Franklin."
He nods again. He knows as much. I didn't attend high school in Ravensport, after all, and lost touch with anyone else from home ages ago.
"It was nice of them to ask," I allow.
"It was."
We lapse into silence, and I close my eyes as a brief patch of sunlight pours out of a break in the clouds, the rays stroking my face before winking back into the gloom. For a moment, life feels almost normal, the way it was up until a few months ago, when everything started going wrong for reasons I still don't understand. That's the worst part of it—I don't know how to explain to my parents what happened, because I don't understand it myself. I was doing okay—feeling okay—and then I just wasn't.
The thought drags me into the depths of myself, and far too soon, I recognize the way the car slows down as we reach my parent's estate. I blink my eyes open.
Well. It's time.
My parent's sizable coastal home is painted the palest of blues, fitted with white shutters and window boxes already overflowing with blooms. The lanterns on either side of the double front doors are ornate iron confections that make my mother proud, and I notice they're lit despite the high light of afternoon as we pull in under the porte-cochère.
Franklin kills the engine and steps out of the car to unload my luggage as my mother—tall, blonde, and immaculate—appears through the side door with a martini glass in hand. She wears jeans, cuffed at the ankles, with a button down of pale blue linen tied artfully at her hips, like she's just sauntered out of a beachside book club rather than her liquor cabinet. Her carefully curled hair is long enough to brush her waistline, and I wrinkle my nose as Franklin straightens bashfully in her presence.
She says a few soft words to the chauffeur, followed by a curated laugh, before she turns expectantly toward the car. "Katrina?"
The glittering smile falls off her face and her voice takes on that grating quality reserved only for my father and me. A younger version of myself would have flinched.
"Come around and thank Franklin for driving you."
I exit from the opposite side of the car, pretending not to notice how she puts her hand on the driver's arm affectionately. I make quick work of gathering my purse and sweater.
"Thanks, Franklin," I say automatically as I round the back of the SUV.
I've always gotten the sense that Franklin is fond of me—maybe because he's known me since I was small, or maybe because he's a little too fond of my mother. Either way, I'm grateful as the driver smiles at me sincerely.
"You're welcome, Miss Kat," he says. "I'll be seeing you soon, I'm sure."
I shrug my purse onto my shoulder as Mom puts an arm around me, a rare show of affection for Franklin's benefit. Together, we wave farewell as the shiny black car heads back down the drive, past my mother's professionally tended rose bushes and onto Minnow Street.
A beat of silence passes before Mom pulls her arm off my shoulder, turning on her heel to head back toward the house. "Well?" she says, not bothering to offer a hand for my bags. "How was the flight?"
She's barefoot, and the patter of her feet on the marble floor is the only sound besides the wheels of my suitcases as I enter my childhood home. "It was fine," I say, lugging my things into the entryway. "Layover in Newark. Where's Dad?"
"In his study." My mother's thin mouth droops slightly at the word. "He has another book coming out next week, you know, which means he's very busy."
Setting my things down on the cushioned window seat beneath the open bay window, I turn to face my mother as she takes a long sip of her drink. "Busy? I would've thought most of the work would be done by now. Hasn't he written it already?"
Mom doesn't laugh at my joke. "We're having a party tonight to celebrate the new novel," she says instead.
Her freshly manicured fingernails flash hot pink and shiny around the stem of her glass.
"It will start at 7, and your father and I will have quite a few friends over. It would be best if you were here as well."
"Yeah, of course," I say sincerely as I sink down on the seat beside my luggage. "I wouldn't miss it."
She offers the same socialite smile she's been flashing at friends of my father's since before I can remember. "It's good to have you home, Kat," she says, bending down to kiss me on the top of the head. The scent of gin wafts over me. "Why don't you go get cleaned up? We can all have a little snack."
"Sure," I say. "That would be nice."
My mother has always been like this. Storm clouds one moment, sunshine the next—and only when she gets what she wants. I watch as she retreats around the corner before letting out a breath. The house is quiet, and smells faintly of vanilla, but despite the warm coastal yellows and blues that make up my mother's décor, the space feels cold. Empty.
"Well," I whisper to no one in particular. "Here we go."
_______________
Thank you for taking the time to read the first chapter of Seafarer. It means the world, and I hope you enjoyed it. As I publish the chapters of this story, I intend to share songs with you that align with Katrina's journey or that inspired me while I was writing. This chapter's song is "Through the Dark," by KT Tunstall.
I'm sharing this story as a challenge to myself to show my writing to others instead of just continually writing novels that I print out and hoard in drawers, never to see the light of day. I would love to hear your thoughts about Seafarer throughout your reading journey, so please feel free to leave me comments if you have thoughts, feelings, or suggestions.
In the meantime, check out my writing Instagram, eloquentinkblot, or my newsletter (https://eloquentinkblot.substack.com/) to learn more about my projects!