After struggling and fighting tears for several minutes, another woman said, “Here, let’s swap. This one is too big for me.”

The exchange was made and the new vest was marginally larger. She was able to get the main belt secured. She felt like a big piece of meat, trussed in an orange casing for roasting. The damp, humid air didn’t help.

Hardly able to breathe, she waited in the line, trying to decide if it was appropriate to yell or shriek in fear, the way someone further down was. Perhaps the shaking that seemed to start in the pit of her stomach was the right response. She couldn’t help tension-filled tears and the vest made it impossible to wipe her eyes.

She saw Angela, her now ex-cabin mate, being helped into the life boat next to the one where she was queued. Then her turn came. As she threw her leg over the edge of the lifeboat all she could think was that everyone was assessing every extra pound on her body and predicting she’d reduce their chances of survival.

She clutched her backpack to her, took the empty spot next to a whippet-faced woman and tried hard to be small.

“I know we send the, uh . . .” Gregorio, the senior of the two crew members in their boat, snapped his fingers as he scrunched his eyes in concentration. “Ah, distress. Tracking beacons, uh . . . work. They know where to find.”

It wasn’t the first time he had said those broken words of comfort but every few minutes one of the eighteen passengers would ask how long until rescue came. The younger crew member looked as scared as the rest of them. Gregorio tried to exude confidence but facts were facts. The tropical storm’s winds were scattering the lifeboats, and the lights of the ship were slowly fading from their sight. Marissa couldn’t tell if that was because they’d drifted or if the ship really was sinking. She wasn’t going to ask either.

When the muffled explosion sounded in the distance, Marissa clutched the woman next to her, who clutched her right back. Gregorio said something that sounded like decompression. Marissa was sure if she spoke Italian, she would understand. Whatever it was, it went boom but Marissa could see nothing. The rain continued and there was no sign of the lights from the other lifeboats.

Marissa was pretty sure the situation was dire. Panic might be called for, even. But she was too numb to feel fear but not so incoherent she didn’t know numbness was a blessing.

The sea pitched them up and down but at least they didn’t seem at risk of swamping. The rain had eased but everything was wet through and through—her backpack, ballcap, shirt, shoes. She wondered if her CD player would survive and if the M&M’s somewhere in the depths of a pocket would be edible.

She wished she hadn’t wasted time yesterday morning shaving her legs. Like that mattered. She mourned the swimsuit, the hoard of chocolate and rum and the fifteen spanking new books in her suitcase. It really was a crying shame about the books.