Walsh gingerly places her milkshake on the table like she’s handling a live grenade. A frothy slurry at the bottom is all that’s left, glittering with what I now recognize are, yep, flecks of ice. My entire body goes rigid, a boatload of oh crap pouring though my head.

Her lips tighten and the color drains from her cheeks.

Putting on a show of bravado, I shake my head. “No worries. Walsh has an iron constitution. More than I do, anyway,” I add in a mutter. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

8

Walsh is not fine.

She only nibbled her dinner last night and disappeared to our cabin when her stomach started making noises that had the women sitting next to us clutching their pearls in shock. I checked on her a few times throughout the evening, but she insisted I buzz off, so I ended up answering work emails in the lounge until well after midnight before I finally braved going to bed. Not that I blamed Walsh for wanting to be alone. Nobody likes having someone hover when they’re in gastrointestinal distress.

A toilet flushes, pulling me out of my groggy half-sleep. A few moments later, Walsh opens the bathroom door, causing a beam of fluorescent light to spill into our dim cabin. I blink against the sudden brightness and push myself higher in bed. My head pounds with exhaustion—what time is it?

Before I can grab my phone, I catch sight of Walsh’s face and gasp. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Does it look like I’m okay?” she croaks. Face pale, forehead slick with sweat, she collapses into the twin bed across from mine. Curling into the fetal position, she rolls toward the wall. Her phone buzzes on her nightstand, but she doesn’t move. Wow, she must be feeling really bad to ignore a new text.

I lumber out of bed and open the curtains a crack. Bright sunlight streams through the window, making me squint. Holy crap, it’s morning already. “Were you sick all night?”

“Ughhhhh.”

Now that I think about it, I vaguely remember the bathroom door opening and closing multiple times throughout the night. No wonder I’m so tired. “What can I get you? Medicine?”

“I already took some.”

I touch her shoulder. “Ginger ale?”

She groans in response and pulls the covers over her head. “Just leave me alone to die.”

“Maybe you should see the ship’s medical officer. I can come with you.”

She flips the blanket away from her face. “No, no. I’ll be okay. There cannot possibly be anything left in my stomach. I just need to sleep. It was a rough night.”

The wall speaker crackles and Gustavo’s jovial voice barrels through my ears. “Good morning, good morning. I hope everyone enjoyed a filling, delicious breakfast, because the dining room is now closed.”