DOUBLE KNOT by Gretchen Archer Page A

half cellar, half cooler, and the whole wine list at a
     five-star restaurant.
    Jess picked at her food, moving it around on her plate, while Fantasy and I wolfed
     ours down like it was The Last Supper. For one, we were hungry. For another, we were
     trying to hurry Jess along so we could do something. I wasn’t sure what, but something
     needed to be done.
    “Jessica?”
    She dropped a crust of bread and looked up. “What?”
    “You’re not supposed to be here,” I said.
    Her head swiveled as she studied the four white walls. “So, where do you want me to
     go?”
    “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was you’re the only person here who should
     be somewhere else. Where are you supposed to be? Surely someone is wondering where you are.”
    She twirled a length of long dark hair. “I doubt it.”
    “Are you not Probability ’s Miss Congeniality?” I asked. “There have to be passengers who noticed you weren’t
     at the Welcome Aboard party.”
    “So, you think it’s just us?”
    “Is what just us?” I asked.
    “Do you think we’re the only ones whose V2s don’t work?”
    I didn’t say that, and I certainly didn’t intend for her to jump to that conclusion.
     “I think, Jess, as big as the ship is, there’s no way every single passenger was in
     their suite when the V2s went down. And if anyone’s looking for anyone, it would be
     you.”
    “Who’s looking for me?”
    Fantasy drummed impatient fingers on the white table.
    “There has to be someone who’s noticed you’re missing.”
    “Probably not,” she said.
    “But the cruise is your job, Jess.”
    “My job was to get people on the cruise. So, they’re on it.”
    She had a point. “What about your husband?”
    “He’s a bloodsucking bastard.”
    That shut things all the way down.
    I cleared my throat. “In spite of that, Jess, don’t you think he’s noticed you’re
     missing?”
    Unprovoked ugliness had flown out of Jess’s mouth for hours on end without her so
     much as taking a breath between them, while it took her forever for her to say the
     one word, “No.”
    Fantasy, who’d recently learned far more than she wanted to know about marital discord,
     spoke up. “Jessica, even if your husband hates your guts, he’s still going to notice
     you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”
    Her face clouded in confusion, as if she couldn’t possibly imagine who hated her guts
     or where in the world she was supposed to be, then without any warning she slammed
     face first into the table. Our chairs scraped, we shot up, and our mouths dropped
     open. Fantasy and I looked at each other. Is she dead ?
    I inched over, pushing miles of dark hair away from her neck, and cautiously dove
     in with two fingers. “She’s alive.” To prove it, Jess made a strange sound. A rumble.
     Then again. It was a snore. She was snoring. The woman had passed out. “Jessica.”
     I shook her. “Wake up.”
    “How much has she had to drink?” Fantasy whispered.
    “Not enough for this .” I shook her again. “Jess. Wake up.”
    She slowly peeled herself off the table and scanned our astonished faces as if she
     had no idea who we were or why we were staring. “So? What?”
    “What just happened?” I asked.
    She checked her immediate vicinity, unsure if the question was hers. She spread a
     hand across her ample chest. “So, me?”
    “Yes, Jess,” I said. “You.”
    “Did I crash?”
    “You did,” I said. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m a narc.” She yawned, deeply.
    “What?” I asked. “What does that mean?”
    “I have narcolepsy. I need my meds.”
    Fantasy and I took a step back.
    “So? I microsleep.”
    We took another step back.
    “I fall asleep!”
    “Jess.” I didn’t know what to say. “Should we—?” I couldn’t find a way to finish the
     question. Should we…what?
    “What exactly is narcolepsy?” Fantasy asked.
    “If I sit still, I fall asleep.” She yawned again. Deeply. So deeply, Fantasy and
     I