The ship slanted, like a big toe testing to see if the water were too cold, or if the temperature were suitable for a dip. The decision came from somewhere far below. The explosion burst into the silent night. A great red light flashed and disappeared below the surface. The ship cracked, snapping right in two. Half the ship was going down. Pianos and furniture and deck chairs and objects of all kinds, even parts of the ship, were flying through the air and falling into the sea. People sought a handhold but found none. The water passed through their naked fingers, and their arms were heavy in the icy gelatin. They had nowhere to go. Thousands and thousands of desperate screams pierced the cold night air. Surely, surely a ship somewhere would hear. But only— Only half the ship went down. The other half settled back on the water. Lydia knew John had to be on the floating half. She screamed. Others in the boats screamed. Lydia's voice joined with those of other women, pleading that their husbands were out there and to go back, go back.
