Caribbean Cruise

by Brian Raiter

dedicated to whoever wants it


Part One

Sunday

Maureen emerged from her cabin early that the morning. She had woken up with the dawn, feeling fully awake and ready to go. After a quick shower she had gotten dressed, choosing a simple white shirt and pale brown shorts. A cheap pair of sunglasses were hung out of the left pocket. The pockets in the shorts were too small to hold more than a single earpiece. She wore a pair of bright red plastic sandals on her feet, and sunscreen had been liberally applied to her nose, making it look even more bulbous to Maureen's critical eye as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror before she left. She had long ago learned to ignore her own judgement regarding her appearance, not because she believed they were wrong, but because she believed it was wholly futile to dwell on them.

Maureen grabbed the book she was reading: David Foster Wallace's "Infinite Jest", a thick paperback with a light blue cover, and walked out of her cabin.

She headed towards the ship's top deck, intending to enjoy the sun while it was still low in the sky and the heat hadn't yet permeated the air. But as she was walking towards the stairs, or the "ladder", she passed by the pool on the lower deck, which suddenly seemed inviting. The water was still in the shade, but the sun had found a couple of deck chairs not too far from the water. And the area was quiet, peacful almost. There being less than a dozen of people present. Mostly older folks, talking with each other. The pool contained only one or two kids, pre-teen, no doubt grandchildren.

Maureen selected a chair in the sunlight and sat down. She removed her sunglasses from her pocket and put them on. And already there was a young man standing beside her, tan skin contrasting with his searing white uniform. "Something to drink, ma'am?"

"San Pellegrino," Maureen said automatically, hardly looking up. On her other side the pool boy was offering her a towel, even though she wasn't dressed for swimming. "No, thank you," she murmured, and pulled out her book. The young man stepped away, almost silently, returning the warm, fluffy white towel to the stacks of warm, fluffy white towels in the giant laundry cart over which he perpetually hovered.

Maureen looked up at the sky. It was a mistake to think that it was always a perfect, solid azure blue every day. The mornings were usually perfectly cloudless, as it was today, but even so there were subtle gradations. The blue color was most saturated just above the horizon. It faded ever so gently as the eye moved upwards, and at the zenith it seemed to take on the faintest touch of translucency, as if one could see through to an empty canvas beyond. And of course there was always a corona of whiteness around the sun, as if it were a stone half-embedded in the skin of the sky, leaving the area around it faded and bloodless.

She opened her book and flipped around page fifty until she had found a paragraph that looked like where she had stopped, and settled in to read.

 

A few hours into the morning, and the air had warmed up. It was warm. Maureen eased back into her chair. Without opening her eyes she unscrewed the plastic cap on her bottle of water and drank the last mouthful. She sighed deeply as she let her hands fall into her lap and languidly screwed the cap onto the bottle, which she then set down on the table beside her. Her tired muscles began to relax.

The kids had left the pool, and now she could hear the sharp pocking sounds of a ping-pong game. It echoed off the white wall behind her, and for a moment it seemed to her as if she was inbetween two different games, played on two separate tables. Then the air shifted and the aural illusion disappeared. Maureen shifted in her chair as the breeze cooled the dampness on her exposed skin beneath her knees. She straightened her legs so that they were flat against the canvas.

Maureen opened her eyes and looked out over the railing at the ocean. The water was slate gray under the sun, hardly blue at all. The sky made up for it, though. Cloudless, with a blaring intense blue color, solidly above and fading only slightly at the horizon. Maureen squinted and tipped her head back. The sky's color also faded in the area around the sun, desaturating into colorlessness. If she was careful, she could just see where it turned into a painfully near-perfect white without actually looking into the sun. Her eyes began to water and she looked back at the ocean, squeezing out half-formed tears.

The sounds of the ping-pong game came to an end. The two young men who had been playing walked past, and for a brief moment Maureen's legs were in their shadows, creating a fleeting sensation of coolness. They continued on their way, without talking.

Again the air shifted and another breeze moved across the deck, this time lightly fanning her face and moving stray hairs away from her face.

Somewhere behind her a male voice said, "Well, that's a pretty picture, or my name is George Washington." Maureen half-turned to acknowledge the speaker, but the voice wasn't directed at her. Another voice was replying, too quietly for Maureen to make out the words.

Yes, the weather was perfect today. Just like the day before.

 

Now it was late morning. Soon it would be lunchtime. Maureen reclined into her deck chair with her bottle on the small table next to her, and surveyed the other people sitting on chairs with drinks next to them and enjoying the sun. She had her book with her, but she didn't feel like reading it. At least not at the moment. For now she just watched the scene before her.

Maureen spotted Allison walking by and looking around her. Maureen raised an arm and waved, and a moment later Allison spotted her and changed direction.

As she moved past a knot of people going the other way, Allison bumped against the back of a chair occupied by a young man in his mid-twenties, sporting a Hawaiian shirt and a rakish haircut. "Cow," muttered the young man, under his breath but still loud enough for Maureen to hear, ten feet away.

Allison stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "What did you just call me?" she demanded.

The young man looked up at her, startled. "I wasn't talking about you, ma'am. It was just — this old lady behind me, she's been going on about her gall bladder operation at the top of her lungs, and I was just venting a bit."

Allison looked a bit put out by this explanation, but turned away and continued on her path. Maureen could see the old lady in the next chair over turn around and stare at the young man angrily. The young man saw her, and shook his head dismissively while pointing his thumb at Allison and rolling his eyes.

Allison stood at the footrest end of Maureen's chair and smiled. "Hey there. Enjoying the day?"

Maureen looked up at Allison. She seemed to glow in the sunlight. Five foot six. Blue eyes and a insouciant scattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose. A large mouth with lips that were blood red, bright enough that Allison rarely wore lipstick. Light blond hair, not wispy like Maureen's but coarse and straight, and hanging down two or three inches past her shoulders to outline the belly of a corona on the back of her blouse. She wore white blouses, silken and short-sleeved. Maureen disliked her shoulders, feeling that they were disproportionately large, and so rarely wore anything sleeveless. Bright red shorts, ending just above her knees, and simple boat shoes completed her outfit. Over her shoulder was her outsized wicker purse, which was of late stuffed with notebooks and brochures detailing all the aspects of her wedding, along with various lists made out in her mother's neat hand.

"Good morning. I am enjoying the day. In fact I woke up earlier than usual, so I've been enjoying the day for some time."

"Lovely." Allison sat down in the next chair over. She dumped her purse onto the deck with a muffled thump. "That thing gets heavier every day."

"Good morning, ladies," came a voice. Maureen squinted up and saw Jack had appeared. This morning Jack was dressed in a pale pink polo shirt. It contrasted poorly with his skin, which would have been pale were it not a perpetually ruddy sunburned red. His white shorts were tightly belted under a round belly, and his legs sported a halo of blond curly hairs that ended abruptly at the top of his white athletic socks. Jack was younger than Maureen, but nonetheless was already starting to lose his hair, and he protected his nickel-sized bald spot with a white hat that looked, as far as Maureen could remember, exactly like the one Gilligan wore. Jack carried a short glass filled with ice cubes and something dark brown.

Allison waved. "Morning, Jack."

Jack inclined his head slightly. "What is that book you're reading, Maureen?"

Maureen let Jack see the front cover.

"Infinite Jest, eh? I suppose that's appropriate for its size. What's it about?"

"I'm — not entirely sure, actually. I haven't gotten very far yet."

Jack sat down at a nearby table. He picked up a copy of the ship's newspaper, "The Shipping News", that was sitting unattended. The paper was actually little more than a newsletter, providing the daily schedule of onboard events, the upcoming ports of call, some forgettable paragraph from the captain, and occasionally a short human interest article about one of the crew members. But there was also two pages of actual news articles, although for some reason the news was restricted entirely to nautical subjects. Thus it had little appeal to most of the passengers, except as a way to pass a bit of time when nothing else was available. Jack had a habit of reading the news section when he was bored with the current topic of conversation, and then interrupting in order to share bits that he found interesting.

Maureen continued, "I read something he wrote a while ago. I don't really remember much about it, except that it was about being on a cruise ship. And I liked it, or at least I didn't dislike it. And I remembered his name, I suppose. It's a distinctive name. Three names of two syllables each, has a sort of rhythm to it. Anyway, something recently reminded me of that, and then I remembered his name. Only the bookstore didn't have anything of his in stock."

"The bookstore?" Jack asked. "You mean the newsstand downstairs?"

"Yes, they have some books for sale. But nothing by him, so I visited the library, and I found this instead. I really was hoping to find that story I read before, but this was all they had."

There was a lapse in the conversation. Jack was still looking at his newspaper and didn't say anything. Finally Allison broke the silence. "Maureen, so I've been thinking. Mom's been on my case about all the wedding tasks that I haven't finished yet. So I was thinking that maybe you and I could get together later, and maybe it would be more fun if you could help me with some things. Nothing big, I promise."

"Listen to this," Jack suddenly said. "There was a tsunami off the eastern coast of Malaysia. Three people in Kuantan died. And they estimate that there was fifty thousand dollars of property damage."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Jack, I'm trying to talk to Maureen about my wedding. You don't need to interrupt to tell me about people dying."

Jack let the newspaper fall to his lap. "Excuse me? So nobody can bring up uncheerful subjects around you until after you are married? Is that what you're suggesting?"

Allison said, "Don't put words in my mouth. That's not what I said. Besides, you're a fine one to judge me like that."

"I'm not judging you; I'm just trying to better understand your little conversational rule so I don't break it again next time."

Maureen spoke up against her better judgement. "It's not a rule, Jack. She just asked for a little consideration."

Allison ignored Maureen. "Don't act as if I'm being shallow because I don't want to hear about people dying. You're the one who's getting entertained by people dying. I'm trying to work on something very important to me, so please don't upset me by telling me about people drowning to death." Allison stopped for a breath, and then added, "You're the one enjoying such talk. You're not just shallow, you're morbid."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "So that makes you a better person? Because you get upset over the death of some people you know nothing about? Tell me: could you even find Malaysia on an unmarked map?"

Maureen stood up. "Okay, this conversation is officially beyond help. I'm going to go get a snack, in the hopes that by the time I come back it'll be over."

Allison gathered her papers into a stack. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm supposed to go have lunch with mom anyway. I'll see you all later."

Jack looked at the two of them. He shrugged and returned his attention to the newspaper, saying, "It was a fair question."

 

"Allison?"

Allison murmured a reply without looking up from the magazine she was reading. On the table were some plates, and a half-eaten sandwich. Around them the two women had squeezed in various notebooks and catalogs.

"Allison!"

"I'm listening, mother."

Vanessa looked up from the piece of paper she was filling out. "Have the bridesmaids gone in to get fitted?"

Allison continued to read. "I don't think so. I suppose it's possible Deborah has organized that independently of me.

Vanessa groaned in exasperation. "Neither Deborah or anyone else is going to run errands for us unless we ask them to."

"I don't know. She seems capable of doing such a thing. But I don't really know her as well as you do, so I'll take your word for it."

Vanessa returned her gaze to her paperwork. "Next time a simple no will suffice."

Silence once again fell across the table. Behind them Allison could hear kids playing in the swimming pool. A young woman in uniform came up and hovered by their table. "More coffee, ma'am?"

Vanessa looked into her cup, which was still half full. "No, not at the moment, thanks. But could someone come by and clear this table? We're done eating."

"Yes, no problem. Anything for you, ma'am?" she said, turning to Allison.

"Nnnope," said Allison without looking up.

The woman picked up their used plates and left. The two women were once again embraced in silence.

A few moments later Vanessa capped her fountain pen and set it aside. Folding the piece of paper carefully in thirds, she looked over at Allison. "What is it you're reading there?"

Allison breathed in, and finally looked up at her mother across the white-painted table. "It's an article about doing brain imaging of people during sexual arousal."

"Oh for heaven's sake. What magazine are you reading? Omni?"

Allison let her gaze fall back to the magazine. "No, Scientific American."

Vanessa pursed her lips but did not pursue the matter. Instead she said, "Did you submit all of your gift registries?"

Allison shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on the text as she moved her head back and forth. When her mother did not say anything in reply, Allison added verbally, "No."

"Why not? Allison, look at me. It's only polite, for heaven's sake. Why not?"

Allison looked up. "We don't have the silverware pattern yet. That's why."

"Well, please do it then."

"I will," Allison said, letting her eyes drop back down to the magazine, "but I need to do it with Thomas."

"Why do you need to do it with Thomas?"

Allison looked up, surprised. "Because he cares about the silverware pattern."

Vanessa looked a bit pained. "How do you know he cares? Did you actually ask him, or are you just assuming that because he'll handle them every day he'll care?"

"I asked him, mother," Allison said with a sigh. "I asked him about all the registry stuff and he didn't care about any of it except the silverware."

"Well, all right then. Then Thomas need to park himself at this table with you and get that pattern picked out."

"He will. We will," Allison's attention fell back down again.

Vanessa stared at her daughter for a moment in silence. Then she said, "Thomas isn't allowed to just care without doing anything about it, all right?"

"All right." Allison didn't look up this time.

"Caring doesn't mean he gets to leave everything to you and then complain after the gifts are purchased. Caring means getting this taken care of."

"I understand that, mother."

"Allison, stop tuning me out."

Allison grunted and closed her magazine to demonstrate the completeness of her focus upon her mother. "Mom, I understand really. But I'm not going to go hunting around the ship looking for him so we can do this right now. I already told you he's been avoiding me lately when I bring up the wedding. He's going through a phase right now."

"Allison, that's fine, and it's quite normal for men to start getting cold feet about now. But these things still need to be done. You've been letting far too many of your tasks slide lately, Allison."

"Look, mom, I'm trying out this deal with Thomas where I only talk about the wedding while we're getting dressed for dinner. I think it helps him to feel that planning for the wedding isn't taking over our whole life. He still doesn't really like to talk about it, but on the other hand he knows that the rest of the day we can talk about other things."

"All right. Then promise me you and Thomas will deal with the silverware tonight, so we can finish submitting the registry forms tomorrow."

"I promise," said Allison. But she opened the magazine and looked down at the article again before she said it.

Vanessa shook her head. "If it's not done tonight, I'm putting it on your to-do list in red ink."

"Oh, mom," murmured Allison. "Don't be childish."

 

After lunch, Maureen and Allison sat side by side on the deck, out in the sunlight. The edge of a shadow from the smokestack was creeping up towards them. Maureen was reading her book while Allison sat back and relaxed, eyes closed. There was a very gentle breeze which was, Maureen felt, balanced perfectly in temperature with the sun. One could hardly ask for better circumstances in which to relax, she felt.

"Maureen?" came Allison's voice. Her eyes were still closed.

Maureen didn't look up from her book. "Allison?"

"What are you doing this afternoon?"

Maureen responded slowly, still trying to keep her focus on what she was reading. "This afternoon? As in today this afternoon?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sitting out on deck reading my book while you sunbathe. That's what I'm doing." Maureen turned a page.

Allison opened one eye experimentally, but the sunlight forced her to close it again. "I mean later this afternoon, you goose," Allison finally said.

"As far as I know," Maureen said, then flipped the page back again, finding that she had lost the context of the sentence she was reading. "That's what I'm doing later this afternoon, too."

Allison heaved a sigh. "Well, change of plans then. How about coming shopping with me?"

"This afternoon isn't going to last too much longer. Shopping? You mean clothes shopping?"

"No, I need to figure a gift to give the bridesmaids. Just a little memento or something. See, it'll be fun."

"Aha. I see."

"Is that a yes?"

"I mean now I see why you didn't ask me to be a bridesmaid."

"Why is that?"

Maureen turned the page again. "Because you need my help with them."

"Maureen," Allison said in a tone of disgust. "I didn't ask you to be a bridesmaid because you would have hated it and you would have said no."

"That's true," Maureen said readily, "but a person still likes to be asked."

There was a pause. Then Allison replied, "Maureen, when I first told you that I thought Thomas was going to propose to me, you said, Just don't ask me to be a bridesmaid, and I'll be happy for you."

"I said that?"

"Yes."

"I think what I said was, Just don't make me be a bridesmaid. There's a difference."

Allison sighed again.

A young woman in uniform walked up to them. "Something to drink please?"

"Orange juice," said Allison without opening her eyes.

"San Pellegrino," stated Maureen.

The woman left again.

Allison said, "Maureen?"

"Yes." Maureen was getting frustrated. The paragraph she was trying to read was long and convoluted, and she had the nagging sensation that she needed to give it her full concentration to actually understand it.

"Maureen, will you be my bridesmaid?"

Maureen looked up from her book. "You don't fool me. You already have a full set of bridesmaids, and it's too late in the plans to add another."

"Not a problem. If you want it, then I'll throw Mary overboard tonight at midnight, and you can take her place."

Maureen smiled, then said, "No, don't do that. Mary doesn't deserve it." Maureen turned to her book, then looked up again. "But thanks for asking."

"No problem. Now will you come shopping with me?"

"Get them some engraved keychains. There's an engraving shop in that one jeweler's. Problem solved."

"I'm not giving my bridesmaids novelty keychain as a memento. Come on. You have to come with me. I offered to kill one of my bridesmaids for you."

"Mm. Depends on how interesting this paragraph turns out to be."

 

Late afternoon. Jack poked his head into the Monte Carlo Lounge. He assessed the crowd there. The usual suspects. Nobody he actually knew.

Jack walked in and sat down at the roulette table. He took out a piece of paper, a short pencil, and a couple of hundred dollar bills.

"Good morning, sir." said the croupier at the next table. "Anything to drink?"

"Not yet. Maybe in a bit." Jack pushed the bills forward. "Right now just gimme some chips."

The man exchanged the money for a tall pile of multicolored plastic disks. "And where is your charming mother this morning?"

Jack took the chips and began sorting them into smaller piles. "She's getting her hair done."

"Ah. So you have an hour then?"

Jack nodded. "Thereabouts."

 

The ship was white. White with blue trim. Blue and white. And the sea was blue, and the waves were white. And the sky was blue, and the sun was white. The blue and white ship moved steadily along above the blue and white sea below the blue and white sky. It was part of the landscape, the ship was. It was part of the ocean, it was part of the sky. Part of the world.

 

Monday

Maureen looked out the tiny window of her cabin. There were no clouds, at least not that she could see. Another warm day, then. Maureen selected a thin, light gray T shirt, and oversized, bright yellow shorts. In reality the weather rarely deviated from warm and clear, but Maureen had years ago picked up the habit of examining the weather before getting dressed in the morning, and the fact that it was mostly a formality meant little to her.

Maureen locked the door of her cabin and walked down the hallway. The walls in the hallway were white, just like the walls inside her cabin, just like the walls in the majority of the ship. Not just white, but snow white, glarey white, as if they were bleached on a weekly basis. The carpet, on the other hand, was royal blue, and had a thick pile that contrasted with the hard floors of the decks, to the point that Maureen, stepping onto the carpet at the end of a day walking about the ship, would feel as if she had walked off of solid land. The trim along the floor was wood. Oak, to be precise, with a dark stain finish that reflected the lights hung along the ceiling. Maureen followed the hallway through a left turn, and then turned right and walked through a narrow doorway and up the stairs. Or ladder. The crew, Maureen, and a handful of others called them ladders, but the majority of the passengers called the stairs, and as a result Maureen was starting to call them stairs as well. At the top she stepped out directly into the sunlight of the lower deck.

The decks all had flowery names, and this one was the Pegasus deck. Almost everybody referred to it simply as the lower deck, it being the lowest deck that was open to the sky along its outer walkways.

A short walk astern brought Maureen to her preferred location for eating breakfast. The area was named The Sunrise Lounge, and provided a continental-style breakfast, simple and lightweight. There were a few people on the ship who actually went to the dining room for breakfast, but most passengers found it easier to just grab something simple at one of the many lounges before proceeding with whatever activities they had planned for the day. Besides, the dining room had a dress code requirement of wearing shoes while in attendance. Tropical weather notwithstanding.

Maureen picked out a muffin and a tangerine, along with her usual morning cup of coffee. She turned away from the bar and saw Allison walking in. They waved to each other, and then Maureen selected a table for two and waited for Allison to join her. Maureen and Allison often met like this, at the breakfast bar. A nice thing about being on a ship this size, Maureen reflected, is that you didn't have to spend a lot of time with your friends planning on how you would meet up on any given day. You fell into your routines, and just naturally bumped into each other, usually earlier rather than later.

Allison sat down beside her, with a bagel and a tall glass of tomato juice. "Good morning, Maureen."

"Good morning, Allison."

Allison bit daintily into her bagel, which was sliced in two and slathered in cream cheese. She chased her first bite with some tomato juice and smiled. "So. Have you already made plans for this morning?"

Maureen shook her head, her mouth full of muffin, and raised her eyebrows encouragingly.

"I think today I want to decide on the guests' gifts."

"What about the bridesmaids' gifts?"

"No, the guests' gifts. I feel inspired today."

Maureen grinned sardonically. "Do you now?"

"I do."

"You also felt inspired last week, I think it was, for all of twenty minutes. Until we got to the stores."

"Well, if I don't continue to feel inspired this time, then we'll just have to proceed anyway. My mom is really starting to bug me about how much we still have to do before the wedding."

"What do you mean, starting to? She's been bugging you about that for weeks."

"No, she hasn't."

"Months."

"No, I mean lately she's been succeeding in actually bugging me."

"Oh. As in, making you feel bugged."

"Yes. You know how she's taken to making a to-do list for me every morning to give me right when I wake up?"

"Sure. You've showed me half a dozen of them at least."

"These to-do lists come directly out of our wedding planner, you know."

"I know."

"Well, whenever I blow the deadline on one of my tasks now, she puts in on the to-do list in red ink. She actually went out and bought a red ballpoint pen so she could do this."

Maureen laughed. "Is that all it takes to needle you? Red ink?"

"Not at all. But, Maureen, I can see where this is going. A late task is going to show up on every day's to-do list until I finally break down and do it. It's almost the opposite of motivating, you know? It's bordering on childish. It makes me want to rebel, just to see how far I can push her."

"And that's what scares you."

"By this time next month, my to-do lists will be as long as your arm, and it'll all be in red except for a couple of items at the bottom."

"She'll have to set her alarm for five in order to get the list written up before you leave in the morning."

"Exactly. And I don't want to fall into that trap."

"So how much red do you have today?"

Maureen brushed crumbs from her fingers and brought up the purse that had been laying across her lap. From it she removed a small folded piece of notepaper. "I think just a few things," she said as she unfolded it. "Okay, four things. But the first one is finalize our vows, so I can't do that. And the second one I don't want to do until later in the week."

"You haven't written your vows yet?"

"No, Thomas is being difficult. He says he's not the kind of person who writes poetry, why can't we just do standard vows, yadda yadda yadda. I tell him that it was his idea in the first place, and he says it wasn't. I remind him of the conversation where he suggested it, and he says he didn't really mean it and if he'd known I was actually listening to him he'd never have said anything. Honestly, Maureen. He can be such a little boy sometimes. So I have to wait until some night when the mood strikes him again."

"That's a shame." Maureen's thoughts were less bland, but Allison wouldn't be in the mood for a discussion about Thomas this early in the day.

"And the other two items in red are going to involve a lot of running around inside and I just can't face them, especially not on a nice day like this."

"Yeah, days like today are so infrequent, gotta enjoy them while you can. So selecting the guests' gifts isn't even one of things in red?"

"No, but if I don't do it soon it will be. So let's do that this morning." Allison pulled her cell phone out of her purse and examined the display. There was of course no cell phone service out in the middle of the ocean, but Allison was nevertheless in the habit of carrying her cell phone with her, and every now and then she would check its reception. "I feel good about this plan," she said as she replaced her phone in her purse. "We'll go visit the shops and browse until we find the right gift. It doesn't have to be perfect, you know. It just has to be generally appropriate. You know."

"Not inappropriate, in other words."

"Exactly." Allison smiled. "You understand."

"That seems doable," Maureen conceded. Of course, nearly all the shops were downstairs, so they were likely going to wind up being inside anyway. But there would be plenty of time to enjoy the weather after lunch. "Is there anything we need to do before we get started?"

Allison raised her nearly-empty glass. "I just want to get another glass of tomato juice. I'm starving today."

Maureen nodded, but before Allison could get up, a mild voice said, "Good morning, ladies."

Maureen looked up. Jack was approaching their table, carrying a doughnut and a cup of coffee. Jack placed his saucer and coffee mug upon the table, requiring Allison and Maureen to shift over slightly while he moved a chair over from the next table over. He sat down with a sigh and grinned. "Breakfast outside with two beautiful women. What more could a young man wish for?"

Jack's words were directed at both of them, but he looked directly at Allison as he spoke. Allison smiled coolly. "Good morning, Jack. I didn't expect to see you up and about this early, after leaving you in the bar last night."

"You never expect to see me up early, Allison, and yet I always am." Jack boasted.

"True enough, I suppose," Allison replied.

"And what do you two have on tap for today?" Jack asked, then bit into his doughnut.

Maureen answered, "Oh, nothing much. Just making preparations for the wedding."

Jack nodded. "Ah, yes. So much to prepare for, so little time to prepare."

"Oh, it's under control," Maureen answered. Allison began to absentminded fidget with the gold engagement ring on her finger, turning it back and forth, and occasionally yanking it up above her finger's joint and back down again.

"Excellent. I was just talking with Vanessa about the wedding, just the other day." Jack leaned forward, as if about to impart important information. "Apparently she wants to have the captain officiate at the ceremony."

Allison smiled. "Yes, Mom's really big on that idea."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Is she still? Because I told her at the time, I told her that the captain would not have the ability to do so."

"Well, apparently captains are able to perform weddings while a ship is at sea. And since the date —"

Jack raised a finger to interrupt. "But that is simply not true. That's just a rumor."

Allison frowned, but said nothing. Jack stared at her in reply. Maureen decided to speak. "I'm pretty sure I know of at least one captain performing a wedding ceremony."

Jack looked at her with the same raised-eyebrows expression. "Oh, one certainly hears of captains performing weddings, particularly in romance novels and Hollywood movies."

"I mean I know of it happening in real life."

"But it's completely baseless. Not true, never been true."

"I'm pretty sure it's happened at least once."

"You think so? I'll wager you five dollars U.S. that if you ask the captain to perform Allison's wedding, he'll tell you exactly the same thing."

Maureen said nothing, inured by now to Jack's habit of proposing wagers, but Maureen suddenly spoke up. "All right, Jack. I'll take you up on that wager." Allison dug a capless ballpoint pen out of her purse, but when she tried to write on the back of her to-do list, the ink failed to flow. She set it down. "May I borrow your pen?"

With a smile Jack ostentatiously unclipped his Arrow fountain pen from his shirt pocket, uncapped it, and handed it to Allison.

Allison took his pen and scribbled out some figures. "Here's the scheduled date and time. You go visit the captain and find out if he's able and willing to perform the wedding ceremony. If he is, then set up an appointment for me and my mother to meet with him and discuss the ceremony details, like the vows." Allison handed Jack the pen and the scrap of paper.

"And if not, then I'll come find you and collect my money."

"Yes, and likewise if I'm right."

"A sporting girl. Yes. It's good to see you refusing to adhere to the stereotypes of your gender."

Allison put the dead ballpoint pen back in her purse, and Maureen decided to stand up then. "We should get going, Allison."

Jack raised his mug in a salute. "You'll see me again soon."

"I'm sure I will. Until then!"

As they walked back towards the stairs, Maureen shook her head. "Allison, you should know better than to encourage Jack. He'll probably assume you're flirting with him."

Allison shrugged. "Oh, he's harmless enough. And this way I get him to do one of my tasks for me. It's a stroke of genius on my part, really."

 

Maureen and Allison emerged from the downstairs deck and into the sunshine. Allison immediately closed her eyes and turned her head to face the sun, like a time-lapsed sunflower. "Ah. Let's just sit down right here, Maureen."

Maureen nodded. "All right." She let herself drop into a nearby canvas chair and put her feet up.

Allison sat down in the next chair over and unshouldered her wicker purse. She sighed. "I don't really understand it, but all these errands preparing for the wedding feel more like work than any actual job I've ever had."

"It feels like it just goes on and on like a job, is why. It's never-ending."

"Mom's going to be so mad when she finds out we spent the entire morning looking for the guests' gift and not finding anything."

"That's not entirely true."

A young man in uniform appeared at Maureen's elbow. "Can I get you two ladies anything to drink?"

Maureen shrugged. They weren't out here to sunbathe; they were just relaxing for a moment and resting their legs. But Allison said, "A tall orange juice, please." So Maureen shrugged again and asked for a San Pellegrino.

Once he had left Maureen turned back to Allison. "I still think the ginger blossoms would be a good gift."

"No, no flowers. Everyone gives flowers. It's boring."

"They're not flowers, Allison; they're herbs."

"Nobody's going to grow them for the purpose of eating them, Maureen. They'll either tend them because they're pretty to look at, or else they'll throw them out as soon as they get home."

"They are pretty, Allison. And they're tough little things, too. They'll last even if the people just leave them on their table and ignore them."

"No flowers. My mind's made up."

Maureen shrugged. The young man returned, bearing a tray. He handed Maureen the short green bottle, then moved around them to the low round table next to Allison and set down the tray. Allison picked up the pen on the tray and signed the receipt, then took her glass of orange juice. The glass was tall and narrow and decorated with painted oranges that were all but invisible when the glass was full. A wide clear straw stood almost twice as tall as the glass itself.

Maureen inhaled theatrically and said, "Well, then, if that's how you feel, then I'm going to have to recommend that you go with the keychains."

Allison snorted delicately and sipped her drink through the straw.

"You laugh. And yet you say you don't want something that people will be inclined to just discard immediately afterwards. That narrows it down to bottle openers or gemstones. You can't afford to give everyone gemstones, so it's going to have to be bottle openers."

"How tacky."

"They may seem tacky, but in my experience people don't throw them away. Instead they throw them into the bottom of the silverware drawer, and they stay there forever. Forever, Allison. A true keepsake."

"Allison, I don't want people to associate my wedding with the junk drawer."

"You scoff, but someday my insight will be universally acknowledged. People will give bottle openers out at weddings as a matter of routine. It'll be a standard component. There'll be a cottage industry of wedding bottle openers. And people will routinely dive to the bottom of their kitchen drawers to show other people all the weddings they've attended."

"I hope Jack really did go talk to the captain. Mom's going to be so frustrated with me if today turns out to be a complete bust."

"You still have all the rest of the day."

"We're going to be spending all afternoon on Barbados. In fact, aren't we supposed to be docking by now?"

Maureen shrugged. "That dependes on what time it is."

Allison foraged through her purse and pulled out her cell phone. "It's a quarter to noon."

"And look at that," said a loud male voice.

Allison and Maureen looked up to see an older man, wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap, cheap sunglasses, a T shirt and Bermuda shorts. A pair of binoculars was in one hand, its strap around his neck. He smiled broadly under a thick brow-gray moustache and pointed aft.

The women looked where he was pointing. Maureen didn't see anything unusual at first, certainly nothing that warranted interrupting their conversation. Many, perhaps most, of the passengers on board thought nothing of freely joining in any random conversation they might overhear part of, if they thought they had something to contribute to what they overheard, but usually people didn't just interrupt others in for the sake of pointing out something entirely unrelated.

Allison suddenly said, "Oh. It's a pigeon!" Maureen looked closer, and then she saw it: a gray bird perched on the railing, about fifty feet away from them.

"Columba livia," said the older man. "Rock pigeon, formerly known as the rock dove. I'd wager we're close to land."

Allison muttered, just loud enough for Maureen to hear, "Columba livia? For crying out loud, it's a pigeon. How hard is it to spot a pigeon?"

As if to underscore the birdwatcher's deduction, the ship blew its horn, an immense noise that Maureen had described as the sound of a volcano farting. The bird immediately took off from the railing and flew away from the ship.

 

Allison and her mother Vanessa went ashore at Barbados to play a game of golf. Vanessa had heard about the Barbados golf courses from a fellow traveller a while back and had taken a sudden interest in the idea. Maureen thought the idea was a little odd. Why would a game that requires so much well-tended grass be popular on a tropical island? It was this curiosity more than anything else that made her decide to accompany them.

The golf course they found themselves at turned out to be only nine holes, but otherwise was very similar in appearance to any other golf course in the world. The grass was a little coarse, but was a brilliant green, and Maureen saw no evidence of dead patches or crabgrass anywhere on the links.

Maureen was worried about how she would look next to the others when she had never played golf before. But, as it turned out, Allison had only played once before herself. Vanessa had had significantly more experience, but was badly out of practice. After three holes in which only Vanessa had succeeded in sinking a single ball before reaching the maximum of seven strokes per hole, and after having already let two other groups of tourists "play through", they decided to call it a day. Their caddy was very polite, and didn't seem the least bit fazed by either their terrible aim or their abrupt conclusion to the game.

The golf club's lounge was quite full, and Maureen suspected there were several people there who had no intention of playing golf that day, and instead just came here to have dinner and a drink, or perhaps just to drink. Vanessa suggested that they get an early dinner here instead of in town or back on the boat, and Allison readily agreed. Maureen was feeling a bit restless, and was tempted to leave Allison and Vanessa there and wander through the town. But she remembered the throngs of tourists they had had to contend with while walking between here and the golf course, and Maureen decided she'd rather be with people she knew. There appeared to be at least one other cruise ship docking here this afternoon, and she didn't want to deal with either the hordes of visitors or the native people rapidly working the crowds, hawking jewelry, handmade knickknacks of various utility, and numerous wiry boys who seemed to have invented a game that involved playing tag while dodging white people. Either that or they were pickpockets, Maureen considered sourly, working the crowds in their own way. She automatically felt for the wallet in the front left pocket of her shorts. Yes, it was still there.

"Katie!" Allison shouted. She and Vanessa had been discussing golf, with Vanessa explaining what Allison and Maureen needed to do to improve their swings, and Allison talking vaguely about practicing at the putting range on board in order to do better the next time they played at a real golf course, "so as not to waste the opportunity again", although Maureen, and probably Vanessa as well, could tell from the way Allison was talking about it that she was mainly just fantasizing and likely would not follow through. So when Allison suddenly yelled in front of Maureen, she jumped and spilled a few drops of her San Pellegrino onto the front of her shirt.

"Good grief, Allison. Don't shout like that."

"But look," Allison said. "It's Katie from college! Katie Breckmeyer!"

Maureen turned around to look where Allison was pointing, and sure enough, from the other side of the lounge approached a naggingly familiar face.

The woman came up to their table and put her hands on her hips in feigned disbelief. "Oh my god, I can't believe it," she said with a huge smile. "Allison and Maureen. You two are still hanging out together, aren't you? Allison, oh my god, you look just like you did when you graduated."

Allison demurred, but Maureen knew that she appreciated the statement. And it was true: Allison really did look very much as she had in her early twenties.

Vanessa spoke up. "Katie, I believe we met once or twice. Do you remember me? Allison's mother?"

"Of course I remember you, Mrs. Anderson! Did you all come here off the ship in the harbor there?" Katie pointed in the direction of the water. "So am I, only I'm off the one in the north harbor. The Royal cruise ship! What an amazing coincidence. I'm just here with some friends for a few hours and I see you guys here! Maureen, how are you?"

Maureen looked at Katie, caught off guard at suddenly being expected to respond to the flood of words. "Hey, Katie. I'm fine." Maureen looked at Katie and a memory floated to the top of her consciousness. "You look good in that dress, by the way. It's weird, though, seeing you in red."

Katie's reply died on her lips. She looked down at herself and then back at Maureen, puzzled. "What do you mean, weird seeing me in red?"

"You know, you and Kathy?"

Katie frowned and shook her head. "Katherine Yates?"

Allison piped up. "Yeah, you know, she wore red and you wore blue?"

Katie's eyes went wide and she put her hand to her mouth. "Oh my, oh my. I had forgotten all about that." She transferred her hand from her mouth to her head. She continued to smile, but her tone of voice was surprisingly serious. "That's why I didn't have any red in my wardrobe after college!"

 

Maureen wandered along the streets of Jamestown. Even though it was the main city of the island, it still had a bit of a rural flavor to it. Many of the buildings in this area looked like adobe. The storefronts ran the length of a block, facing onto a very thin sidewalk. People walked in the street as often as the sidewalks; cars came through infrequently, and always driving slowly over the rough road surface. The storefronts were all of a piece, a continuous wall divided up by paint: one bright color stopped and another began. The storefront entrances were all wide open doorways, though only a few had actual doors. Most places had metal gates that would be lowered at closing time, but remained rolled up near the ceiling throughout the day, allowing the air to circulate and keep the interior from overheating. Maureen loved how nobody had actual signs. Instead, every storefront had its name painted above or next to the entrance. Hand painted: nothing was manufactured in these places, except for what the tourist industry brought with them. Even the advertisements were hand-painted. Maureen saw a small grocery store that had a poster-sized red rectangle painted along one wall, containing in white the words "Coca-cola" under a white silhouette of the familiar wasp-shaped bottle.

The hotels were over by the beaches. Even at this distance, they towered over the one-story buildings that this area consisted of like a collection of alien monoliths. Essentially they were alien monoliths, Maureen thought. So clearly unlike anything that was built before their arrival, they stood in direct contradiction to the architectural givens of the native buildings. Not just in aesthetics, but also in simple physics. If an earthquake were to hit this area, Maureen would bet that the locals would suffer more damage overall than the hotels.

And, Maureen continued to herself, no doubt the hotels occasionally sucked up a handful of natives, gave them jobs, and changed them into something new, people halfway between natives and colonizers.

Of course, even though this neighborhood looked "authentic", it was still meant to appeal to the tourists. The tourist trade was almost certainly this islands main source of income. It was probably the main source of income for the entire chain of Caribbean islands. Maureen had seen at least three art galleries in her walk through this neighborhod, and she was pretty sure that there weren't enough art collectors among the permanent residents to support three galleries.

It was uncomfortable to look at such things and know that by being there you were only contributing to the very situation that bothered you. But what was the solution? Stay on the ship and never go ashore? Not buy anything on the island, leaving the local economy no better off for the visit? Maureen had known people who would argue that the proper solution was to tear down the hotels, rip up the harbors, and leave the islands entirely to the natives. But would the natives really want to be stranded from the modern world? They weren't born in neolithic times, after all. For better or worse, they were living in the twenty-first century, and probably most of them wanted to take advantage of that fact.

They probably didn't want it at the price of having all their beachfront property in the hands of foreign corporations, though.

Maureen looked at the position of the sun. It was probably time to start heading back. Just to be on the safe side. There were plenty of stories that passengers told each other about people getting left behind, sometimes even losing their passports. These stories typically happened to a friend of a friend of a friend, on some other ship, though, and were vague on the details, so Maureen suspected that most of them were probably apocryphal.

Maureen paused in her walk and stared out at the ship. It wasn't often that she looked at the ship like this, from outside, the way everyone else saw it. It was like a gleaming white behemoth, made entirely of cartilage, that had floated up from the depths of the ocean and washed ashore here in the harbor. People moved about it, bringing in supplies of various sorts. Marueen couldn't begin to imagine what it took to keep that contained microcosm running as smoothly as it did. The details were beyond her imagination. But, standing here on the sidewalk of a street in a foreign town and looking up at the thing that dwarfed the buildings next to it, she could begin to imagine the size. The sheer magnitude. Looking at the boat from here, it was almost impossible not to imagine it.

Throughout her walk, she had seen plenty of people who were clearly tourists, but nobody she knew. Now that she was approaching the harbor, she started to see people she recognized from the ship, as well as other people that she didn't recognize, but she suspected, from little clues about their dress and appearance, were from off of the other ship, Katie's ship.

Up ahead, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, Maureen saw the older birdwatching man. He was peering through his binoculars up at the roofs across the street. Maureen looked over at where his binoculars were pointed, but couldn't see anything.

"I don't care. He's an asshole."

"You're just mad cause he's not interested in you."

Not far from where Maureen stood, two younger women were sitting in chairs set out in front of a coffee shop. Their conversation was rapid-fire, and Maureen suspected that if she turned around and looked, they wouldn't even notice here.

"No way. I wouldn't touch him if my life depended on it."

"Yeah, well."

"And if you say: Two paths diverged in a woods, I'm going to scream right in your face."

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Yes you were. I could tell by the tone of your voice."

"I wasn't."

"You're predictable, Anna."

"I wasn't."

"I know you. I can read you like a book."

"Check out that dude."

"Like a picture book."

"What's he doing with those binoculars?"

"He's birdwatching."

"What? Right out in broad daylight?"

Maureen had been about to continue walking, but this comment made her wait and continue to listen.

"Of course in daylight. You can't see the birds when it's night out, retard."

"Ohmygod you mean birds as in birds!"

"What did you think I said?"

"Ohmygod I thought you meant he was spying on chicks!"

"Ohmygod that's funny."

"I thought you meant he was like trying to see into somebody's bedroom window. Ohmygod. That's why I couldn't believe he would be standing out in the middle of the street doing that while everyone just walks around him. Dum de dum, oh look a perv, dum de dum."

"Ha! Dangit, haven't you ever heard of birdwatchers before?"

"No! They just stare at birds?"

"They go out looking for all different kinds of birds. They know where to find really rare ones and stuff. They go out looking to see as many different birds as they can. Get it? Retard."

"Is it like a sport?"

"Sorta. I guess."

"So like there are prizes? Trophies and medals and junk?"

"No, I don't think it's a sport like that. I think people just do it for fun."

"Okay. I was gonna say without a camera he'll have a hard time proving anything."

"Yeah, I think some birdwatchers take pictures but a lot of them don't. They just do it to look at them."

"So like they go track down some really rare bird, they finally get a look at it, and go, whew glad that's over with, now I can go home?"

"I guess. I think they keep diaries."

"Man."

"It's like a hobby. It doesn't have to make sense."

"Hobbies are supposed to be fun."

"Well, I guess he must think it's fun, or else he wouldn't be doing it right there in front of you."

"If that's his idea of fun, I don't want to know what bores him."

The birdwatcher lowered his binoculars, but continued to stare up at the rooftops.

"He'd probably say we're the most boring people he'd ever met."

"Shut up."

"We don't even think birds are fun, how boring is that, he's say."

The man looked at his wristwatch, and then turned and started walking towards the harbor.

"If that's his idea of fun, he seriously needs to get laid."

"Yeah well, so do I."

The conversation dissolved into giggles. Maureen shook her head and continued walking back to the boat, a few steps behind the birdwatcher.

 

Tuesday

Maureen woke up from a lengthy and involved dream to a completely dark room. "Dad?" she gasped. She felt as if she just narrowly escaped asphyxiation. She flailed an arm to her right, but there was of course nobody in the bed with her.

Maureen lay back down and waited for her breathing to return to normal. Maureen wondered if Allison ever woke up from a nightmare and hit her mother.

Maureen was generally happy to have a cabin all to herself, but right now she would have liked to have had someone to share this dream with. Dreams were so hard to shake off. They end when you wake up, but your emotional state hangs around for a long time afterwards, until you had completely restored your grip on reality.

Maureen reached up and turned on the reading light mounted above the bed. She rolled out of bed and retrieved a pad of notepaper, decorated with the ship's insignia, and a ballpoint pen. Climbing under the sheets again, Maureen sat up and began writing in a cramped, spidery hand on the diminuitive sheets.

I was standing in front of a concrete dam. A young man walked up to me. He was living on the street, but that was just because his mother wasn't stable. He said to me: "Do you need to buy some heroin?"

"No," I said Maureen. "I don't like the way it feels." I didn't mean how it feels when you're high, I meant the way it feels when it's entering my veins (except of course I don't really know anything about how heroin feels).

Then then boy said, "Hey, look at that. There's a crack in that dam."

"Shh!" I said. "Don't point it out, or you'll just widen it." I was certain that just staring at the crack would put stress on it.

The boy said, "Oh, it's okay, I can outrun the water if the dam breaks."

I said, "I can't!"

The boy shrugged, as if to say, no skin off my nose.

I said, "Are you serious?" I couldn't believe he would be so callous.

He said, "No no no," and I understood that he was telling me that I had misinterpreted his shrug, that he meant to tell me by shrugging that it was no big deal, because if the dam broke he could carry me along with him while he was running. I wanted to apologize for my mistake, and I decided that a friendly grin was the best way to communicate that. Then I realized that their non-verbal communication was getting out of hand, because I didn't know how to stop "talking" non-verbally. This was a serious drawback to non-verbal communication, I decided, because there didn't seem to be any way to shut up, short of walking away entirely. But I wasn't ready to walk away. So instead I looked away from him, and hoped that he would understand that I really wanted him to look away from me, thereby allowing me to stop talking in a non-verbal manner.

I felt hopeful that this approach would work, but as I wasn't looking at the boy, I couldn't tell.

So I was staring at the dam, and then I saw that there were spider coming out of the crack. I mentioned this to the boy.

He said, "Really? I don't see anything."

I said, "I don't either. We're too far away." And as soon as I said this, my point of view zoomed in on the crack, and I could see a dense stream of spiders all coming out of the crack.

The boy asked, "What do you think it means?"

I said, "I don't know; I don't know anything about interpreting dreams."

The boy laughed at me. "What do the spiders have to do with dreams?"

I started to respond, but couldn't find the right words. I knew that the spiders coming out of the crack could be understood by someone who had studied dream interpretation, but I just couldn't explain why.

Then the boy looked at me with a very serious expression on his face and said, "Don't believe anything I'm about to tell you, but there are turtles under the concrete of this dam. The turtles are very important and if you ignore them they will kill you and possibly other people as well." He said a lot more as well, but this is all I remember now. Finally he said, "Do you understand?"

I said, "No," but I meant yes by it. The boy seemed to understand that.

He then said, "Okay, so let's begin the first lesson."

I said, "I don't need to be taught anything right now."

He said, "Well, if I don't tell you the rest of this, you could wind up making a mistake and causing the end of the world."

I didn't like the sound of that at all, and I was going to agree to the lesson, but instead I just said, "I'll take my chances."

The young man shook his head in despair, but it was too late to change what I had said. Then I took a closer look at the young man and realized that he was actually my father. And then I woke up.

Maureen looked up. There was a hint of light coming in through her cabin's porthole. She sighed and lay back down. She was calmer now, but still feeling awake. But it couldn't be any later than six A.M. yet. She lay down, hoping to get another hour or so of sleep. She expected that what she would actually get was another hour or two of lying in bed with her thoughts.

 

By the time Maureen woke up again, breakfasttime was over. Maureen went through the motions of showering. It wasn't until she was standing before her wardrobe that she started to feel completely awake.

Maureen looked through her clothes. She didn't actually dislike anything there, but on the other hand nothing seemed to have a reason to select it particularly over the others. It seemed her clothes were uniformly pale-colored and conservative, and everything was pretty much like everything else. Usually this didn't bother her, since she had chosen them for those reasons, but once in a while she felt a twinge of frustration at not being able to do anything else with her appearance.

She ought to have one or two brightly colored shirts, for just such days as these, Maureen thought. Maybe something with a bold floral pattern. And yet she couldn't imagine her wearing such clothes without feeling like she was in costume.

Wasn't that part of the function of fashion, though? To project an appearance. Women were supposed to use clothes as a sort of costume, as a way of controlling the impression they made. You weren't required or even expected to pick the clothes that most nearly represented how you honestly felt. Nobody was going to charge her with perjury for wearing something bold and outgoing.

All clothing was costume, really. You picked the costume you wanted people to see you in. Did that mean that Maureen actually wanted people to think of her as quiet and uninteresting?

Well, to be fair, there was also the issue of simplicity. Maureen's wardrobe had evolved into its present form as over the years she lost interest in clothes that required too much effort to make use of. Shirts made of fragile material that ripped or stained too easily, or clashed with most of her shorts, had fallen away and been replaced with more useful items.

Maureen didn't really mean to intentionally encourage others to think of her as uninteresting, but at the same time some part of her wanted to believe that her clothes didn't try to project a false impression.

Which, Maureen felt, seemed to rule out most of women's clothing right off.

Maureen sighed. Clothing was supposed to be different in tropical climates, wasn't it? The higher temperature and humidity were supposed to necessitate a more utilitarian attitude. Simple lightweight materials, flip-flops instead of pumps, that sort of thing. Out here, you weren't supposed to spend so much time judging people by their clothes. But Maureen had realized that it was no different here. The fashions were different, certainly, but people still noticed which fashions you followed and didn't follow. And they made judgements about your choices, no less than they would anywhere else.

Maureen examined her legs. Leg hair was one of those places where she had consciously made a compromise with the demands of women's fashion. She just didn't have it in her to walk around with hairy legs every day. She couldn't bring herself to shave it with a safety razor, though. Instead she went over her legs with a trimmer, set to a quarter-inch length. That kept the hairs relatively invisible, and without having to deal with things like ingrown hairs or razor burn.

On days like these Maureen could see the appeal of wearing a burqa.

 

Maureen wound up getting a bagel from the kitchen via a drink attendant while sitting next to the pool on the lower deck. Jack happened by while she was eating and wound up sitting down and making small talk. Thus they were sitting together when Allison found them.

Jack was drinking a Bloody Mary and explaining that he had learned that he was correct in that in general a captain of a ship was not automatically empowered to perform weddings, the captain of their ship was in fact a reverend of the Universal Life Church, specifically for the purpose of being able to perform weddings, and hoping that Allison would agree with him that they had both been partly right and partly wrong, and so their bet should just be regarded as null and void.

Maureen sipped at her San Pellegrino and was thinking about excusing herself to go inside, out of the heat for a while. Her thumb was stuck in her paperback copy of "Infinite Jest", which she had been reading when Jack had first joined her. Maureen had closed the book in order not to appear rude, but was unwilling to set it aside completely, believing Jack was merely indulging in a brief conversation with her before continuing on with his day elsewhere. Now her thumb was feeling compressed from the weight of the pages. She should find a piece of paper to use as a bookmark. But Jack's monologue had seemed to peter out, ending with a pensive sigh, and Maureen was thinking that the conversation was almost over. It was then that Allison came up from behind them, and Maureen didn't see her face until she had collapsed onto the end of Maureen's deck chair. If Maureen had had her legs stretched out, Allison would have been all but sitting in her lap. Fortunately for Maureen, she had been sitting up sideways in her chair, and so it was as if Allison was simply joining her on a low-slung, canvas-covered love seat.

Maureen looked over at Allison and realized that she was on the verge of tears. Startled, she put her book and bottle down on the table next to her, freeing her thumb at last. "Allison? What is it?"

Allison held her hands up and gasped. "I lost the ring."

"You lost it? Do you mean you can't find it?"

Allison shook her head slowly, and now the tears began to come. "I was fiddling with it. Oh god, Maureen, I was fiddling with it, you know how I do that?"

"Sure."

"And then it slipped out of my fingers. I dropped it."

"And now you can't find it."

"No."

"Okay. Don't panic, Allison. Where was this?"

"No, I mean, that's not it. I dropped it, and it bounced. You know? It bounced, and I was bending down to grab it. I was trying to be quick, because I was standing right next to the railing, watching the wake."

"Oh, no."

"But it bounced, and then ..." Allison looked down at the deck and her hands fell to her sides. "And then it went over the edge."

"Oh, dear." Maureen carefully drew Allison towards her in a hug.

Allison sobbed against her shoulder. Then she drew up, nearly hitting her skull against Maureen's chin. "We have to stop the boat."

"What?"

"We have to ask them to stop the boat. It would just be for a moment. Oh, I can't just let it go, Maureen!"

"Oh, Allison. They're not going to stop the boat for a piece of jewelry." Maureen tried to look sympathetic, realizing belatedly how her words might sound.

Allison was crying freely now. "It's my engagement ring, Maureen! It's not just a piece of jewelry!"

"I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

Jack shook his head and spoke up. "Actually, I'm not sure they could stop the boat safely, out here. I seem to remember hearing something about the engines. Don't they have to be docked in order to start the engines? Something like that. So you see, if they did stop the boat engines, way out here in the middle of the ocean, there'd be no way to start them again."

Allison looked at him incredulously and snapped, "That's ridiculous."

"Well, I ..." Jack looked a bit taken aback. He sipped at his Bloody Mary contemplatively. "It's possible that I'm misremembering what I heard. Still, these boats aren't simple things, you know."

"That's ridiculous. If it was a person who'd fallen overboard, they'd stop the boat and go save them."

Maureen still had her hand on Allison's back. She patted it gently and said, "Allison, I'm sure you're right, but your ring isn't a person."

"I know that!" Allison fairly shouted. "I'm just saying they could stop the boat if they wanted to!"

"Well, and it's not just the importance of the thing," Jack said contemplatively. He was now staring at the pool, as if it were a proxy for the ocean in his thoughts. "A person will stay afloat for a while. Even if they can't swim, at least a little while. A ring can't float. Especially not a gold one. No doubt it's already deep under the waves by now." He half chuckled to himself. "Perhaps it's been ingested by a fish already, mistaking its sparkle for the scales of another fish."

"Don't be hateful!" Allison snapped at Jack.

Jack looked up, surprised at Allison's angry countenance. "I didn't mean to ... I was just going to say, perhaps that fish will get caught and your ring will get discovered."

Allison looked at Jack as if he had produced a baby octopus and suggested she use it to wipe away her tears.

Maureen said to Jack, softly but with a firm tone, "I don't see how that would help. I rather doubt her name and address was engraved on the ring."

Now Jack looked annoyed. "I know that. But it's still better than imagining in the mud at the bottom of the ocean, isn't it?"

Allison suddenly grabbed her purse and began rifling through it. "Oh, the both of you just shut up! Stuff your mouths with cotton or something!"

Maureen said nothing, shocked by how much these words hurt her feelings. She was taken with a desire to protest, to point out that she had been trying to get Jack to stop talking along those lines, not goad him further, and so didn't deserve to be tarred with the same brush, so to speak. Only her natural reticence prevented her from embarking on what could only end in an embarrassing scene.

Allison emerged from her purse with her cell phone. She seemed to be concentrating furiously as she pressed a familiar sequence of buttons.

Maureen sighed. "Allison, you know that won't work."

"No."

"Yes, you do."

"No, Maureen, I mean look. I have bars!"

Maureen frowned. "You do?"

But Allison didn't show her the cell phone display. She was already holding it to her ear. "Thomas?"

Jack looked at Maureen quizzically. "I was sure they said that cell phones simply couldn't work out here."

"Thomas?" Allison was shouting.

Maureen opened her mouth but wasn't sure what to say that wouldn't make Allison look foolish. "I thought so too," she finally said.

"Thomas, are you there?"

"Maybe there's some kind of satellite connection? I don't know. Do cell phones do that? Or is that extra?"

"Thomas! Where are you? I lost the ring, Thomas!"

Maureen looked at Allison. She wanted to speak, but not if Allison actually was on the phone. "Is ...?" was all she got out. Allison didn't seem to notice.

"Can you hear me? Where are you?" There was a long pause. And then Allison suddenly threw the phone away from herself. "Rats!" It slid across the deck coming to rest inches away from the pool. Allison collapsed in silence, her head in her hands.

Maureen tentatively put her hand on her back again. "Allison, let's just get up and go look for him. I'll come with you."

Jack quietly put down his drink, stood up and walked over to retrieve Allison's cell phone.

"We'll find him soon enough. There's only so many places he can be."

Allison didn't move or make a response.

Jack returned to his seat. He handed the cell phone to Maureen, apparently a bit reticent to interact with Allison again just yet. Maureen stole a glance at the cell phone's display. The words NO SIGNAL were clearly visible.

Suddenly Allison looked up. "Mom! Where's my phone?" She looked over to the pool. "Oh, god, it went into the pool!"

Maureen held out the phone. "Take it easy, Allison. It's right here."

Allison looked at Maureen with surprise. "How did you ...?" She left her sentence unfinished and took the phone. "Oh no!" she wailed. "It's gone again." She held the phone in both hands and stared at it hopelessly. She said, calmly this time, "I shouldn't have thrown it."

Out of the corner of her eye Maureen saw Jack twirl his finger next to his ear, apparently for her benefit. She studiously ignored him. "Come on, Allison. I think I know where your mother is right now. Come on. I'll come with you."

Allison didn't move for a long moment. Finally, she put the phone carefully back into her purse. "Okay, Maureen." She stood up, shouldering her purse and brushing down her sundress with mechanical motions. "Thanks," she finally added.

Jack smiled sympathetically as Maureen put down her water and stood up. "All right, I'll see you around, I guess. My sympathies, Allison."

Allison nodded perfunctorily at him. "See you later."

"Good luck."

Allison looked at him. "With what?"

Jack looked confused for a moment, and then nodded as if agreeing with her. "Nothing. Later."

 

Maureen and Allison eventually bumped into Vanessa, and the two of them had gone back to their shared cabin. Maureen accompanied them back to their cabin door, then excused herself politely and walked back to her own cabin.

Maureen turned the hall corner. Up ahead a man was standing in front of her door. He had one hand on the doorknob. Was he trying to force it open? Maureen couldn't quite see from this distance.

"Hello?" she said. "Can I help you?"

The man didn't react at all. He continued to stare at the door. Maureen walked closer. The man was slender and dark-skinned. A baseball cap, large sunglasses, and a dark beard obscured his facial features. He was dressed in white: white shirt, off-white shorts. Maureen noticed a pale stripe around one wrist in the shape of a wristwatch.

Abruptly the man turned and walked down the hall, away from Maureen.

Maureen now saw that the man hadn't been at her cabin door, but at the next one over. She frowned. She didn't really know the people next door, except by sight. They had nodded at one another a few times, but that was about it. The amn was probably a friend of theirs, and she had just found him looking suspicious when she thought he was standing in front of her cabin.

The man rounded a corner in the hallway and was out of sight. A moment later there was a sharp "Oh!" of a woman's voice. As Maureen extracted her key card from a pocket, a woman walked around the corner, staring hard at the way she came. She had graying blond hair and a sour expression that reminded Maureen of Mrs. DeGraf, a joyless math teacher who begrudgingly taught introductory algebra in seventh grade. Maureen hadn't given her a second thought in decades and she felt a bit uncomfortable as this woman faced her with a frown and said, "That man just walked right into me without saying a word!"

"Uh," Maureen felt briefly compelled to try to explain the scene that had played out just beforehand, and then realized that this woman would likely not care.

"He did it on purpose!" she added. Her expression was a mixture of outrage and shock. She gazed pointedly at Maureen upon saying this, and Maureen found her unsure of what she was expected to say.

"I'm sorry to hear that?" Maureen hadn't intended to make it sound as a question but it had come out that way.

"What are you sorry for?" Her tone bordered on contemptuous. Evidently Maureen had not given the proper response. The woman continued, "It's just these people!"

"What people," Maureen asked stupidly.

"The people on this deck. They are all rude, and inconsiderate!"

Maureen felt her face flush slightly. Without stopping to consider her reaction, she replied, "I know exactly what you mean. Just now I had a total stranger walk up to me and insult me and all my friends. She'd never met me before or anything."

The woman scowled. "Do you —"

Maureen cut her off. "You know what though? Unlike you, I don't blame her deck. No, I don't think the place where she sleeps is responsible. I place the responsibility for her rude behavior squarely with her." Maureen quickly unlocked her cabin door and went inside. She had hardly known what she was going to say before she had said it, and now, having heard what she had said, she knew full well that the conversation could only get worse from there. Maureen was not someone who enjoyed putting people in their place, nor did she enjoy hearing other people do it. But she had to confess, if only to herself, that she had found the way she had handled that exchange to be rather satisfying.

 

After her shower, Maureen stared at herself in the bathroom mirror as she combed out her hair. The sunlight brought out some rather nice highlights in its otherwise solid brunette color. If only it weren't quite so thin, it wouldn't lay so flat on her skull. But Maureen had ostensibly given up worrying about her looks when she turned thirty. For some reason she had felt that she had become too old to waste more than a few minutes per day on such things. She had been plain, she was still plain, and that was obviously not going to change. And it was time to stop wasting time thinking about such things. And hopefully, her peers would also be starting to feel the same way as her. And maybe they could all stop worrying about their appearance at once.

Maureen put down her brush and looked at her upper lip more closely. There was just the hint of the threat of a moustache there. If only her hair weren't so dark, it wouldn't even be a question. It wasn't even noticeable yet, really, but Maureen worried that one day she would forget to keep checking, and the next day it would surely start grouwing out. As long as she kept an eye on it, she was probably okay until menopause.

Maureen lowered her chin, stretching out her upper lip to get a better idea of how long the individual hairs were. She then used her hands to pull her mouth wide. Impulsively she stuck out her tongue. Laughing, she pulled her eyes down and gave herself a hangdog look. That was her favorite face to make.

Maureen sometimes felt that she had still not done anything worthwhile with her life. But as long as she could still pull funny faces, she felt she still had potential. She was just waiting for the right moment for it to be tapped.

There was a loud series of knocks on the door of her cabin. Maureen looked over her shoulder at the door.

"Maureen!" It was Allison's voice.

"Coming!" Maureen checked herself in the mirror one last time, and then exited the bathroom and answered the door.

Allison was smiling a wide smile, clearly excited. "Maureen! Look!"

"Allison, hi. Do you want to come —" she said, a bit flustered by the energetic greeting, and then saw what was going on. Allison was holding out her left hand for her to see her fingers.

"You — you found the ring? Allison, how?"

"No!" Allison said, nearly shouting. "That's not it. It's a new ring, see?"

Maureen stared at the ring, but she couldn't see how it appeared any different from the engagement ring she had seen before. However, she wasn't sure her memory of the ring was particularly clear. Finally she looked up at Allison. "So what happened?"

"Oh, Mom left Thomas a message at his cabin, and he came by an hour later when he got the message, and I was so worked up, I could hardly tell him what happened. I thought he'd be so mad, or upset, or he might think I had insulted him. But instead he took me straight downstairs to the jeweler's shop and he bought me a new one! He didn't even blame me for what happened. Oh, Maureen!" Allison suddenly looked as if she was going to melt from the emotional whirlwind she was in.

"That's wonderful, Allison. You must be relieved."

Allison jumped forward and gave her friend a hug. "I'm so happy right now!"

"Allison," Maureen said, putting her arms around her friend, "I'm very happy for you too, but we should be quieter if we're going to continue standing in the hallway."

"I know, I know," Allison said. She stood back again. "I need to go, Thomas and I are having a special dinner together in his cabin, and he's waiting for me. So I'm not going to see you at dinner, but I'll see you later this evening, probably. I just couldn't wait to come and tell you."

Maureen smiled. "Okay. Okay, you go have a wonderful dinner. I'll see you around this evening."

"Bye, Maureen!" Allison waved, and then flitted back down the hallway.

 

"Hello, room service."

"Hi. Can I just get a small serving of the dinner meal brought to my cabin?"

"It's dinnertime now, ma'am."

"Yes, I know. That's why I thought I should eat dinner now."

"Dinner is being served in the dining hall right now."

"Right, but I'm just not in the mood to eat in the dining hall. I just don't have a thing to wear."

"That's fine. And we'll be more than happy to bring you a plate, ma'am, but it won't be available for another hour, after the meal has been served."

"Oh."

"We also have the usual menu available right now, ma'am, if you'd rather not wait. Would you like us to bring you spaghetti? The sauce is very fresh right now."

"Well, that does sound nice. All right, I'll take a spaghetti meal."

"We will be there in just a few minutes. Thank you and have a wonderful evening."

"Thanks."

 

"Hey there." Allison was walking up to where Maureen sat.

"Maureen. What are you doing sitting out here so late? Usually there's nothing for you once the sun goes down." Allison stood next to Maureen's chair.

"Oh, I like the nighttime, too." Maureen pointed up at the sky. Directly in front of her was a thin crescent moon, squatting low on the horizon and looming over the waves. "The moon's real pretty tonight."

"It's a harvest moon," observed Allison.

Maureen frowned. "Can it still be a harvest moon if nobody's around harvesting anything?"

"Sure, why not." Allison moved over to the next chair and sat down, positioning herself sideways on the chair to more directly face Maureen and sitting bolt upright instead of relaxing into the chair's back.

"And when you look away from the moon, like over at that part of the sky," and here Maureen pointed off to the right, "there's just a million stars tonight. The skies must be unusually clear tonight."

Allison stared out at the sky in silence.

Maureen finally said, "I was just on my way back to my cabin, to get changed out of my dinner clothes, and I saw this chair, and for some reason, I don't know why, I just felt like sitting down in it. I think it's the same chair that I was sitting in this morning right before lunch. Maybe that's why I sat down in it. Maybe some part of me thought it might still be warm."

"Warm? Like from your body heat still?"

"No, warm like from the afternoon."

Allison's bemused expression contained a frown. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No, it doesn't make any sense."

"If anything, it'd be colder because —"

"I already said it doesn't make any sense, Allison."

"Okay. Sor-ry."

"Anyway, for whatever stupid reason I sat down in this chair, and almost right away I noticed that the sky was extra pretty tonight. And so I thought I'd just sit here and enjoy it for a while. And then I thought, I'll just sit here and enjoy it until I get bored."

"And you haven't gotten bored yet." Allison finished.

"No. Although to be perfectly honest I haven't really been thinking about the sky very much for the last five minutes."

"What have you been thinking about?"

Maureen shook her head slowly. "Nothing in particular." During this enitre conversation she had barely looked at Allison, preferring to keep her gaze pointed at the stars. "When you came over, I guess I was thinking about what I would do next when I got up."

Allison laughed.

"It's funny, but I'm also serious. I figured I would sit here until I got bored, but then I thought, if I'm bored and I decide to stand up and leave, where am I gonna go?"

There was a silence.

"Well, where were you going before you decided to sit down in the first place?"

"To my cabin."

"Right, to change out of those clothes."

"Yeah, that's true," Maureen conceded. "I could do with getting out of these clothes." Pause. "I think I don't like this shirt, actually."

"It looks very nice on you," said Allison.

"Yeah, I think I agree with you. But the neck is too tight. It bugs me. Especially when I'm eating. I keep imagining the food in my throat getting stuck trying to squeeze past the neckline."

Allison closed her eyes briefly. "Oh dear, what an image."

"So yeah, a change of clothes would be good." Maureen continued to sit still. "But then what?"

"Do you need to know now, before you change into comfortable clothes?"

"I guess not, no." Pause. "I just need to know before I get out of this chair."

A drinks boy walked up to them. "Can I get either of you ladies anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks," said Allison.

Maureen shook her head no, and the young man nodded deferentially and walked away.

"Well, you could help me pick out some new clothes for my gift registry."

"That sounds like a time and a half, Allison, but this time I'll pass, thanks." Maureen grinned. Allison knew full well that Maureen didn't care much for clothes shopping. Sometimes she could be coaxed into helping Allison shop for clothes, just for the novelty of how easy it was for Allison compared to herself. But other times it just brought out her curmudgeonly side, and she would become impatient and want to leave.

Allison said with a playful air, "Well, if clothes shopping doesn't grab you, then maybe you'd rather help me address envelopes."

Maureen groaned theatrically. "Isn't there an evening bingo game downstairs?"

"Yeah, I think that's tonight. But why would you want to go to that?"

"I don't know, Allison," Maureen confessed. Her voice turned speculative, "It just sounds interesting."

Allison finally decided to relax into her chair. She sat back so that she too was facing the sky. "It sounds very boring, you mean. You've said so yourself, Maureen. So have I, or if I haven't said it's because it hardly needs to be pointed out. That's why we've never gone to it. Maureen, it's bingo!"

Maureen waved a dismissive hand at Allison. "I know. I know. And I'm sure I'd probably be hating it five minutes after I got there. But I'm just not sure why."

"Why?"

"I mean, why is it so popular, if it's so obviously boring? I mean they have bingo games almost every night. And they must be well-attended, or else why would they hold them in the Aquarium Lounge?"

"It's mostly older women, Maureen. I guess they don't have anything else to do."

"Is that what we're going to be like when we get old?"

"I rather hope not," Allison said testily.

"So what's different between them and us? Is it just age? Will we change our minds when we get older?"

Allison shrugged. "It's possible, I suppose. I mean, I do a lot of things now that I thought were boring when I was twelve."

"I've done things that I thought were boring the day before."

"I can top that. Thanks to all this wedding planning, I'm doing things all day that are indisputably boring." Maureen laughed. Allison added, "But that doesn't count, because I'm doing them for a good reason. I don't know what reason there is to play bingo."

"Neither do I." Pause. "I guess I thought if I attended, I might be able to see what their reasons are. Because they have to have some reason. And if I knew what it was, I would be prepared for it when I got old."

"So you could avoid that fate yourself?"

Maureen shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe it would turn out to be a good reason after all, in which case I wouldn't be worried about it anymore."

"What is it about the night sky that makes people turn so philosophical?"

"I guess part of me just wants to go do something different. Go see something I haven't seen before, learn something new about people."

"Is it just thinking about the astronomical distances that makes people think about their place in the world?"

Maureen thought about that. "Probably. That or something close to it."

"Does that mean that before we knew how big and far away everything was, people didn't turn philosophical when they looked at the night sky?"

Maureen thought about that. "That seems unlikely."

"Evening, my lovely lady friends! Enjoying the view?"

It was Jack who spoke. He had walked up from behind, and was now standing directly behind their chairs, looking downwards at the tops of their heads.

Allison craned her neck to look up at him briefly. "Evening, Jack. We were just stargazing."

"Ah! An excellent night for it. I recall reading that Mars is in conjunction with the moon tonight."

Allison frowned. "So does that mean that Mars is going to be eclipsed by the moon?"

"No, not tonight, though that would also be as a conjunction. In this case it just means that the moon and Mars will be within one degree of each other."

Allison examined the area around the moon. "How far is one degree?"

"One-360th of the sky."

"Yes, Jack," Maureen put in, "but how much is that?"

"Hm, I'm not really sure offhand."

Allison said, "Yes, it is less than a moon away? For example."

"Let's see: Ninety degrees is a quarter of the sky. Forty-five degrees is an eighth ..." Jack fell silent as he held out his hands to point to various positions on the horizon. Maureen and Allison said nothing, enjoying the return of the quiet.

Finally Maureen asked, "What's important about Mars being one degree away from the moon that it has a special name, anyway? In reality Mars and the moon aren't anywhere near each other."

Jack muttered, "Well, the term is a holdover from astrology, where it probably did mean something. Like, your mother is going be killed by a berserk foot soldier or something."

Allison giggled briefly, then suddenly said, "Hey, Maureen, I know what you should do tonight!"

"Oh really?" Maureen perked up at Allison's excited tone. "What's that?"

"Some friends of my mother are going to hold a seance. We could go and help them conjure up ghosts."

Jack scoffed audibly. "Oh, please don't tell me you believe in such things."

Allison glared up at Jack. "Oh, don't be a wet blanket."

"But it's just a lot of brain-damage."

"Even if it isn't real, it's still fun to try it out and see, Jack."

"Half of the problems in the world today are due to people indulging themselves in superstition. It's not fun when people fight wars and kill each other over things that don't even exist."

"Oh, and you know everything about everything, don't you?"

"No, but I know that ghosts do not exist." Jack stopped there, but then added, "And if they did, they wouldn't hang around a cruise ship waiting for someone with a Ouija board to hold a slumber party before trying to communicate."

Maureen said, "Okay."

Allison looked at her. "Okay what?"

"Okay, let's go. You're right, it's a great idea. I said I wanted to try something completely different, didn't I? And since Jack here is so certain that it's a waste of time, it'll probably be fun."

Allison smiled broadly. "That's the spirit. Let's go!"

Maureen got to her feet. "I'll go change clothes and meet you back at your cabin?"

Allison said, "Sure thing. I'll be there."

Jack put in, "Then I guess I'll see you both at the seance."

Maureen stared. "What? You're going to this too?"

"I am."

"Just because we're going?"

"Not at all. I'm going because I'm extremely curious."

Allison folded her arms. Maureen was annoyed at this, for one of the reasons she had decided to go was to get away from Jack and his pontificating. Allison, however, seemed more amused than anything. "And just what makes you think we'll invite you along?"

"I don't. But my mother is also going to this little event, and she asked me this afternoon to come along with her."

 

The seance was taking place in one of the small meeting rooms. They were probably not much used during the evening. The room was a little sparse and corporate in its ambience, but most of the chairs had been folded and stacked to one side, the whiteboard had been rolled into a corner, and the long rectangular table had been pushed into the center of the room, and at one end its matte white surface had been covered by a large square of bright purple silk. A woman dressed in bangles and a scarf was sitting before it, and Maureen was amused to see that she had laid out a number of Tarot cards in an asymmetrical pattern upon the silk, and was now discoursing at length to the other people there about what each card meant.

"Now this is the Three of Swords." The card reader pointed with one finger at a card near the center of the layout. Her fingernail had been painted a rich green color. "It represents heartache, lost love, you know, all those things we don't want. You probably could have guessed that one from the picture." The woman smiled. "You probably didn't need my help to figure that one out."

Maureen craned her neck to see. The card showed a large red Valentine's heart with three swords buried in it. The background showed a raincloud.

"Now the card is reversed here. That can mean a reversed meaning, as I mentioned before, so in this case that would be fulfillment, right? Found love instead of lost love. However, it can also be an intensifier. And now see, because of where the card is in the layout, it's in the past, it's talking about the near past, I would tend to say that the intensifier is the more likely interpretation. This wasn't a crush that just fizzled out. It was big love, maybe even The Big One, the Love of your Life, and he broke your heart. He left you, or he cheated on you. The reason I say that is the position. Because in my experience the Tarot doesn't spend a lot of time talking about past happiness. When we ask it to tell us about the past, we're usually thinking about the things that we wish could have been different. Because we don't come to the Tarot deck asking for help in dealing with happy memories. Am I right?"

The card reader held out her arms and mugged a bit, and the women in the room laughed appreciatively at her comment. Maureen looked around and had to admit that part of Jack's condescending description had been essentially correct: He was the only man in the room.

"Of course, there are no hard and fast rules when it comes to the Tarot, you know. You will sometimes see reference to good things in the past, and this is when the Tarot needs to refer to those things in order to set the context for the rest of the cards. There are only a dozen cards here, after all, and that's not a lot of room in which to say things. So the past card will sometimes indicate a sphere of activity in your life, one that's been important in the past and either still is important or about to become important again. And then it influences the interpretation of all the other cards in the layout. You can have a layout that seems to say one thing when you only look at the future cards, but then when you take the past into account, it all means something different. Maybe even a lot different. Here's where it can become very important to talk to the querent, the person who requested the reading, and see what they think the cards would want or need to be saying."

Maureen looked at the others. Everyone else seeemed to be listening closely. Was this a class in how to read Tarot cards? Maureen was realizing that she found the idea of this a whole lot less intriguing than attending the seance. She had expected dark lights, holding hands in a circle and concentrating, people jumping at random little sounds that were probably there all the time but you never heard before because they were so quiet. Instead she was in a narrow room listening to a lecture on fortune-telling.

But desite herself, Maureen started to find herself drawn into the woman's explication of how to find meaning in the Tarot layout. It wasn't really what she had been expecting, but then her main goal in coming here anyway was to experience something different. And that was certainly what she was doing.

And then, the woman looked up from her layout and said, "Well, we could go on all night about this. Why don't we put the cards away for now, and we can get started. I assume this is everybody we're expecting? Hi," she said, looking directly at Maureen, "I'm Arianna."

"Oh, hi. Nice to meet you. Maureen." The table was just a little too long to make shaking hands convenient, so instead Maureen pointed to her left and said, "And this is my friend Allison. Have you met Vanessa already? Allison is Vanessa's daughter."

"Oh yes. How lovely to meet you, both of you." Arianna's attention moved to the table, where she was gathering up her Tarot cards. The cards were oversized and it seemed to Maureen that Arianna could barely get her small hands with their birdclaw-like fingers around the scrambled piles. "I'm an old friend of Terri. Do you know Terri?"

Arianna stared at Maureen, and she felt a little flustered. "I don't know. I guess not. Allison, do you know who Terri is?"

Allison shrugged indifferently.

Arianna put down her deck, the cards still not quite even, and put a hand in one pocket. Maureen saw that, contrary to her expectation, the woman was wearing blue jeans. "Anyway, Maureen, I'm a professional medium." She pulled out a clip of business cards, removed one and handed it to Maureen. "My specialty is prognostication of various sorts, but I'm also quite accomplished at forging connections with the non-material universe." She said this with a very serious face, as if she were applying for a job interview. She emphasized the word "forging", and she interlaced her fingers together as she said it, hands held before her as a visual aid.

Maureen glanced briefly at the business card. Besides the usual small print there was a full-color picture of a Tarot card, showing a man holding up a test tube. No, that must be a wand of some sort. But Arianna was still talking, so Maureen slipped the card into a pocket in her shorts.

"Anyway, I'm very glad that the two of you were able to join us." Arianna picked up the corners of her square of purple silk and began wrapping up her cards. "We have nine people tonight, and I think that our combined energy will be more than enough to make something interesting happen."

Maureen wondered why this woman was addressing all of this directly to her. Maybe she had already gone over it before, and thought she needed to bring Maureen and Allison up to speed with everyone else?

Allison looked around the long white table. "Should we try to get nine chairs set up so that they're all spaced around the table equally?"

Arianna leaned down and put the cards into a large leather bag sitting on the floor beside her. The entire surface was densely decorated with large spiralling shapes. After a moment of rummaging around in her bag she poked her head up, eyes wide, as if only just realizing that Allison had been talking to her. "Oh, no. I think we'll just let everyone move their chairs in to where they're comfortable. It'll be a tight squeeze to get everyone in and I think some people are going to have to sort of ... improvise their reach." She smiled and drew forth a large flat rectangle from her bag.

It was a Ouija board. Maureen stared. An actual Ouija board, complete with the Parker Brothers logo in the corner.

Suddenly Maureen noticed that Jack was standing behind her. He muttered, "And after this, we can play Truth or Dare."

"Oh, shut up, Jack," Maureen muttered back.

Jack snorted softly.

Maureen moved over to Allison and drew her away from the table. She whispered, "I thought you said this was going to be a seance?"

"That's what mom said it was."

"A Ouija board?"

"Well, let's not knock it until we've tried it."

"It's made by Parker Brothers, Allison."

"Maureen, just go with it, okay?" Allison smiled broadly at the group, in case anyone had noticed them whispering by the wall, but the only one looking their way was Jack. The others were moving around trying to get close to the board without getting in each other's way.

"Okay," said Arianna. "This is called the planchette." She brought out of her leather bag the familiar plastic white heart shape with the circular window, and then carefully placed it in the center of the board. "Now I want you all to try and make room for each other. People with long arms, move to the sides. Here, Jack was it? Jack, you stand over here." Arianna put her hand on Jack's midsection and gently guided him over to where she was standing. Next to Arianna, who Maureen guessed couldn't be more than five-foot-one, Jack seemed even taller than he was.

"And here, Maureen, you stand over here, opposite Jack." Again she came over and gently guided Maureen to where she wanted her to be. Maureen found it a little unnerving to realize it had been a while since someone had so casually touched her like that.

"The idea is to allow everyone to get one finger onto the planchette. Try to just touch it with the tip of your middle finger. On the edge. Like that. On the edge. Don't touch it in the middle area. It's too hard to avoid accidentally pushing it when you do that, and then the whole thing just falls apart. I know it's hard for some of you having to reach over, but try to just rest your finger lightly on the planchette. Don't put any weight on it. And make sure your finger is in contact with the top, not the side edge. The top."

By bending over and reaching out, Maureen could rest the tip of her middle finger atop the edge of the planchette as instructed, but it was a slightly precarious position, since she had to lean over so far, and she guessed that she's be hard pressed to keep her finger in contact just so if and when the thing started moving around the board.

Allison wound up at the middle of the table, standing behind the women who were seated directly before the board. She was leaning over them and reaching between them to touch the planchette. She looked over at Maureen and winked.

Jack said, "Trying to keep in this position is doing my carpal tunnel syndrome no favors."

Maureen shrugged with her free arm. "You didn't have to come."

"Didn't I?" Jack responded in a cryptic voice.

Arianna got up and walked over to the door. Was she leaving? No, she was just turning off one of the banks of lights. This left the room only slightly darker, but Maureen felt it was a definite improvement in the ambience. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, she thought.

Arianna came over and stood at the far end of the table. "Since it's so crowded by the board I think it would be best if I remained over here. I'll be outside of the board's immediate environment, but still attuned to it, and if we're lucky I may be able to help draw influences in toward us from here."

"Like a lightning rod," one of the younger women around the board suggested.

Arianna nodded. "Yes, like a lightning rod."

"Oooh, this is exciting!" the young woman exclaimed.

"That's the spirit! Enthusiasm, I like to see that. All right now. Everybody clear your minds." Arianna stared up at the ceiling and began to talk in a low, rolling voice that was almost hypnotic. "Think about the planchette, but don't think about it as a tool, as something for you to manipulate. Instead, try to think about it as a place. A place that you happen to be standing in now. If it helps you to concentrate at first, close your eyes for a while, but only at first. Your eyes need to be open, not for you to see, but for the spirits to see through you. Just as your finger touches the planchette, not for you to control it, but for the spirits to be able to reach out through you. Clear your minds. We're listening for influences. We're waiting for any spirits who wish to communicate with the material plane. If any such spirits are present, let them know that we are here, and we are listening."

All through this, Maureen could feel her arm start to tire. In her experience it didn't usually take long for the planchette to start moving. Maybe it was harder to get started when there were more people involved?

"We are here. And we are listening."

The young woman who had spoken up earlier suddenly let out a brief squeal, apparently unable to keep her excitement contained. The sudden sound caused a brief stir of amusement around the table, and even Arianna smiled briefly, but then she took a loud, long breath and repeated, "We are here." She exhaled slowly and said, "And we are listening."

"Something better start happening here," Jack muttered to Maureen, but in the quiet of the room, it wasn't too hard to make out his words. Arianna seemed to guess at what he said, anyway, for she chanted in her slow voice, "Patiently, we are waiting patiently for a sign."

The planchette jumped sideways a half inch. The young woman squealed again, her eyes wide. The planchette moved back again. Then, as if had slipped its leash, it began to slow, soft, steady glide across the board, ending up hovering over the area of the board marked YES.

"What's it pointing at?" asked one of the people on the other end of the board. "The sun? What does that mean?"

"No, it's not the point. You're supposed to look at what's in the window thingy. See, it says yes."

"Oh, okay. I was all, the sun? Is it supposed to be Jesus or something?"

Arianna said, "Okay, girls, don't let yourself get excited. It can be exciting, I know, but right now —" here Arianna inhaled theatrically "— stay focused. Concentrate. Be in the moment, and just let whatever happens happen. Okay?"

To Maureen's surprise, this worked. The squealing woman did not squeal, instead she stared intently at the board, her eyes as big as saucers. There was the sound of slow breathing, but little else. Since the planchette was now on the side of the board nearest them, even Jack and Maureen were able to relax a bit.

Arianna waited a moment, as if for a signal from the group, and then she smiled. "Very good. Okay. Here we go." She stood tall and said calmly, almost conversationally: "Is there a spirit present among us?"

Everyone's eyes turned to the planchette. After a few seconds it moved to the center of the board, hesitated, and then slid back again. YES.

"Spirit, do you have a name?"

As if scripted, the planchette repeated exactly its previous movements. YES.

"Spirit, please tell us your name?"

Now the planchette moved at a more obtuse angle. It seemed almost to shiver, but it came to a halt over the letter D. There was a long moment, and then it moved again, gliding over to the other side of the board, so that Maureen and Jack both were forced to anbandon their contact with the planchette. Maureen stood up, deciding that perhaps now that the thing had gotten started, she could stand back as an observer. Her arm ached, as did her back.

The piece of plastic had been angling upwards, but then started moving back down to the lower row of letters again. One of the young woman said, in a quiet voice of awe, "How does it do that?"

Jack stood rubbing life back into his hand, and moving his fingers experimentally. "We move it subconsciously."

Maureen gave Jack a dirty look and muttered, "Don't be rude." She glanced up at Arianna, who was ignoring the conversation.

"She asked a perfectly good question," Jack muttered back. "It would have been rude not to answer it."

Maureen turned back to the board. The planchette had stopped on the letter U. There was a gasp from one of the others. The planchette moved again, back towards Maureen, and she saw the letter P under the window. And then there was a scream, a high-pitched scream, too loud for the enclosed space they were in. It immediately set off a few secondary screams of fright, and even Maureen had to hold down an instinct to hide. The planchette jumped off the board as various people flinched, and wound up with one leg on the table.

"Holy cow, Betty! You screamed right into my ear!"

"Duppo! That was Duppo! Ohhh my god...!" It was the squealing woman who was Betty, who had just screamed.

"My ear is ringing, Betty. You did this. To me."

Vanessa spoke up, her hand held to her forehead, "No, dear, actually she did it to all of us." Her expression was severe, but her voice betrayed some amusement.

"But that was Duppo! We were talking to him! Sarah! He's dangerous."

"What, he could have taken us all down to hell or something?"

"I don't know but neither do you!"

Arianna had pulled a chair up to the table and was now sitting down, looking stern. "Betty. Who is Duppo?"

"Duppo. We were talking to some of the other passengers, and they told us that there was a poltergeist that lives on the ship."

"A poltergeist?"

"I maybe be permanently deaf in one ear, thanks to you Betty."

"The workers all know about Duppo, because it lives in the one storage unit type area that they have to go through to get stuff." Betty waved a hand to indicate she didn't really didn't have the details on this particular part. "But none of the passengers know about Duppo, because it's in a part of the ship that's off limits to passengers. But these guys knew about it because they were friends with some of the people who work in the kitchen."

"Go on," Arianna said.

Betty paused. "What else did they say, Sarah?"

"Oh Betty, I don't know. I didn't really listen to them at the time. I thought they were making most of it up just to get a reaction out of us."

"Oh Sarah!" Betty turned her attention back to Arianna. "Duppo was this guy who used to work for the ship, but somehow he died while he was working. And the cruise line didn't have insurance on him or something, so his whole family went broke and starved. And so now Duppo lives on the ship, and he haunts the spot where he was working when he died. And all the other people on the ship avoid that spot, because they say that if you hang around that spot, Duppo will appear —" and here Betty's voice dropped to a near-whisper, for the young woman was nearly intoxicated with the effect she knew her story was about to have "— and anyone who looks and sees him, dies instantly."

Sarah said, a bit loudly, "Betty, if you believe that, you're ignorant."

Betty slapped her friend on the arm. "Oh god, Sarah, I can't believe you just said that to me."

Arianna put out her hands. "Girls, please, don't talk to each other like that. Not when we might be in the presence of spirits."

Sarah turned to Arianna. "Look, I really don't think those guys were what you'd call reliable witnesses."

Arianna shook her head briefly. "Regardless, someone was here. You saw the planchette move."

Sarah thought about this, but said nothing.

Arianna continued. "I'm afraid we've probably lost the moment, with all this uproar. But let's give it a try anyway. If you could all touch the planchette again, just like we did before."

Grudgingly Jack extended his finger once more, as did Maureen and the others. Arianna recited her chants and breathed in and out like the wind, but as she predicted, nothing more occurred. The planchette remained rooted to its location at the center of the board. Betty's face showed that she had misgivings about attempting to reintroduce contact, and seemed relieved when they quit.

After a time Arianna said that there would likely be no more activity this session. "I'm sorry that this turned out to be so short! We should definitely try again another night this week. I think we can recapture the proper environment." Arianna pulled an apologetic face. "If anyone's interested, I'm always happy to talk some more about the Tarot."

Some of the women stayed to talk with Arianna, or perhaps with Betty, but Maureen was all too ready to leave, and she was glad to see that Allison didn't intend to stick around either. Vanessa and June chose to stay. Jack left the room very soon after Maureen and Allison.

"I don't think Madame Arianna was happy to see me standing around waiting for mother, so I'll just wait out here."

"Well, you were a little rude to her in there," Allison observed thoughtfully.

Jack spread his hands. "Oh, nonsense. I wasn't rude in the least. I behaved like a perfect gentleman."

Allison said, "Perfect? Come on. A perfect gentleman doesn't —"

"Doesn't what?" Jack challenged.

Allison finished, "— doesn't denigrate other people just for keeping an open mind."

"I said nothing directly," Jack responded mildly.

"Oh, I know, you didn't come right out and say that we were stupid for playing with a Ouija board. You just implied it."

Jack remained silent for a moment. Maureen put in quietly, "Hey, if we're going to discuss this at length, maybe we shouldn't do it right in front of the door where everyone else is?"

Allison began to resume walking back, but Jack didn't move. "I'm waiting for mother."

"Well at least let's walk over here a ways. You can still see when June comes out." Maureen moved to where Allison stood.

Jack walked over to them, and then held out a finger as he said. "Okay. Imagine that a bunch of people are sitting around waiting for a parrot to give them a message about the future. When the parrot says Polly want a cracker, one of them who was an aunt named Polly decides that she must be in financial straits and starving, obviously. If she then says aloud, How does the parrot do that? and I answer, The parrot is just reciting memorized phrases and knows nothing about your aunt, would you still say that I was being rude?"

"You're going out of your way to make other people feel foolish."

Jack considered this gravely. He and Allison stared at each other. In the light of the fake tiki torches, Maureen coulod imagine that she was witnessing a moment that symbolized the great clash of physics versus metaphysics. Of course, Allison almost certainly knew far more about actual physics than Jack did, it having been one of her majors in college. As far as Maureen knew, Jack had never even attended college.

Jack finally said, "When people are behaving foolishly in a public place, and don't realize it, at what point does it become rude to tell them that the are being foolish?"

Allison shook her head. "Oh, Jack, you poor man."

"No need to be patronizing."

"I can't give you a hard-and-fast rule that would answer your question. All I can say is that most of the adults around you have little trouble figuring that out for themselves. You're a bright guy, I'm sure that you could do it too if you wanted to."

Jack nodded, as if admiring the wisdom of her reply. "You're right; I'm not sure that I do want to."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm glad that we found a point to agree on. I'm going back to my cabin now, so I'll see you tomorrow. Maureen, you coming?"

"Yeah. Good night, Jack."

"Good night, ladies. I'll give mother your wishes. Until next time."

Maureen and Allison took a ladder up to the middle deck. Once they were outside again, with the sky set out before them, Maureen found the events in that cramped room were already losing what little sense of mystery they had. The experience had been a bit unnerving at the time, largely due to the volume of Betty's scream but also to the general nervousness that had pervaded the room by the end. Now, though, outside again and with the multitude of stars in the sky, Maureen found herself unable to take the Parker-Brothers-mediated interaction too seriously.

"Well, that was certainly something different," observed Allison.

"Yes. Yes it was. Which is what I asked for, wasn't it?"

"Yes, indeed. You can't say I didn't deliver."

"And you know, I'm glad we went. It was nice doing something different." Maureen nodded, and looked up at the moon. "And that event satisfied my craving for novelty for the next month."

Allison chuckled at her friend, and the two of them retired to their respective cabins for the night.

 

Wednesday

Allison suddenly sat up in bed. "Oh god!" she cried out. She tried to look around but it was pitch dark in the room. The moon was on the other side of the sky.

Vanessa mumbled something into her pillow.

Allison began fumbling on the wall above the bed. "Turn on the light!"

Vanessa pulled her head up then. "No, Allison. Do not turn on the light!"

"But —"

"Allison, are you having a nightmare?"

Allison put her hands over her face. "Mom! Oh god. I think I just had a nightmare."

Vanessa put her head back down. "I'm sorry, dear. Go back to sleep now."

"I dreamed that Allen Ginsberg was chasing me. He was babbling!"

"Go to sleep, Allison."

"Mother, I can't just forget that this happened to me!"

"It didn't happen to you. It was a dream."

"Well, I meant that the dream happened to me."

"Allison, I love you but I'm going to strangle you with your pillow if you don't let me sleep. Now count to 100 slowly, and then lay down and go back to sleep. If after that you still feel that you need to be worried about Allen Ginsberg, I give you permission to wake me up."

Allison took a deep breath. "Oh. That's probably good advice. Sorry. Good night, mom."

"Good night, Allison."

 

"So I had this terrible dream, Maureen."

Allison was sitting with Maureen and Jack at a luncheon cafe. Jack had finished his lunch some time ago, and was now sitting and reading The Shipping News.

"Really? Did it involve a dam? Or spiders?"

"No. What in the world makes you ask that?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to change the subject. Go ahead."

Allison picked at her muffin. "I don't know. I hate nightmares. You wake up from them but they don't really go away." Allison pulled a raisin off of her muffin and put it in her mouth. "Even now I still feel weird."

"Well, what was it about, dear?"

"I'm not sure. I think ultimately it was about my anxiety over the wedding plans, but that wasn't what it was mainly about." Allison tried to remember the details that had seemed so vivid when she was sitting in her bed in the darkness. "I was being chased by Allen Ginsberg."

Jack suddenly put down his newspaper. "Allen Ginsberg? Really? That's a coincidence. I had a nightmare about Allen Ginsberg once. Only he wasn't chasing me. He was up on a stage, doing the beatnik thing, you know, reciting this poem that had lots of yelling and parts that sounded like scatting."

"He was yelling at me in my dream, too," Allison said, wrinkling her brow to remember.

"I was just a boy when I had this dream. I think I had seen a documentary about the Beat Poets and I had incorporated those images into my dream. He was yelling and scatting, and his words were like this wind that was blowing so hard into my face that I couldn't even exhale properly." Jack suddenly breathed in sharply three times in a row, to demonstrate the effect of trying to breathe out in a gale. "And finally I shouted out his name: Allen Ginsberg!" Jack actually shouted, which caused most of the other people around them to turn their heads. "And when I said that, he understood that I was telling him that I knew who he was. I knew his name and I was capable of saying it alound, and since as he well knew names have power, this imbued me with a certain amount of control over him, and I was threatening to exercise that power now in order to get him to stop yelling and making it hard for me to breathe. And I knew that this was a lot for two words to communicate, but of course I knew that Allen Ginsberg was a genius at understanding things in context. And sure enough, he immediately stopped reciting his beat poem, but he wasn't happy about it. I could see that quite clearly. He made this snorting noise through his nostrils, and I could see actual wispy tendrils of steam come out of them." Jack's eyes widened excitedly as he remembered the fear he had felt as young man, at the time of the dream.

Allison scowled. She had lost whatever sense she had had of remembering her own dream by this point.

"And that's when I woke up."

"I don't think Allen Ginsberg was breathing steam in my dream."

Jack leaned back in his chair again. "That would have been quite the coincidence if he had, eh?"

"I just remember being scared."

Jack opened up the newspaper again. "It's weird how a dream can stay with you for years. Isn't it?"

 

The middle of the afternoon. Maureen sat down in an empty deck chair and leaned back. She stared straight up at the sky. It was vividly blue. It always was, but for some reason she never completely got used to it. To the north was a flock of clouds, curving in a gentle arc that suggested a great circle, one that if completed would disappear over the horizon. For a moment she felt a wave of vertigo, sensed herself plastered to the surface of a film of liquid trapped between a giant rocky sphere and its envelope of gases, cooked by the giant white fireball that hung motionless to her left. In that moment she could sense the speckled blackness that was hidden by the incadenscent air, invisible but only a scant handful of miles away, indescribably colder than anything else could ever be, and only these tenuous gases to keep freezing death away from her.

Maureen shivered, and with that involuntary motion the vertigo disappeared, and she was once more lying on a canvas deck chair in the middle of a tropical ocean. She inhaled deeply of the warm air and gently wiped a thin film of perspiration from her forehead.

 

Maureen entered her cabin and sighed. It was time to get dressed for dinner.

Dinner was always served in the main dining hall. Of course, there were other places on board where one could go for evening meals. Lounges, snack bars. Down in the shopping level the boutiques were interspersed with delis and little bakeries. And of course there was always room service, which offered pretty much anything one might want at dinner or any other time. But the evening meal was more than just dinner; it was a social event. If you skipped it without advance warning, your tablemates noticed, and would ask after you later on, and if you just shrugged it off, saying you didn't feel like going and left your explanation at that, people would be unsatisfied and look at you worriedly for days afterwards. Maureen had learned that, even on days when she wasn't feeling sociable, it was better to just go and then leave early.

And eating in the dining hall naturally meant getting dressed for the occasion. The dress code was a strange version of semi-formal. Open-toed shoes were forbidden, unless they were women's heels: a ridiculous contradiction in Maureen's eyes, but one that she had learned to live with. No shorts: long pants, skirts, or dresses. Though the dresses could be as short as fashion permitted: another silly contradiction. Shirts and blouses could be short-sleeved, but not sleeveless. Shoulders had to be covered, was the rule.

Maureen was just glad that she was allowed to wear pants. She had a set of lightweight, tweedy-looking slacks which had enough of a feminine cut to avoid drawing attention without making her feel like she was in drag. Once in a while there would be a special occasion and the dining hall would require formal wear. Maureen hated those days, since it pretty much required her to wear a black dress and tights.

She had worn nylons once only, and had developed a run along the back of her left leg within the first fifteen minutes. She had had to wear them like that for the hour or so, until she could stand it no longer and excused herself. A complete waste of money, and she looked far more ridiculous than if she had worn nothing on her legs. And she had spent the rest of the evening by herself. Never again, she had decided.

And yet, there were occasionally days where she rather liked the dining room's strange little dress code. On some days it was nice to have an excuse to dress up. And/or to see everyone else dressed up. The older folks in particular Maureen found interesting to watch. There was such an air of decaying civility about their lonely tufts of white hair and liver-spotted skin, appearing from within perfectly tailored tuxedos and ballgowns from a previous era of fashion.

She looked at herself briefly in the mirror and verified that nothing was seriously amiss on her face. Maureen left her cabin and walked down to the lower deck, and from there to the staircase that formed the entrance to the dining hall.

Unlike the narrow and steep passages on the decks, the entrance to the dining hall was a broad, comfortable set of dozen stairs, and not even the crew would think of referring to it as a ladder.

The dining hall was very large, as it needed to be to be able to accommodate the entire complement of passengers. An immense chandelier hung from the center of the room, like an upside-down palace made of crystals and Christmas lights. Maureen often thought, as she did today, that a smaller chandelier would have been a better choice. On a cruise ship such an object was symbolic of hubris, and it seemed that Hollywood disaster movies almost always had a giant chandelier that comes crashing down at some point.

At least there were no tables directly underneath it. Instead, the center of the dining hall was reserved for a pedastal upon which typically sat an ice sculpture, whose edges would slowly blur during the course of the evening meal. However, if the chandelier were to fall, Maureen was pretty sure that she and several people would get hit by one of the outermost arms of the structure.

As it happened, she was the first one of her table to arrive. One or two other tables had a full set of passengers already there. Otherwise the room was dotted with stray diners like herself seated at various tables and waiting for company. Tonight's ice sculpture was of a couple of oversized birds, standing at least as tall as Maureen herself. They looked much like the brown birds she had seen hunting for insects on the Barbados golf course.

The busboy at her table saw Maureen approaching and quickly pulled out her chair. He grabbed her napkin and unfolded it with a flourish. Each table had its own busboy, maitre'd, and somnelier. And since you always ate at the same table in the same group of six people, everyone at a table quickly got to know everyone else.

Maureen vaguely disliked the constant attention and fawning assistance that was required of the waitstaff, but it was an abstract dislike, based more on principles than an actual desire to do without their thorough and attentive service.

It was also nice, on days like today when Maureen was the first to arrive, to have someone to chat with. The busboy's name was Antonin, and he had been working on various cruise ships since he was eight. He had seen a great deal of the world, not just its tropical tourist attractions, but also parts of Alaska and South America. He was married, and his wife also worked on a cruise ship as a maid, but they currently worked for different lines, and so only saw each other when one or the other could arrange a vacation at one of the other's ship's ports of call.

Maureen found this arrangement very strange. Antonin readily admitted it wasn't really ideal, although he didn't seem to think it was that unusual. Talking with Antonin made Maureen wonder how she would feel towards the idea of marrying if she knew that she would only see her husband (or whatever) for a few weeks a year. Would marriage seem less dangerous, or would she consider it even more pointless than she already did? She couldn't decide. In any case, it was Antonin's longstanding hope to get her a job on the same ship as himself, and he routinely had hopes of this or that job opening up at a time when she would be available to come apply for it. It had yet to happen, but apparently jobs came and went rather frequently, and it seemed that at any given time he had one or two irons in the fire.

Maureen had only been seated for a minute or so before she saw June walk down into the dining hall.

"Good evening, Maureen," said June sweetly as Antonin held out the chair, two seats to the right of Maureen.

"Hello, June. Where's Jack?"

June gestured shakily back behind her. "My son is on his way. He bumped into one of his friends — I think it was one of the people he plays shuffleboard with — and told me to go on ahead without him. So. What's for dinner tonight?"

"I haven't looked yet. I think scampi is the main dish," said Maureen. It seemed that, no matter how well you knew each other, dining hall conversation had to start off by anticipating the food.

"Oh dear, Vanessa won't be thrilled about that." Vanessa was allergic to most seafood, as everyone at the table already knew quite well, since seafood was almost invariably part of at least one course every night. But the maitre'd was also well aware of Vanessa's allergies, and always had an agreeable substitution or alternate dish ready for her. So it wasn't really anything that one could much get upset about. Nonetheless, it seemed that the food had to be discussed before anything else, and Vanessa's allergies was a topic ready at hand.

"I'm sure there'll be something on the menu for her."

"Oh, I imagine you're right." June rearranged the silk wrap on her shoulders. Maureen thought it a little ironic that June frequently wore dresses with spaghetti straps, and then covered her shoulders with large silk shawls that flowed down her back and constantly threatened to glide noiselessly off onto the floor throughout the evening. Maureen supposed that June liked them because they were dramatic-looking, and they gave her hands something to do.

"I was sorry you didn't join us for dinner last night. I wanted to ask you about that last night at the seance, but we never really had a chance to talk."

"Oh, that's certainly true. What a strange experience. Strange I mean in a good way. It was fascinating, don't you think? The things she told us about the Tarot cards were so interesting."

"I actually missed most of that. I arrived late." And left early, Maureen thought to herself.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. You would have found it so interesting, I'm sure. I think at our next port, I am going to go out and find a Tarot deck I can buy for myself. I'm eager to give it a try.

"Speaking of: Did you go ashore to see Barbados yesterday afternoon?" Maureen asked.

"Barbados? Oh my." The busboy reappeared and placed a basket of bread in the center of the table. He then scurried around to fill June's water glass. "I was thinking about it most of the day. The day before yesterday I mean. I was thinking to myself: June, you should take advantage of the opportunity. I mean, when you consider it Maureen, this ship goes to such interesting locations, you know."

Maureen nodded. "Yes. Yes, it does."

June laid one hand flat on the table as if she were trying to reach out to Maureen. "It really is a chance to see a part of the world you wouldn't see otherwise. And it's not a chance that's given to everybody."

"No, it certainly isn't."

"And so I thought, what a shame to come all this way and not take the last step?"

"Indeed!" Maureen said heartily.

Jack appeared at that moment, and sat down in the chair between Maureen and June. "Good evening, Maureen."

June continued. "But then yesterday morning, I woke up with this headache, and it simply will not go away."

"Oh."

Jack reached for the bread in the middle of the table. "Be sure and drink lots of water with your meal, mother."

"I took aspirin, I tried lying down in my cabin with the lights off, I drank fluids. And when lunchtime came around and the ship pulled into harbor, my head felt the same as it did when I woke up this morning."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Maureen offered.

Jack held a knife in one hand. "Could you pass the butter, Maureen? Thanks so much."

"So I just said, June," and here June made dismissive shooing motions with her hands, "There's no sense in going ashore if you can't take care of yourself while you're there! So I took a nap instead, and I daresay it did some good. I felt much better by the evening."

"Oh, well, I'm glad to hear that."

"Unfortunately it came back in full force when she woke up today," Jack added. He turned to Maureen. "Just don't tax yourself tonight, mother, and I predict you'll be back to normal by tomorrow morning."

"Don't fuss over me, Jack. I've every intention of doing as little as possible tonight. It's so frustrating," she continued in Maureen's direction, "you spend all afternoon in bed asleep, and in the evening you're more tired than you would have been if you'd stayed awake."

Maureen smiled chummily. "It's ironic, isn't it?"

There was a moment of silence as June sipped at her water, and Jack said, "So, Maureen, did you do anything interesting while you were in Barbados?"

"That's just what she was about to mention when you arrived, Jack."

Maureen nodded. Close enough, she thought. "I did, I did. I played golf, in fact. My first time. I managed to get through about three holes before we stopped."

Jack chuckled briefly. "I take it golf wasn't quite your cup of tea?"

June elbowed her son. "Cup of tea? Oh, that's terrible, Jack."

"No, I guess it wasn't really, but it was interesting anyway. At least now I can say that I've tried it. And at the golf club we bumped into an old friend from college."

Jack frowned. "What do you mean, terrible?"

"Really," June exclaimed. "How lovely. Does he live in Barbados?"

"She, and no she doesn't. She was on the Royal cruise ship, which was docked at the same time as we were."

"What a coincidence," Jack observed. "Serendipity and all that."

"Oh, I just love it when things like that happen. Did you end up spending the whole time getting caught up?"

Maureen shrugged noncommittaly. "Sort of. She and Allison wound up going out clothes shopping together. So I went off and took a walk around the city. Saw some of the sights."

"It's a very busy place," Jack observed. "Barbados is a much larger place than the last island we visited. Which one was that?"

"Oh, isn't it fun to go out clothes shopping in a foreign town? Don't you just love it? You get to see the most interesting range of fashions, and afterwards you have some new clothes to remind you of the time you spent there. You can never forget a place when you're wearing something that you bought there, that was made by the people who live there."

Herve, the maitre'd, stood opposite the three passengers and spread his arms. "It is well after six. It is almost six thirty. Where is everybody?"

Maureen looked over at the entrance. "Look, here comes Allison. That makes four. I'm sure she'd agree with you, June." Maureen felt vaguely relieved not to have to directly respond to June's statement.

"Mother, what did I say that was terrible?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just reacting to your little pun is all. Good evening, Allison."

Allison walked round the table to her usual seat, diametrically opposite Jack and equidistant from Maureen and June. Allison was wearing a bone-white dress with lace bordering the neckline and around the cuffs. Allison had tied a bright paisley-covered scarf around her waist, below which the dress hung in a bell shape down to her knees. Her cheeks were flushed and she wore dangly silver earrings.

Allison stood to one side as Herve held out her chair for her, then scooted it in behind her. As Antonin floated her napkin into her lap and filled her water glass, Allison smiled broadly round the table. "Good evening June, Jack. Maureen."

"Evening. That's a fine outfit you've got on tonight. Is it a special occasion?"

Jack responded to Allison's greeting with a simple nod.

"Oh, Allison, don't you look just beautiful. Isn't she lovely, Jack?" June did not wait for him to respond. "Allison, are those earrings new? I don't think I've ever seen them before, and they're really quite striking."

Allison touched one earring gently. It looked like a tiny feather boa, made of silver feathers that tangled in her straw-colored hair. "Yes, I bought them yesterday in Barbados. I took one look and just knew that I had to have them."

Maureen had to admit that June was right: Allison did look beautiful tonight, mainly because she was smiling from ear to ear. You just couldn't feel anything but kindness towards someone who smiled at you like that.

Jack said nothing, but Maureen could see from the way his eyes stayed focused that he was feeling the effect of Allison's glamour.

"Well, isn't that a nice story. Now, Maureen was telling me that you met an old friend from when you were in college."

"Yes, Katie. She was the reason I was out shopping in the first place; did Maureen tell you that? We bumped into each other, and we were just starting to get caught up and such when Katie says I need to excuse her because she needs to go clothes shopping before her boat leaves. And so I came along, and we went clothes shopping together. I promised myself that I wouldn't buy any clothes, because with the wedding coming up and all I just don't need any new clothes, and I just don't have the space for it either." Allison laughed gently at herself. "Earrings, on the other hand: those are a different matter." She delivered this line with just enough self-deprecation to show that she was a little embarrassed at this evidence of her own weakness for trinkets.

Maureen noticed Herve standing quietly behind them. "Allison, where are the others?" Thomas usually came to Allison and Vanessa's cabin to accompany them to the dining hall.

Jack had finally taken his gaze off of Allison. "What pun, Mother?"

"Oh, you know what pun. Golf not being Maureen's cup of tea."

Allison turned in her seat to face Herve, "Thomas won't be dining with us tonight, Herve, so there'll just be five of us. My mother is on her way down. She'll be here any moment." Herve smiled and murmured his thanks, and then headed for the kitchen.

Maureen watched Herve weave efficiently around the various clumps of passengers as more and more people filtered in to take their seats. The ambient noise level had gradually risen since Maureen first arrrived, and it had now reached its usual level for the evening. As usual, Maureen hadn't noticed the change. She turned back to the table. "What's up with Thomas?"

Jack looked at his mother with a confused expression. "I didn't say that. I said golf wasn't her forte."

"No, you said cup of tea. Allison, is something wrong with your lovely boy?"

Allison said, "Thomas is feeling a little funny. It's nothing, really, just a touch of nausea. I think he's still having a time of adjusting to the sea air."

"That's a shame." Maureen was briefly tempted to say something about Thomas's health, but she refrained. She was a bit worried at her own desire to make fun of Thomas's little weaknesses. It wasn't like her, or rather it wasn't like her image of herself, and she suspected that the impulse was motivated by something less than honorable.

"Mother, if I had said cup of tea I wouldn't have had to ask you to explain my own pun to me; not that I had intended to make one in the first place. But forte would have only worked as a pun if we had been talking about pianos."

June's everpresent expression of equanimity was shadowed by just the hint of a scowl. "Please don't be so argumentative, Jack. You did say cup of tea. If you hadn't then why would I have said anything to you about a pun? Allison, Thomas is a fine young man and I'm quite sure that he'll be feeling fit as a fiddle in no time."

"Thank you, June." As Allison said this, Herve and Antonin returned with the soup course. With practiced efficiency they placed five bowls of soup around the table, and Antonin set down a little plate covered in various kinds of crackers. "I expect it's probably just something he ate."

"Maybe he has a touch of seasickness," Maureen suggested, then wished she hadn't. The cruise ship plowed through the ocean like a tank going across a beach. Only in the stormiest weather did anything like a rocking motion really become evident. Maureen reminded herself of her intention to not make fun of Thomas needlessly.

Jack slurped noisily at his soup. "Remember that one evening when that storm hit and they wouldn't even let us out on deck until the next morning? I almost got seasick that time. I was sitting in the bar downstairs, and everything just kept tipping slightly one way, then the other, but there weren't any windows so everything still looked upright. After five minutes or so I started to feel like I was going to throw up before the night was over."

June rolled her eyes. "Oh, Jack my love, don't discuss regurgitation at the dinner table just as the food arrives. I raised you better than that."

"Ah." Vanessa slipped easily into her seat, between June and Allison. "Hello, everyone, and apologies for my tardiness. Allison, thank you for covering for me."

"Oh, I didn't do anything, mother. Herve is all talk. In reality he dotes on you."

Maureen frowned at Allison, but she was looking down on her soup bowl. Herve was standing nearby, at his usual post, waiting for a sign from one of them that something could be improved with a little attention from him. Maureen stole a glance at him, but if he had heard Allison's comment, he gave no indicator.

Jack reached for a cracker and crumbled it into his soup. "Eat your soup, mother. Fluids."

June sighed and picked up her spoon. "Yes, Jack my love," she replied in a singsong voice that was mellifluous enough to sound sincere. Jack scowled sideways at her anyway.

Vanessa exclaimed, "Pepperpot soup. Oh, I adore the pepperpot soup here. They really know how to make it. Is something the matter, June?"

Allison said, "Well, we can take heart that if Thomas were here, his soup would just be going to waste anyway."

Maureen reflected once more on the fact that Thomas and Vanessa seemed to have nearly opposite tastes in food. Thomas loved seafood and hated spiciness. It did not seem a good omen for the future relationship of man and mother-in-law.

Jack answered Vanessa, "Mother's had a bad headache all day. I'm trying to keep her from making it worse."

June shook her head, "Oh, it's not so bad, really. It just won't go away, is all."

Vanessa looked at her. "Oh, that's a shame. And you're not usually prone to headaches, are you?"

Allison said, "Which probably makes it worse, doesn't it? Because you're not used to them? I had this one pre-med teacher who used to always say that naturally thin people were less healthy than fat people, because the thin people never have to eat well to stay thin, so they never learn to stop eating junk food all the time."

Maureen said, "On the other hand, thin people don't damage their heart with weird fad diets, so maybe it evens out in the end." Maureen had recently read that rapid changes in weight, in either direction, were bad for the heart. Maureen realized it might be no more reliable than the rest of of the mountains of information out there about weight and health, but she had been unable to stop thinking about it while Allison was on a rather severe diet in order to look good for her wedding.

Jack shook his head. "I'm not really able to see how all this dieting talk relates to headaches or my mother."

June tsked. "Don't be rude, Jack. If you don't like the topic of conversation, then suggest a new one."

Vanessa said, "You know what I find does wonders for a headache, June, is one of those sports drinks. Normally I avoid those silly beverages, but I tried one once when I had a terrible headache and I was ashore and the only thing nearby was this hotel? In the lobby they had one of those little convenience stores, and the only things they sold were sports drinks and soda pop. I mean they didn't even have any bottled water, not any kind. And of course I wasn't about to drink the local water from the water fountain. I already had a headache; I didn't want to give myself dysentery as well."

"You wouldn't get dysentery from drinking the local water, mom," Allison said gently.

"Well, in theory you could," Maureen observed, "but it would be pretty unlikely in this day and age."

"Unless we sailed to certain parts of Africa," Jack put in.

Antonin started collecting their bowls. June put her hand on the table next to Vanessa's place. "Never mind them, dear. Finish your story."

Vanessa smiled, "Thank you, but there isn't much else to the story. I purchased the sports drink out of sheer desperation, since I certainly didn't want any soda pop. And my headache cleared up almost at once. It was really rather startling how quickly the effect happened."

Allison smiled. "If it was really that fast, then it might have been partly psychosomatic, mom."

Maureen laughed to herself. "Allison, don't contradict your mother in front of other people." This was an old joke, the origin of which even Maureen could no longer recall the details.

Jack leaned back in his chair and frowned to himself. "The problem is, there are so many different possible causes for a headache. A remedy that is effective for one case might do nothing for another."

"Well," June said in a tone of mock reproach, "I at least appreciate your help, Vanessa. And it certainly can't hurt to try. First thing after dinner, I'll order one of those sports drinks from room service."

Vanessa was looking behind her when June said this. She was looking at Herve's usual station next to the table, but at the moment he was back in the kitchen. Vanessa turned around and addressed the table. "What's the main course today? I forgot to look."

Allison crunched an ice cube in her mouth. "I believe it's pot roast today."

Maureen said, "I thought it was scampi."

Jack shook his head. "No, scampi is what's planned for dinner tomorrow. Today is ... eh ..." Jack's gaze wandered up to the ceiling.

June sniffed, "Well, as long as it's not that Maasai dish, I don't care. I'm not choosy, but I didn't like that."

Vanessa frowned. "Maasai dish? When was that?"

Allison said gently, "June, I think you mean Masala. Maasai is a tribe in Africa."

Maureen nodded. She remembered that June hadn't much liked the Indian food. She had found it strange-tasting, and "too gooey". Thomas hadn't cared much for it either. Maureen had thought it was excellent. Maureen said idly, "I wonder if there are any cruise ships that visit India."

Jack stared at her. "That would be a very long cruise, unless you started out somewhere like Sri Lanka."

June looked at her son thoughtfully, "Now where is Sri Lanka? It's somewhere near Ceylon, isn't it?"

Vanessa said, "I was in India once, many years ago. Eric wanted to go and so we spent a week there. The countryside is beautiful, but it's an ugly place otherwise. People living in terrible conditions everywhere you look, and the whole caste system is just shameful."

Allison looked at her mother in surprise. "You never told me about that before. You spent an entire week on vacation with Dad?"

A man shuffled up to the empty chair between Allison and Maureen. He was dressed in a old brown suit, fraying a bit at the edges, complete with a plain brown tie that was marked with a faint stain. He wore small round wire-rim spectacles and a week or two of untrimmed facial hair surrounded a lopsided grin. On his head was a fedora, a couple sizes too small for his head, and pushed back to expose his high forehead. "Excuse me, folks. I don't mean to be presumtuous, but I couldn't help noticing that you have an empty chair. We have a visitor at our table, and he's being rather impolite to me. I don't mean to intrude, but I just thought it would be a good idea to separate myself from him for a little while. My name is Hugo, by the way. Hugo Hill. Would you two lovely young ladies be offended if I sat down next to you for a few minutes?"

Maureen gave Hugo a critical look, but had to admit to herself that the short, thin man seemed utterly harmless. Still, she thought there was something unlikely about his reason for being there. She looked over at Allison, but Allison was scooting her chair over to make room for Hugo, and apparently had no qualms about the visitor. Maureen looked at Hugo, who had apparently directed his question at her, and said in a neutral voice, "I don't suppose Thomas will mind."

Jack stood up, catching his napkin in his left hand and extending his right. "Greetings, Mr. Hill. I'm Jack Wood. Call me Jack. And this is my mother June."

June smiled rosily and twiddled her fingers in a wave.

Vanessa said, "We'd love to have some new company, I'm sure. I'm Vanessa, Mr. Hill, and this is my daughter Allison."

Allison patted her hand on the table. "Don't just stand there, Mr. Hill. Have a seat. My fiance isn't dining with us, so this chair is free. We'll just let Herve know to bring another soup."

"Call me Hugo, please. Only my students are allowed to call me Mr. Hill." Hugo smiled broadly, and a network of creases appeared around his eyes and mouth. He pulled out the chair and sat down. "But please, don't make the boys run around any more than necessary. I've already had all the soup I can stand. Right now I'm looking forward to the main course." Hugo leaned back and sighed. "I was about to just retire to my cabin, and beg room service to bring me a little slice of the pot roast — I adore pot roast — but then I walked by your table, and I saw your empty chair. And I thought, those people seem so friendly. They would probably make much better dinner companions."

Maureen raised an eyebrow at such indulgent compliments. Maureen was always suspicious when a stranger described her as friendly. Maureen knew perfectly well that she didn't look especially friendly, and in her experience such comments were an inept attempt at flattery. But, she realized that the compliment had been directed at the table in general, not just her. So she smiled politely and kept her ungracious thoughts to herself.

Jack said, "I'm glad to have another man at the table. It's hard enough for two men to steer the discussion to something besides flowers and clothes shopping. By myself it's completely hopeless."

June gently slapped Jack's arm. "Don't talk about your own mother like that."

Vanessa said, "Ignore him, June. He's just trying to needle us."

Allison turned to Hugo, broadly indicating a change of subject. "Mr. Hill, you mentioned students. Are you a teacher?"

"Well, I do teach. That is to say, I stand up in front of rooms of young people and give lectures. But you'd have to ask my students whether I'm justified in calling myself a teacher." Herve and Antonin appeared at this point with their giant tray and a stand, which they set up at the usual location behind Hugo's chair and delivered the dinner plates around the table. Herve had already noticed Hugo's move to their table and had brought a sixth plate. It was indeed pot roast, and for a time the conversation was underlaid with people quietly sharing impressions of the food to each other, and requests to Herve for salt and other condiments. The pot roast was cooked perfectly, not a bit dry and with a glaze that had a hint of molasses in its flavor.

Hugo continued, "In reality I'm an archaeologist. Well, I'm a professor of archaeology and history. I'm afraid at this point in my career I don't do much field work. But that may change."

Maureen perked up. "You don't say? Do you study the paleolithic era?"

Jack laughed at the abrupt specificity of her question. "Me, I'm only interested the late paleo-Jurassic era." Maureen glared at Jack, who failed to notice. Maureen couldn't understand why Jack sometimes chose to openly mock the people around him. He seemed to think that being considerate was an interesting idea, and useful, but wasn't a reason to pass up a good zinger.

"Be nice, Jack," June murmured. To Hugo she said, "How fascinating? Do you actually go on expeditions to look for things buried in the ground?"

"Do you own a bullwhip?" put in Vanessa with a grin.

Allison looked up from her plate and laughed, "Oh, mother, please tell me you're not being serious."

Hugo smiled. "Oh, you'd be surprised how often I get asked that. But yes, I have been on digs. They were even in the desert. Nothing quite old enough to be prehistoric, I'm afraid," he added, looking at Maureen. "My specialty is Assyrian history. You know: Ur. Sargon. Hammurabi. The cradle of civilization." Hugo lazily waved a laden fork in the air. "That sort of thing."

Maureen nodded. She was almost completely unfamiliar with Assyrian history, but she knew enough to recognize the names Hugo had mentioned. "How interesting," Maureen wanted to add something less vacuous than How interesting, but nothing came to mind.

Jack said, "That must be hard work. Digging out in the desert, under the desert sun. Hauling endless amounts of dirt away."

June put her fork down. "Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me tired and thirsty."

Vanessa leaned forward. "So, forgive me for seeming to harp on the subject, but I'll bet you know the answer: Is there really such a thing as the Ark of the Covenant?"

Allison shook her head but declined to comment.

Hugo frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I'm not really up on my Old Testament, but I'm pretty sure that the Ark of the Covenant is really described in the bible. Whether or not there's independent evidence that it ever actually existed, I'm afraid I couldn't say." Hugo leaned to his right. "I'm sorry, I didn't actually catch your name."

"Excuse me, Hugo. My name is Maureen." She quickly rubbed her right hand on her napkin, then offered it to shake. "Pleased to meet you." They shook hands, and Maureen decided that Hugo might be a welcome addition to their table after all.

Jack said, "So tell me: who exactly are the Assyrians?"

June winked at Hugo. "Be careful, or he'll make you give a lecture. Sing for your supper, as it were."

Vanessa perked up. "Sing for your supper. Oh, June, do you remember? What was that woman's name? She had the most beautiful voice, and whenever she did a show, she always began, well folks, it's time to sing for my supper! I used to listen to her on the radio as a little girl."

Allison swallowed some pot roast and said, "The Assyrians were part of Babylonia, right?"

Hugo frowned. "Perhaps you meant Mesopotamia? Assyria and Babylon were both part of Mesopotamia, along with Sumer and several other city-states. But yes, as June points out, I don't want to dominate the conversation by lecturing on ancient history. I'm more than happy to share information about my specialty, naturally, but I'd just as soon listen to what you folks were talking about before I barged in." Hugo held up a hand. Maureen could see that the back of his hand was tanned and flecked with spots. "You know, you spend so much of your life studying one subject, to the exclusion of so much else, and you do it at first because there really isn't anything you'd rather be spending your time doing, you know. But after a few decades, you realize that somewhere back there you got into a bit of a rut, and it occurs to you that there really are other things that you could be doing that would be almost as interesting, maybe even just as interesting. Plus they would have the advantage of being new, or new to you. And you start to ask yourself, how do I get of this rut?"

Maureen quipped, "By your bootstraps," to which Hugo smiled.

"So even archaeology can turn into a grind, eh?" Jack said loudly.

June said, "Oh, well, everyone needs a vacation once in a while. Is that why you're here on the ship? Are you on vacation? I thought at first that perhaps you might on your way to another dig. That would be exciting, wouldn't it Vanessa?"

"Oh, do you remember her name? Help me out, June; this will drive me to distraction."

"Mother, if June knew who you were talking about, she'd have told you already. Do you want your parsley?"

Hugo nodded. "As it happens, I am on vacation. In fact, I'm in the middle of a year-long sabbatical from my professorial duties. My hope is that after a year of doing absolutely nothing of an archaeological or pedagogical nature, I'll either be ready to dive back into my chosen field once more and get caught up on things, or I'll be dreading the idea of going back, and I'll know that I have to find something else to do." Hugo laughed at himself. "Either way is fine with me. I don't care which way it goes, as long as I can figure out which one it's going to be."

Maureen nodded, "No argument there. I would be much happier, I think, if I only knew what I wanted to do with my life. I wouldn't have spent so much time bouncing around from temp job to temp job. If I had had a career earlier on, I might have the freedom now to bounce around, like you're contemplating. Instead I used up all my wishy-washy waffling in my youth, and now I have to focus on a career in order to stay afloat."

Jack harumphed. "You're here on this ship, aren't you? I'd say that's doing a bit better than just staying afloat."

June said, "Oh both of you, stop using drowning metaphors when we're at sea. That's just asking for bad luck."

Vanessa said, "No, June dear, it's mentioning the name of the Titanic while you're at sea that's supposed to be bad luck."

Allison laughed. "Well, I suppose now, whichever one is right, we've got it covered."

Hugo laughed as well. "Bad luck all round!" Herve stepped forward at this, briefly, before realizing that his diner wasn't being serious. "So, Maureen," Hugo continued, "did I understand that the chair I'm currently sitting in is normally occupied by your fiance?"

Maureen nearly choked on her asparagus. "Uh, no. Thomas is engaged to Allison. The woman to your left, not your right."

Jack smirked, and for a moment Maureen thought he was going to make an unkind comment about the idea of Maureen and Thomas being attracted to each other. But to Maureen's relief he said nothing.

June pushed her plate forward, and almost immediately a busboy carried it off. "It's really too bad Thomas isn't here for you to meet him too, Mr. Hill. I mean Hugo. He's such a handsome young man."

"And the two of them together make such a charming picture," Vanessa added.

Allison pushed her plate away, too. Her pot roast was less than half eaten. Herve picked it up and carted it off. "Of course, if Thomas had been here, Mr. Hill wouldn't have sat down and joined us at our table."

"And that would have been a shame for me," Hugo said genially. "Well, congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. I'm sure Thomas considers himself a very lucky man to have your affections. Perhaps by the time of the wedding I will know you all well enough to also be able to attend."

Maureen said nothing, thinking about Allison's uneaten food. She had assumed at first that Allison's diet was just the usual sort of talk, the allure of trying to make everything about yourself perfect for your wedding, and that Allison wouldn't wind up taking it very seriously and would ultimately be too distracted by more important matters to adhere to it rigidly. But Allison had so far displayed an iron will. It had actually become part of the plans: Allison and Vanessa had intentionally had the wedding dress sized too small for her current figure. If she didn't actually lose the necessary weight, she wouldn't fit into her dress. Maureen wasn't sure exactly how much Allison was eating, which made her all the more nervous. She was pretty sure that Allison was sensible enough not to pursue a starvation diet, but then she had been wrong about the diet in the first place. Normally if someone ate so little of their dinner Herve would have insisted on knowing what was wrong with the food and found some way to fix the problem, bringing out an entirely different dish if necessary. But Herve already knew about Allison's diet, and so made no remark as the uneaten food went back to the kitchen. Maureen wondered if the food just went directly into the trash. Or did they have a composting process of some sort, so that it wouldn't wind up taking space in some tropical landfill? And it was a very good pot roast. Maureen typically preferred lighter fare for dinner, especially when she had spent all afternoon outside in the sunshine, but she had admit that the meat was delicious. Allison had never displayed any anorexic behavior since they had first met, which as far as Maureen could tell put her in the minority of their peer group right there. It seemed unlikely that it would show up for the first time now, didn't it? Most anorexics were young enough to not know better, weren't they? Maureen suspected that she was probably being paranoid, but that didn't stop her from worrying.

"No problem. You can come as my guest instead of mother," said Jack with a straight face.

June sighed. "Stop tormenting your mother, Jack."

Vanessa said, "Ignore him, June. Hugo, I'm sure we'd be delighted to have you as another guest. We're planning a large reception, and I've told the caterer to bring lots of extra food, just to be on the safe side."

Allison nodded. "I can vouch for that. It's going to be quite a feast."

Hugo smiled. "When I thought to myself that this was a friendly table, I had no idea how right I would turn out to be." Hugo pushed his plate away, only to have it whisked off in the next moment. "I must say, it's nice to see so much family eating together. At my table, nobody's related to each other. And since we're all different ages, they don't really get along very well. Of course I have lots of exposure to the younger generations in the course of my job, but the other people at the table who are my age just don't seem to have any patience for them. Which is a shame. Now I wonder if you people are so friendly because you still have your family close at hand, or if you have your family close at hand because you're so friendly."

Maureen blinked at this odd little comment, and wondered if Hugo had just put his foot in his mouth, and if so if he realized it yet. With Thomas absent, she was the only person here without any family present, and even Thomas was here with his aunt and uncle, though they sat at a different table. Maureen decided not to say anything. If the rest of the table let it pass without comment, then she didn't need to say anything.

But of course, Jack couldn't resist speaking up. "Well, except you forgot Maureen. She's travelling alone. Maybe that's why she's not as friendly as the rest of us."

June scowled and elbowed Jack in the ribs, half under the table but perfectly visible to everyone.

Vanessa giggled briefly, much to everyone's surprise, "Oh Jack, what a thing to say. You're the one who's not being very friendly.

Herve chose that moment to arrive with dessert, a scoop of cherry sherbet. Allison smiled at Hugo as the glass bowls and spoons were distributed around the table. "Maureen and I are old friends, but otherwise she's travelling without any of her family."

Hugo clapped his hand to his forehead. "Oh my goodness, I didn't mean my comment to come out the way it did. Maureen, I'm sorry."

Maureen tried to sound reassuring. "Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal. I mean, they're still alive and all, they're just not here." Maureen paused a moment. "I assume they're still alive, anyway. I guess I don't really know that. But it seems more likely than not." She carved out a bit of sherbet. The glass bowls had been kept chilled, and they now gave off a lazy fog of frozenness in the warm air of the busy hall. "Or maybe that's just me being optimistic. I don't know." Maureen held the bowl directly under her face, so she could feel the aura of coldness around it. She realized that her disjointed remarks had probably only incited Hugo's curiosity, so she turned to face him and explained, "Several years ago my parents decided they wanted to visit parts of the Caribbean where the cruise ships don't go. So together they signed up to work on a tallship that was heading for the Swan Islands. For a while they stayed in touch by leaving me voice mail messages when they made landfall, but after a while they stopped being reliable about it, and then they just sort of petered out entirely." Maureen tasted the sherbet.

Jack shook his head. "I simply cannot imagine two people having so little concern for staying in contact with their only child." Maureen shrugged to herself. Coming from someone else, such a statement would have been meant as sympathetic to her, but from Jack she suspected it was only meant as a criticism of her parents.

June added, "My goodness. If Jack weren't here with me, I don't know what I'd do. I think I'd shrivel up and die."

Vanessa waved dismissively at June. "Don't say such things, June. You're a strong woman. If Jack weren't here we'd take care of you."

"Indeed. You're almost like an aunt to me," Allison said. Maureen was a little surprised to hear Allison say that, herself, but maybe Allison was just feeling sentimental at the moment.

Hugo shook his head. "I myself have never been married. No children of my own, or anything of that nature. My parents have passed on many years ago. I suppose I'm a bit of a loose thread on my family tree. A dead branch that does nothing but cling to the trunk." He said all this with a patient smile, as if he was laughing at his own words as he said them. "I don't mean to sound as if I'm begging for sympathy here. I just wanted to explain that, having been wihtout family for several years, I may have an exaggerated view of its influence on other folks. I think this is a friendly table because you're just friendly people by nature."

Maureen was tempted to roll her eyes at this gooey compliment, but she recognized that he was also trying to back away from his previous statement that had been accidentally directed at her. So instead she smiled and changed the subject. "This sherbet is really good, isn't it, Jack."

Jack shrugged. "It's okay." His flat statement was belied by the empty bowl before him. "Hey Allison, are you going to eat yours?"

June said, "Jack, if you want seconds, just ask and I'm sure they'd bring you some."

Vanessa said, "Allison, if you don't have any plans tonight, we should go through those patterns and select one."

"Sure. I'm free." Allison said, handing her bowl across the table. Jack stood up so he could reach over the centerpiece.

Hugo turned to Maureen. "And what about you?"

Maureen looked confused. "What about me? Do I have any plans; is that what you're asking? I suppose my plans are to read my book."

Jack dug into the sherbet. "You finish it yet?" Maureen was beginning to realize that one side effect of reading a very thick book is that everyone thought it was funny to keep asking you if you were done yet.

June turned to Vanessa. "It wasn't Judy Garland, was it?"

Vanessa looked up, confused. "Who wasn't Judy Garland? Allison, why don't we go get started now, so that we can finish up and you can enjoy the rest of your night if you want."

"I'm not going to be doing anything later on tonight. If we're going to retreat to the cabin and lock ourselves in while we stare at pattern samples, then I'm not coming out until after I've had a good night's sleep."

Hugo continued to speak to Maureen. "Perhaps you would be interested in taking time out from your book in order to socialize over a drink?"

Maureen frowned to herself. Was Hugo trying to ask her for a date? Maureen shrugged, not willing to commit either way when she didn't know what was on his mind. "I guess that depends on how interesting the next chapter is." At least that elicited a smile from him.

Jack let his spoon clatter into an emtpy bowl. "Wow. That was really good."

June put her spoon down. She had only taken a couple bites of sherbet. "Ugh. Here, Jack, you can have mine, too. This ice cream is not doing my headache any favors."

Vanessa reached over and put her hand on June's shoulder. "Oh you poor thing. Let's get you a hot drink. Herve? Could you bring us a cup of hot tea? Or some coffee if you don't have tea handy."

Allison looked at Maureen. "Wow. Do you remember when we would give ourselves ice cream headahces, but we would keep eating anyway, because it was ice cream?"

Hugo watched Herve disappear into the kitchen. "Actually, a cup of coffee sounds really good right now. I should have asked him to bring me some as well."

Maureen shook her head. She was just about done with dinner for today, ready to leave and find something else to do, even if was just sitting in her cabin and reading a book. "How can anyone drink coffee this late in the evening?"

Jack put his hand on his mother's shoulder, opposite Vanessa. "Mother, are you all right? Is something wrong? What's wrong?"

June was looking down, with her hand over her eyes. She looked up at Vanessa, then slowly looked around the table. June didn't seem to actually be seeing anybody, and Maureen felt a bit unnerved when that gaze fell upon her and then slowly slid off again. Finally June was face to face with her anxious son, whereupon she said, "Jack? It's the strangest thing, but I can't seem to get my eyes to stay focused."

Vanessa leaned forward, her hand still on June's shoulder. "You can't focus your eyes? Do you mean you're seeing double?"

Allison took her napkin off her lap and tossed it onto the table. "Oh, dear. That's not good."

Hugo did likewise. "June, do you think you might have a concussion? Did you hit your head recently? Any time in the last twenty-four hours or so?"

Maureen said to Hugo, "She's been dealing with a headache all day long." Maureen turned around to talk to Herve, but he wasn't anywhere she could see. He must be in the kitchen. Where was Antonin and the busboy? Normally you couldn't get away from these guys.

Jack was holding his mother's face in his hands. "Mom? I want to take you to the ship's doctor. Do you think you can walk there if you hold my hand?"

"Yes, of course," June snapped. "I'm not an invalid, I just can't see straight is all. Please, all of you stop hovering over me. I'm fine. It's just something with my eyes."

"Don't be upset, June. We're just worried," said Vanessa.

Allison was standing behind June's chair. "I don't mean to hover, June, and I don't think you're an invalid. But you must let a doctor examine you at once. Hugo's right when he says that it sounds like a concussion."

"Well, it could be a lot of things. Please don't anybody panic. But better safe than sorry."

Herve and Antonin emerged from the kitchen together, and when they saw everyone crowded together on one side of the table and Maureen waving at them on the other, they came bustling over as quickly as they could. Maureen quickly explained the situation to them both. Antonin went back to the kitchen to use the phone, while Herve went around to June. "Mrs. Wood? Mrs. Wood? Come with me. I will lead you to the foyer, where it is not so crowded. The doctor will meet you there."

Jack interposed himself between Herve and his mother. "I'll lead her to the foyer, thanks."

"I'm not an invalid," June repeated testily.

Herve deferred with a quick nod of his head. "Fine. Fine. I will go first and you, you hold her hand. Okay? Okay." And the three of them moved off to the next room over. June moved cautiously with one eye closed. Jack kept one arm around her shoulders and her left hand clasped in his. To Maureen he looked paradoxically like a mother bird sheltering a recently hatched baby bird from the rain. Herve walked before them, waving people out of the way, while at the same time trying not to draw attention to themselves, lest they make a scene that might interfere with people's appetites.

The four of them remained where they were for a while, watching the others slowly depart, Allison and Hugo standing next to Vanessa, who remained in her seat, and Maureen, who still had her napkin in her lap and was beginning to wonder if it looked funny that she had stayed over on the other side of the table the whole time, when all she was trying to do was not get in the way.

Vanessa broke the silence. "Oh, what a dreadful way to end the evening meal!"

Allison shook her head. "Poor June. I wonder what happened?"

Hugo said, "Well, the important thing is that she's getting examined now. If it is due to a concussion, I'm sure they'll be able to treat it before it becomes serious."

Maureen shook her head. "I don't know that it is a concussion. I mean, she was complaining of having a headache all day. You'd think if she had bumped her head badly enough to give her a concussion, she would have mentioned that when she was talking about her headache."

Vanessa shrugged. "Oh gracious. What if it's an aneurysm?"

Allison put her hand on Vanessa's shoulder. "Oh mom, don't even think like that. It doesn't do any good to stand around and come up with the worst-case scenario when something's out of your control." Maureen agreed with the general philosophy, but she noticed that Allison didn't say that the symptoms ruled out the possibility of an aneurysm.

Hugo rapped his knuckles smartly on the tabletop. "I don't think it's an aneurysm. You don't necessarily have to hit your head very hard to cause a concussion, especially if it took all day for the symptoms to develop. She might have bumped her head when she got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and fallen asleep and forgotten all about it."

Maureen nodded. That certainly seemed like a sensible possibility. "Well," she said, then realized she had no idea what she was going to say next. She just seemed to feel the need to move things along.

Vanessa shook her head. "Oh, I do hope she'll be all right."

Allison said, "Come on, mom. Let's go back to the cabin. You need to stop fretting. June will be all right." Allison gently took her mother's elbow and got her out of her chair. She turned to the others. "I'll see you later, Maureen. Hugo, it was nice meeting you."

Hugo remained standing. "It was nice meeting you as well, and I hope I will also see you later."

Maureen said, "Bye, Allison. Vanessa, do take care of yourself." Maureen paused. What she was about to say seemed so foolish, as if she thought she could see into the future, and yet etiquette all but demanded it. "And don't worry about June. She'll be all right."

Vanessa nodded. "Good night, everybody." And she and Allison walked out of the dining hall.

Hugo watched them leave, and then exhaled noisily and turned his attention so that it was vaguely directed at the center of the table. "Well, what an unexpected and worrisome turn of events. And just as I was getting to know you people. I cannot help but worry that I somehow brought a bit of bad luck with me."

Maureen said flatly, "That's just ridiculous."

"Of course it is. And yet it's amazing, isn't it, how the most ridiculous ideas can be no less tenacious? One cannot find anything to recommend belief in such an idea, and yet it sticks around, like the smell of an old cheese."

Maureen shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose that's true."

"Well, and of course your Herve and crew are preoccupied at the moment. Not that there's anything they need to do for us, for the meal was essentially completed. I suppose that while it may not have been a fitting end to the final meal of the day, it was certainly a decisive one."

Maureen just stared at Hugo. She had no idea what to say to that, and she decided to remain silent and see if any more such comments were forthcoming.

"I don't suppose you've given any more thought to my offer to buy you a drink?"

For a moment Maureen didn't know what he was referring to. The events of the last few minutes had briefly dislocated her sense of time. Then she remembered. "Oh. Well, no Mr. Hill. I don't think this would be a good evening for me."

Hugo nodded, "Well, and of course you have other concerns on your mind than socializing over alcohol. Even I do, though I only knew the woman for less than an hour. It's odd, isn't it? Had June been led out of the dining hall like that only yesterday, I would have looked upon her affliction as unlucky for her and that's all. At most, I would have been grateful that her bad luck was hers and not mine. But now I've met her, I've chatted with her, I've broken bread with her. And so now I am worried for her well-being. Like any decnt human being who knew her would be."

Maureen nodded. She was surprised to find herself in sympathy with his observation.

"The difference a meal makes. Well. All right, Maureen. It was a pleasure dining with you and your friends. I hope to see you again soon, and hopefully under entirely happy circumstances." And with that Hugo walked back to the staircase and left the dining hall.

Maureen remained seated. For the moment she was completely exhausted by the sudden sequence of events. Perhaps she would just sit there until she had a reason to go somewhere else.

Antonin appeared next to her and started picking up the empty sherbet bowls. "Maureen, how are you doing? Can I bring you anything?"

Here was a reason to go: to get out of the way of Antonin and leave the others alone while they did their jobs. "No thank you, Antonin, but I appreciate the offer." Maureen stood up and walked back to her cabin and changed out of her dinner clothes. Then she walked around the ship's decks, and when several minutes later she saw Hugo over by the heated swimming pool, now turned off for the night, staring out at the waves, she walked up to him and said, "I'm feeling restless. Maybe a drink would be a good idea after all."

 

Hugo opened his arms in a gesture of welcome towards the bar. "The Silver Lounge. This is one of my favorite places on the entire ship."

Maureen looked around at the bar as she walked down the two steps to the floor. Dimly lit, it was a busy place. Burning smells were in the air, Maureen realized that the bar was full of smokers. In different circumstances, Maureen might have insisted that they go somewhere else, but right now for some reason she couldn't really see the reason to care.

Hugo selected one of a handful of empty tables and pulled out a seat for Maureen. Feeling contrary, she walked around to the opposite chair, forcing Hugo to sit down in the chair he was holding.

Almost at once a waiter appeared beside them. "Something to drink?"

Hugo fumbled in his jacket pocket. "A Manhattan, if you please."

Maureen suddenly considered ordering water. But she remembered the impulse that had convinced her to come here with Hugo, and decided that if she was going to be here, she should try to enjoy herself. "Gin and tonic."

The waitress smiled and walked away.

Over the current of voices murmuring around them, Maureen heard a familiar clattering sound. She looked around the room. "Is that a roulette wheel?"

"Could be, perhaps. I know they have some card games near the back. Probably roulette as well."

There was a large gambling room on the lower deck, which Maureen had been careful to avoid of late. It seemed like the same people were always in there, at all times of day and night. It was hard for Maureen that they could afford to stay there as much as they did, and finally she concluded that they probably couldn't. It hadn't occurred to her that there might be other places to gamble on the ship.

Of course, here one would have to deal with the smoking. Maureen turned back to face the table, and saw that Hugo had produced an oblong box of dark cardboard from his pocket.

Maureen relaxed into her chair. "I didn't know you smoked."

Hugo looked surprised at this. "Oh, I don't." He opened the box, revealing a neat array of thin, dark brown cigarettes, each with a thick stripe of bright pink around the filter. "Not really," he added, producing a thin gold lighter from the same pocket and taking one cigarette from the box.

"You don't say," Maureen said neutrally.

Hugo looked over his shoulder. A moment later, the waitress appeared with a tray. Arriving at the table, she set two drinks down before them, and Hugo signed the receipt before Maureen could protest. As the waitress retreated, Hugo raised his lighter and lit the cigarette in his mouth. Around it he said, "I only smoke when I'm drinking Manhattans."

Maureen shrugged. "All right."

Hugo picked the box up again. "Besides, it's not just for the tobacco. Look, these are cocktail cigarettes. See? Their scent is really quite enjoyable."

Maureen looked politely at the neat row of cylinders in the half-empty box. The pink stripe rolled evenly across them like Pepto-Bismol applied with a Magic Marker. At the bottom of the box was a small collection of flecks of loose tobacco. Unsure of what she was supposed to be seeing, Maureen smiled at Hugo and said, "Very nice."

"Try one."

"No, thanks. I don't smoke."

"But they're not like cigarettes. You'll like it." As he spoke, a cloud of smoke wafted across the table, and Maureen discovered that the smell was mainly of lavendar, with cigarette tobacco as an undercurrent. It was strange, but to her surprise somewhat appealing.

A sober Maureen would have still rejected the offer, thinking of the smell clinging to her hair and clothing, getting loose in her cabin and keeping her awake until the room was cleaned the next morning.

"All right," she finally said, and carefully pulled a cigarette from the box. Hugo took away the box and flourished his gold lighter. Maureen put the cigarette in her mouth and experimentally inhaled through it. The lavendar perfume tickled the back of her throat, but she suppressed it, realizing how it would look to start coughing on an unlit cigarette.

Willpower mustered, she leaned forward and allowed Hugo to light the cigarette. She inhaled cautiously, keeping as much of the smoke out of her lungs as possible, and then carefully breathing in. She felt momentarily dizzy and breathed out. Lavendar surrounded her as the smoke drifted around her head. The scent wafted up into her nasal passages and seemed to creep into her sinuses. Her head was embedded in lavendar.

Hugo smiled. "See? It's rather nice, isn't it?"

Maureen blinked, not wishing to try to describe her impressions accurately. "It's definitely different, I'll give you that." She picked up her gin and tonic, holding two fingers away from the glass to keep the cigarette filter from touching the damp glass, and took a cautious sip. It was mixed perfectly, and the beverage instantly erased the cigarette taste from her mouth.

Hugo smiled and turned his head to blow a series of tight smoke rings.

Maureen pulled the ashtray towards the center of the table. "So," she prompted.

Hugo raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"You were saying ...?"

"Oh! Yes." Hugo took a sip from his Manhattan with his left hand. "Let me see — where was I? I was talking about Assyrian statuettes, no? Was it the later ones found near Damascus?"

"Actually, I think you were talking about what happened last night."

"Ah yes, of course. That oily man. What was his name? Short, I think: no more than five foot six. Swarthy features. Always sitting too close." Here Hugo leaned over the table and put his face very close to Maureen's, and stared at her intently with furrowed brow, and then just as quickly leaned back. "Especially when he was trying to be ingratiating. What was his name?"

"I take it he was trying to ingratiate himself with you last night?"

"Larry, perhaps. Yes, I think it was Larry."

"Larry?"

"And yes, he certainly was trying to ingratiate himself with me. With the emphasis on trying! My word. At first I responded warmly to him, of course. He asked me about my work on Assyria, and not just that, but he asked questions. You must understand, my good woman, it's not every day that one meets someone who is not only interested about the subject one has devoted one's life to studying, but is also knowledgeable enough to be able to ask sensible questions about it. Much less understand the answers. Had he not told me otherwise, I would have taken him for a fellow professor. But he told me, early on, that he was a simple man with an amateur's interest in the subject. Oh, if only there were more such people."

Maureen made a sympathetic face. "So, you enjoyed talking to him."

"Yes, I certainly did." Hugo looked contemplatively into the distance and took another sip from his drink. "That is, at first I did. But after a while the questions began to take a ... a rather intrustive turn. He seemed to be more interested in the Caribbean work I did with Professor Hoofnagle. You see, I am meeting up with Roger at one of our ports of call next week. His work is not as extensive as mine, but it's no less fascinating. You know, one doesn't often think of the Caribbean islands as a place where much anthropological work is done. It's a younger home for human beings, but no less interesting for all that. I prefer the older civilizations myself, obviously. But people like Roger do excellent work, and I was very happy to be able to help him out. You see so many archaeologists wanting to specialize in overcrowded fields like Assyria, because of the fame that they've already garnered. Not enough people are interested in trying to break new ground like Roger."

"So this Larry guy was asking about him?"

"Exactly so. At first I mistook it for polite curiosity, and attempted to bring the conversation back around to the previous topic. But he kept asking me about Professor Hoofnagle, and about the details of our meeting next week. It was enough to make me believe that the man had little or no interest in Assyrian history at all, and had feigned interest solely to gain my confidence. Strange, don't you agree? And yet the man could certainly speak knowledgeably about it."

Maureen nodded. "Yes, indeed. Why would a complete stranger be interested in a personal matter such as that?"

"My thoughts exactly. I was too polite to say anything to him, naturally, as I am not by nature a confrontational sort of person. And it was entirely possible that I had jumped to conclusions, that he simply had an imperfect idea of how to make small talk over dinner with someone you'd only just met. So I indulged him a bit, and let him have the lead. I told him what little I knew of Roger personally, and how when I had realized we'd be stopping at St. Kitts, where he's currently doing fieldwork, I had sent him an email and suggested that we arrange to have lunch. It's not terribly convenient for him, I'm afraid, as his work is almost on the opposite end of the island. But the man gets few visitors as it is, and the opportunity was irresistable. So I told Larry all these things, and what do you suppose happened then?"

Maureen took another drag from the cigarette andshook her head to indicate she had no idea. She crushed the cigarette forcefully into the ashtray, though it was barely half consumed. Maureen felt pretty sure that were it not for the alcohol she would be feeling nauseated from the tobacco. She swallowed a mouthful of gin to clear the memory of the taste.

"Why, he allowed the conversation to turn back to Assyria again. And we chatted quite amiably for the rest of the evening." Hugo smiled tightly and raised his glass to his lips. "Indeed, so agreeable was the rest of the meal that I almost forgot my original suspicions entirely. But not quite — and once I had, I realized that his sudden change in behavior suggests that he had finally got the last nugget of information that he had been fishing for all along. And at that point he continued our banter so as to disguise his true intent." Hugo put down his drink and frowned. "And the trick worked, too, in essence. For even though I eventually saw through his rigamarole, I can no longer recall exactly what piece of information I shared that finally satisfied his concealed curiosity. I am pretty sure I told him at which island I am meeting Roger, for example, but I can't recall if that was before or after he kept trying to bring up the subject matter. So I still don't know what exactly it was he wanted from me. Much less why."

Maureen considered this last bit of information. "Well, if you told him that it was on St. Kitts, then naturally he knows when your meeting is happening, since we'll only be in port there for one day. Are you worried that he'll try to invite himself along?"

"Well, yes. Except, what could possibly be his motive for doing so? If he wanted to meet Professor Hoofnagle, why wouldn't he just ask? I'm sure I would have agreed to have him join me, my reservations about his behavior notwithstanding."

"I agree, that doesn't really make sense. Perhaps all that conversational manipulation was just a product of your imagination."

"Yes — when I tell it to you, in so many words, it does sound rather unlikely, doesn't it?" Hugo seemed to deflate a bit as he leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps I'm just an old man, whose subconscious mind has grown bored with his ridiculously narrow field of study, and is desperately looking for excitement and intrigue where none exists." His cigarette had grown stubby, and the smoke was no longer as noticeable to Maureen.

Maureen chuckled. "Oh, I don't think that. But maybe this guy Larry just isn't very good at small talk, and you just mistook his rough edges as something more."

"Perhaps. Perhaps. You make a good point, Maureen." Hugo considered the end of his cigarette abstractly. "Perhaps a change of subject is called for. So how long have you known Allison?"

Maureen laughed. "How long? Forever. Since high school, at least. Maybe longer."

"You don't know?"

Maureen shrugged. "Well, we became friends in high school. We first met in junior high, but it was very brief, and it's possible that I'm wrong about that, because Allison doesn't remember it."

Hugo smiled. "What is it that she doesn't remember?"

Maureen waved dismissively, but at that moment the waitress reappeared from behind her. "Another round?" she asked brightly.

"Yes, please!" Hugo responded at once. Maureen had been about to say no, or just ask for water, but then decided if Hugo was enjoying himself, perhaps she should too. She nodded assent and the waitress walked off.

Hugo drank a mouthful from his Manhattan, leaving only a cone-shaped thimbleful of dark liquid in his glass.

"Well, I suppose it is sort of a funny story. Do you really want to hear it?"

"Of course, I'd love to hear it. We're on a boat, my good woman; what do we have to amuse ourselves with but each other's stories?"

Maureen smiled, suddenly feeling a bit shy. She watched Hugo as he took a long drag off of his cigarette, and then extinguished it in the ashtray. Feeling his gaze turn back to her, she inhaled. "Okay. Well, it was in the eighth grade. Now I was never very popular in school, as you can probably guess."

Hugo smiled conspiratorially. "The most interesting people were always the least popular."

Maureen hesitated, thrown off her stride a bit. "Yes, well, the thing is that Allison was popular. Very popular, in fact."

Hugo blushed a bit. "Oops. I see I spoke too soon."

Maureen chose not to dwell on this. "Exactly, because Allison was a very interesting person. Still is. Is, and was." Maureen leaned forward. "I mean, she was popular in junior high because of her looks."

Hugo nodded. "She is as cute as a button."

"But she was genuinely interesting, too. She was smart as hell. I mean straight As, year after year."

"She was something special, is what you're saying."

"Sure. And I was never popular, like I said, but for the first time in my life I started to care. I had been a little nerd girl up till then, and I was perfectly happy like that. But with high school coming up, and it seemed like suddenly in a couple of months everyone except me had managed to lose their virginity. I suddenly worried that there was this huge chunk of my life that I had been ignoring, and now it was all going to come around and bite me in the ass."

Hugo nodded. "You were suddenly afraid of being a social outcast all your life."

"I don't know anymore what exactly it was I was afraid of. I'm not sure I knew even then. All I knew was that I needed to make some friends and I had no idea how." Maureen saw the waitress and paused. She finished off the last of her gin and tonic as the waitress set a new one down before her. She carefully placed the empty glass on her tray and looked over to see Hugo signing the receipt again. Maureen wanted to object, realizing that Hugo had paid for all of their alcohol so far. But it was too late to argue — he had already signed the paper — and Maureen didn't want to risk flattering him by explicitly mentioning his generosity. It was his idea to come here, she decided. Let him pay for it.

Hugo once again retrieved his cigarettes and lighter. He held the box out to her again. Maureen quickly raised her hand. "Oh, no thank you. One's enough for me. So anyway, I decided to try out for a play. I figured that would be a good way to make some friends. I'm not sure exactly now why I picked that over, say, going up to people and introducing myself, but you know how it is. Your brain works differently when you're young."

Hugo laughed appreciatively. "My brain certainly did."

"So the play was Huckleberry Finn. I think Mr. Myers had adapted it to a play as part of his master's thesis or something. We didn't have an actual drama department in junior high. Mr. Myers actually taught social studies, and did the plays on the side. So he had us all come up on stage one by one and read a part from his play. A cold reading, I guess is what it was. So after a few kids have gone up I can see that most of them are terrible. Most of them either read their parts in a monotone, or else they go to the other extreme and do this melodramatic thing, and wave their arms around." Maureen waved her arms a bit to demonstrate, and Hugo laughed, leaning back in his chair as if fearful of being struck. "And every single person starts out too quiet and Mr. Myers has to yell at them to speak louder. Project your voice, project, he keeps saying."

Maureen took a drink from her glass. Again, it was perfectly balance of tonic and gin. "So, Allison was in line right behind me, and we started talking. It was a small enough school that we knew each other's names, but I had never really talked with her before. Unfortunately now I can't remember what we talked about, but I do remember that she struck me right away as being a really cool person. I mean, she would be a valuable friend even if she wasn't popular. Smart, insightful, welcoming. And we were in two completely different leagues, socially speaking, but she didn't seem to be the least bit concerned about that. She acted as if the only reason we weren't already friends was just that she just hadn't bumped into me before."

Maureen sighed. "And so the girl that was in front of me is on stage, reading her part, and I realize that it's my turn next. So I turn to Allison and say to her, 'Looks like I'm next.' And she smiles and says, 'Are you nervous?' And I wasn't, but I don't want to sound conceited, so I say, 'A little bit.' And then suddenly, I really am nervous. Extremely nervous. And the girl in front of me is walking off stage and handing me the script, and it's my turn. So I look at Allison and say, 'Wish me luck.' And she says back to me: 'Break a leg!' And I just stop. And I stare at her. And I'm going, what did she just say? Because I had never heard that expression before."

Hugo groaned. His hand came up and covered his mouth briefly in mock horror. Maureen actually found the gesture a bit distracting, since his cigarette was in his mouth at the time, and it wound up sticking out to one side from behind his hand.

"Anyway, so I'm staring at her, and I can't think of what to say. So I just keep staring. And then she does this —" Maureen made a quick brushing motion with her left hand, fingers pointing down, as if brushing something away from her. "— like go on, get up there and do it, but I see it and think, go trip on the stairs up to the stage now. I'm thinking, did she just try to put a hex on me?"

Hugo grinned at this. "Did you believe in magic hexes?"

"Well, no, I don't think so, but I thought she might believe in them. And even if I thought they weren't real, it's hard to be sure of anything when you're that age, you know? So I'm just standing there staring and her and I'm starting to freak out a little. But finally I give up trying to make sense of the situation, and I walk over to the stage, and Mr. Myers is yelling, 'Come on! Pay attention people! When it's your turn hop up on there! Let's get through these before dinner gets cold!' This is all happening after school, by the way. And I'm on the stairs going up to the stage when he starts yelling this, and at this point I'm close to panicking. So I try to jump up on stage and quickly get into place before he starts getting mad — and I trip on the last step."

Hugo laughed loudly. "Oh, dear!" His cigarette was in the corner of his mouth and for a moment Maureen thought it was going to fall out and into his drink. But he recovered quickly, pinching the cigarette between two fingers, and said, "So did you actually injure yourself?"

"No, but I was mortified. All the kids were laughing, of course, even though they didn't know anything about what had just happened. They were just laughing at me because it was me and not them. I think even Mr. Myers might have been laughing. But anyway, I get up and face Mr. Myers, and I read my part. And my voice had suddenly acquired this tremble. And I can even tell I'm too quiet, even before Mr. Myers says anything, because I'm breathing so shallowly. It's all I can do to not start crying, all of a sudden, even though hardly anything had really happened."

Hugo said nothing but shook his head in sympathy for the youthful Maureen.

"When I was done I got off stage and handed the script to Allison, and left the auditorium. I had been planning on waiting to see how Allison did, and maybe trying to talk to her some more afterwards. But after that, no way."

"I take it you didn't get the part."

"Actually," Maureen began. Hugo raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Mr. Myers offered me a bit part. A sister that appears in one scene. I think the part was originally a brother, but there weren't a lot of female roles in the play and Mr. Myers had to fudge things a bit. I think I would have had one line. In any case, I turned down the role. I told him I didn't have enough time to show up for rehearsals. Allison got the part of Aunt Sally."

"So that's how you met?"

"Sort of. I didn't speak to her again until two years later. It wasn't until after graduation that I dared bring up the incident. She had no memory of it."

 

Jack sat in the doctor's cramped waiting room. The room was barely large enough for Jack to comfortably stretch his legs. But the doctor had asked him to wait out here when he had attempted to follow him and his mother into the examination room. Jack was sure that his mother had wanted him to come along, but the doctor had made some excuse about the room being too small for three people, unless it was absolutely necessary.

His mother should have said it was absolutely necessary, but she had been cowed by the doctor's authority and said nothing. So Jack was stuck, sitting in the waiting room.

She was too easily intimidated. She never wanted to be a bother.

He could have left and wandered around outside, of course. Stretched his legs, got some fresh air. But he didn't want to be gone when the examination ended and his mother emerged.

Only Jack knew her well enough to understand her unspoken language, the only way she knew how to communicate her needs. Without him, his mother would probably die of loneliness, incapable to impose herself upon others even for the sake of a little conversation without an explicit invitation.

Jack's father had died when he was twenty-five. Before then he had been a rebellious young man. Angry and dismissive of his father, who he had believed to be spineless and weak-willed. Incapable of making a mark on the world.

Jack looked around the small room. There wasn't even a selection of magazines here. Just a copy of The Shipping News, the same issue that was everywhere on the ship. As if it were brought in as a last-minute concession to the room's purpose.

Jack's mother had come from a wealthy family. She herself hadn't needed to marry, living as she was on a trust fund. His father had been strictly middle-class, the son of a paper mill engineer. Jack had grown up with stories of his father coming home from work smelling of the paper mill. There was a tiny room over the garage, and his father would change out of his work shirt and slacks in that room, to avoid bringing the smell into the house. His work clothes would only come inside on wash day.

Jack shifted in his chair, and stared at the floor. It was tile instead of carpet.

Jack's father had gone into chemical engineering as well. Determined to avoid paper mills at all costs, he had wound up working at a plastics lab. The smells were more varied than pulp processing, but occasionally no less clinging or repellant.

The room was very quiet. Jack could hear only the faintest hint of voices in the next room. The sounds of the ocean, or the thousands of other passengers aboard, were completely absent. Now and then Jack heard a tiny, windy whistling noise, which he eventually realized was his own exhalations, passing out through a nostril in just the right way. He inhaled sharply and the noise stopped. Jack found the sound unnerving. He couldn't remember the last time he had been in the presence of such silence.

Jack's mother had tried to encourage her husband to work less, or quit entirely and live off of her trust fund until he found a more emotionally fulfilling job. Teaching, or research maybe. But Jack's father couldn't ignore his perceived duty as the family earner. He insisted on making enough money to pay for their necessities, whether or not he actually was.

Jack found himself staring at the clock on the wall. It was essentially the room's only adornment. He watched the long, thin red second hand slowly make its way around the face. Then again. No matter how closely he watched, he couldn't really see the minute hand moving. Yet every time the second hand swept past it, it was in a different position.

Jack's father had died of stomach cancer. Jack's mother was convinced that it was due to chemicals he had been exposed to during his job. The company had adamantly denied it, but she could afford to present an intimidating legal threat. The company had quickly agreed to a settlement with no lawsuit having actually been filed, for a sum of money that she had refused to discuss with anyone, Jack included.

Insititutional was the single word that described the clock perfectly. It was one of the few things he could think of that didn't bear the ship's logo, or indeed any decoration at all. Even the plain numbers on the face defied aesthetic consideration. Jack squinted at the clock. There didn't seem to be a company name on the face, just about the center hole. Jack realized how unusual it was to look at the dial of a clock or a watch and not see a company name or logo anywhere on it.

At the time of his father's death Jack had still been attending college in a fitful manner, getting solidly unexceptional grades and once in a while having to take a class over, majoring in engineering but never settling down on a specific subject for too long. After the funeral Jack quickly realized that his mother was terrified at the prospect of living alone. He had therefore abandoned his half-hearted educational career and returned home. He considered taking care of his mother to be his job, and they lived comfortably off of her income.

Jack marvelled at how completely unlike the rest of the ship this room was. How had it escaped the consideration that had so meticulously designed every other aspect of this ship?

 

The waitress set the two glasses down on the table, and Maureen suddenly spoke up. "Oh no you don't, Hugo. Not again. Ma'am." Maureen turned to the waitress. "Can you please charge this round to my room instead?" Without waiting Maureen took the receipt and pen from the waitress's tray and signed the slip of paper.

Hugo was putting one hand out towards her in protest, but then smiled kindly and relaxed into his chair. "Ah, thank you Maureen. I appreciate that, but really you didn't have to."

"I know I didn't." Maureen smiled at the waitress, "Sorry for the trouble."

"Oh, no trouble," she replied brightly, and picked up their empty glasses. Maureen's empty gin and tonics had left behind thick rings of condensation, which were now blended together to form a pond on the tabletop.

"Hey, give me one of those," said Maureen, for, the arrival of a fresh Manhattan had been the signal for Hugo to pull out his cigarettes and lighter. Hugo raised his eyebrows at her demand, but he smiled and presented the box to her with a flourish.

"I had the impression you hadn't really enjoyed the one I gave you earlier."

Maureen shrugged. "I didn't really, I guess, but I didn't really dislike it as much as I expected to either." She let the cigarette dangle from the corner of her lips, imagining it pointing nearly straight down below her sight and the smoke rising almost directly into her eyes. She tightened her mouth and brought the cigarette to attention as Hugo held out his lighter with its protruding flame, and inhaled. She was too drunk to be bothered by the tobacco at this point. Was this really the fourth gin and tonic? It couldn't be; she would be practically unconscious if she'd already finished three. This must be the third one.

Hugo certainly didn't appear particularly intoxicated, although Maureen thought she detected a certain careful deliberateness that had come over his movements. Now he moved the ashtray into the center of the table before carefully tapping his cigarette against its side. Maureen inhaled through the cigarette, but felt no accompanying buzz. So what was the point of smoking the cigarette then? She considered putting it out in the ashtray directly. But that would be a waste, a waste of one of Hugo's expensive cigarettes, which she had asked for without even saying please, and right in front of him, too. She exhaled slowly, trying to let a few tendrils of smoke creep upwards into her nostrils. She considered that she had decided to ask for another cigarette because she had been watching Hugo smoke all night, and he had seemed rather debonair while doing so, and perhaps she hadn't really wanted to inhale tobacoo so much as to use the cigarette to augment her appearance.

Hugo now had his chin in his hand, the two fingers holding his cigarette away from his face. "So, even after all that, you still consider Allison to be your best friend."

"Oh, yes. Hell yes. We were inseparable by the end of college. She's not what she looks like."

"What do you mean? What does she look like?"

"I don't mean that the way it sounded. It's just — you know, if you'd never met her before, and you saw her, you'd think she was like the head cheerleader or something. I mean she just has that look about her. That look. You know what I mean?"

"Sure."

"Especially in college."

"It's hard to imagine her any prettier than she is now."

"Even so. And I don't doubt that she could have been the head cheerleader if she had decided that's what she wanted. She could've just reached out and taken it. If she had wanted to. But she didn't. Instead she majored in physics. Aced her classes, too. Boy was she popular then. I was in the same class as her for Materials 101, and all the nerds in there couldn't believe she was for real. Everyone in that class wanted a date with her."

Hugo suddenly gave her a look, and asked, "Everyone?"

"Everyone. In fact, on the first day of class, before the teacher even shows up, the guy sitting next to her starts up a conversation with her, about what I don't remember now, but somehow, I wish I could remember how he did it, he manages to bring up the question of whether or not she has a boyfriend. And just like that, the whole room goes quiet, and the guys sort of lean in to hear better. And when she tells the guy that she's single, there's like this little gasp that went around the room."

Hugo continued to give her the same look, "But truly, everyone in that class?"

Maureen looked up at Hugo, and realized what he was asking. She suddenly realized that she had been talking too loudly. She looked at the ashtray and tapped her cigarette, saying calmly. "Allison's straight."

"Ah," Hugo said. He inhaled from his cigarette but continued to look steadily at her.

Maureen shook her head. Her best effort at a dismissal had, she now saw, amounted to a tacit admission.

 

The moon was well into its final quarter tonight, and provided less light than those of the fake tiki torches that were installed about the lower deck in a pattern carefully arranged to appear haphazard while still providing lighting evenly throughout the places where people might walk.

A passenger walked out into the air and considered the view from the railing. He stared resolutely out at the sea and sky, but he cocked his ear this way and that to the various noises of people walking about nearby. The man was of average height, perhaps an inch or two shorter. His shiny black hair was recently trimmed to half an inch long. He wore a simple outfit of dark material, which contrasted sharply with his bright white sneakers.

The moon, despite its slender appearance, made an elongated white rippling reflection on the water's surface, breaking up at the end closest to the ship's wake. A steward walked by. "Good evening, sir," he called out cheerfully. The man turned his head enough to acknolwedge the gretting, and gave a single nod and a minuscule smile.

Finally, after a full minute in which nobody else had passed by, the man seemed to be satisfied with what he heard, or didn't hear. Taking a deep breath, he quickly swung his left leg onto the railing. With one foot planted on the rail, he pulled himself up and stood up, making a half turn so that he faced the ship, his back to the ocean and the night. With one hand on a pole that extended to the ceiling, the man leaned outward, looking up the upstairs deck. He hesitated for a moment, with his knees bent slightly, eyes wide open. Then he jumped up, letting go of the pole and reaching with both hands at something on the side of the ship, above the level of the ceiling. For several seconds he hung there, invisible to any potential passersby from the chest up, just a torso and legs hanging out in the air, on the wrong side of the railing. Then he swung his legs sideways in a heroic arc that took his left leg out of sight. Another handful of seconds passed while only his right leg dangled downard at an angle. Then it too disappeared past the ceiling.

 

"Of course I had a crush on her. Everybody who ever met her had a crush on her, sooner or later. She's just amazing. Beautiful as hell — though she's not really my type. As far as women go I lean more towards the short and stocky. Well, I don't really want to go into details about what turns my crank, and I'm sure you don't want to hear about that. But it doesn't matter if Allison is your type or not, she's just so —"

"Ravishing," Hugo offered.

"— so perfect. So perfect, and of course you can't help but be flattered if someone that perfect likes to talk to you."

"We all want to be appreciated by someone we appreciate."

"But then." Maureen pointed at Hugo with the lit end of her cigarette. "Then. Then, you wind up actually talking to her, and she's not like one of the beautiful people. She's smart. Smart as a whip. She's smart as hell, I'm telling you."

"I believe it."

"You know what she does for a living?"

"Didn't you say earlier that she's an MRI design engineer?"

"She builds those MRI machines. Exactly. She's one of the members of the team that designs and builds them. Those things are insanely complicated, you know. To work there you gotta know your physics, your anatomy, computers ..."

"She's brilliant, in other words."

"She's brilliant, yes. In every sense of the word. Okay, sometimes she lacks a little common sense. She's got too good of a heart, Hugo. She wants desperately to think the best of everyone. She's not clueless, I don't mean that. But she just tries, just a little bit too hard, to give everyone around her the benefit of a doubt. I shouldn't be saying this. It sounds mean when I say it like that."

"It doesn't sound mean."

"And she's gotten better about that. Much better really. In college I don't think she really understood the effect she had on guys. I mean she understood that she had an effect, yes, but she didn't really appreciate the depths of it, just how much it colored everything. She's much more grounded about that sort of thing now. She didn't really want to understand, is what it was, I think."

"We can fool ourselves into believing that thinking badly of people will make it become true. A self-fulfilling propehcy."

"She's really a smart cookie these days."

"So we think the best of people in the hope that they will be inspired to rise to the occasion."

"Yeah, she was kind of like that then."

"Such people can be sitting ducks for those with a deeper understanding of human nature."

"Not so much anymore, thankfully."

"But you became friends anyway?"

Maureen grabbed a cigarette from the box that Hugo had left open in the middle of the table, and lit it from the stub of her previous one. Lavendar smoke hung all about their table. "Yes, of course. I mean of course speaking for me. It wasn't of course from her side; it just worked out that way. I mean sure there was one or two times early on when I decided to avoid her, but they passed. Of course I still want to be her friend."

"And so you are."

"And so I am."

"Best friends, in fact."

"And so we are." Maureen's mouth suddenly felt cottony. She drank some gin and tonic and swirled it around.

"Did you ever tell her?"

Maureen swallowed and stared up at the ceiling, where the dim lights turned the cigarette smoke into opaque wisps of fog. "No, I never have. I'm sure she realizes that I was attracted to her at one time. But I never told her just how strongly I felt." Maureen blinked. "And I've never told her that I've still felt that way ever since." Maureen blinked again. She suddenly seemed to become aware of how much smoke there was in the air. "And if you ever breathe a word of this to her, I'll kill you."

Hugo smiled, but to Maureen's relief he did not laugh. He put his cigarette in his mouth and held up three fingers in a salute. "Mum's the word, scout's honor."

 

The night wore on. Midnight came and went. The ship continued its steady pace across the ocean.

 

"And Allison is currently engaged to be married, right?"

"She sure is. The wedding's not that far off, in fact."

"What? No June wedding for the perfect girl?"

"No. The date's ... uh. I don't remember the actual date just now. Sometime in the next month or two. I think that sounds right. I think."

"Soon, in any case."

"Yeah, soon. Too soon. Allison and her mom have a to-do list a mile long still. They're going to have to scramble."

"And this is her first marriage?"

"Yep."

"Wow. You would think, a woman like that, so popular, with so many good qualities, and no shortage of admirers —"

"Yep."

"You would think, well, that she would have found a certain someone earlier in life."

"You would think that."

"And apparently you would be wrong."

"Allison's never been one for actual relationships."

"Saving herself for the right one? Well I can certainly respect that."

"Oh god. Ha! Oh god, sorry. Excuse me a second. Ouch."

"What is it, Maureen? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. I got a bit of gin and tonic in my nose."

"It burns a little."

"You want my cocktail napkin?"

"Thanks."

"Okay, so, you know I hate to jump to conclusions here but I get the impression that you found something I just said there a little bit completely wrong."

"Ha. You could say that. Though I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"Okay."

"I wasn't laughing at the idea that Thomas might possibly be The Right One."

"Okay."

"Well, I sort of was, but that wasn't the crux of the issue."

"No, the issue was the gin and tonic, from your nose."

"Heh. No, the crux of the issue that made me laugh was the idea that Allison was saving herself, first of all, and B, saving herself for Thomas."

"Allison hasn't been saving herself?"

"No! Well, I suppose in a way she has. I mean, I guess it's kind of turned out that way."

"But not intentionally?"

"No, not intentionally. Well, at least not consciously. I dunno, maybe you're on to something. What I'm trying to say here is that Allison has never been the kind of person to sit around mooning about boyfriends, about finding them or having them or keeping them or any of that. And part of it is that I think she's a little worried that she'll get in a relationship and she'll have to be the one to sacrifice her career to make room for his. You know, there aren't many guys who will change their career to make room for their wife's career."

"I suppose that's true. Even in this day and age."

"It's very true. And I'm kind of guessing here, but I think part of her never trusted the way other people treated her, because of her popularity. I think part of her worried that people wanted to get involved with her just because everybody else wanted to get involved with her."

"It's a legitimate concern. You yourself admitted you were influenced by her reputation before you knew her."

"Sure. Though my ideas about her before I knew her were more complex. But that's ancient history. The point is, that stuff used to affect her attitude towards everyone around her. And I suspect that it got in the way of more than one potential relationship."

"So it just took a while for her to get past those concerns?"

"I suppose so. But. Well, look here, Hugo, once again, this is strictly between you and me, all right? I do not want this getting back to Allison, you got that? Okay. So, I think part of what's going on is that Allison's biological clock went off."

"I see."

"I can't believe I'm saying that about her. It sounds so shallow; I mean it makes her sound shallow. But I know she plans to have children someday. So that someday probably needs to be pretty soon now. We've never talked about it, but she must think about it. And at least that explains the whole Thomas thing."

"And Thomas is a thing that needs explaining?"

"Not exactly. It's just that it's all so sudden. They've known each other for barely a year now. They knew each other for less than a year before they got engaged. Allison's never been one to rush into a relationship. Not that's she skittish, you know; but she's one for going slow. And she'd usually dump a guy if he didn't like the pace, or if she thought he might be trying to pressure her to move forward. That probably make her sound like a tease, but it's just that relationships aren't high on her list. She doesn't like to give them a lot of attention."

"Huh. She's an interesting one, all right, sounds like."

"So now she's met this Thomas guy, and I don't really know him very well, which didn't bother me at first because she's only just met him, and then boom! Next thing I know she's wearing this big fat engagement ring, and she and Vanessa are planning her wedding."

"You were caught off guard."

"If it had been a three-month engagement period, I would have figured she was already pregnant, and wanted to have the ceremony before she started showing. That at least I could have understood. But they picked a seven-month engagement period. And I know for a fact that they're planning to serve plenty of wine and champagne at the wedding, so I don't think she even expecting to be pregnant until after she's officially married."

"Most women would prefer it that way, I think. Even in this day and age."

"I'm not judging her. Don't think that for a moment. I just worry that she's taking a huge leap of faith here with someone she doesn't really know. She was too picky for too long, and now she's overcorrecting."

"Overcompensating."

"She shouldn't be so scared about waiting. There's always other choices. Adoption, for example."

"Some people care about genetics."

"I suppose most people do. That's evolution in action, I guess."

"That's a somewhat fatalistic attitude to take, though, don't you think? I would say that most people want their children to share their genes because they want some part of themselves to be passed on."

"Sure. And the reason they want that is because of evolution."

 

If only everything weren't so far apart. The ocean was a beautiful place, there was no arguing that. But it all looked the same, and after a full day travelling across the tropical ocean, why did anyone ever need to experience another? Only the arrivals served to tell the days apart. The arrivals mattered, but they were too far apart. The islands they travelled to were like the stars in the sky: too far apart. With oceans of attenuated vaccum separating them. For what purpose? No doubt the starry expanse was also a very beautiful place, but not even a cruise ship would be able to keep passengers entertained indefinitely on that ocean. If only all the beautiful islands could be closer to each other, snuggled together like peas in a pod. Everything was too far apart. It was like everyone on the earth could barely stand each other, and everyone was doing their best to keep as far away from everyone else as they could. Or maybe they thought the other people would give them diseases, or they didn't trust them to look at their daughters, or wouldn't like something about them. So they had to stay away from each other. It's a wonder people had even bothered to find the paths to take across the trackless ocean in order to find each other again. It was enough to make a person sick.

 

Thursday

Maureen got up later than usual the next morning. She felt uncomfortable and sluggish, but it wasn't until she was already in the shower that she realized that she had a hangover. A serious one, too, not like the odd little minor headaches that she would get in college. This felt like some strange and rather malevolant entity had made its nest within her skull, and now it and her brain were jostling each other for elbow room. Maureen got dressed and left her cabin out of sheer wilfullness. That and the probably ill-advised idea that the best way to deal with a hangover was to stare it down.

Outside, the salty air made her feel a bit queasy. Maureen headed straight for the nearest breakfast, not wanting to walk any greater distance, even though she knew full well the chances of bumping into Allison were much higher here.

Allison was there.

"Hey, Maureen. You look a bit used up. What happened; did you tie one on last night?"

Maureen sat down at the empty chair at Allison's table. She took Allison's glass of tomato juice and drank it down. It was reimbursement for the amusement Allison was about to have at her expense, she decided.

"Wow. Did you actually tie one on last night?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Maureen was shocked to hear her own voice. It was deep and gravelly. She sounded like — Oh. Right.

"Wow. Your throat sounds in terrible shape."

"Yeah. I was in a smoking bar last night. I inhaled a lot of smoke."

Allison examined Maureen critically for a long moment, and then said in a bright, smug voice, "So, what's his name?"

"What? Oh, don't give me that, Allison."

"Well, if you weren't hanging out with a guy, what were you doing?"

"I was talking with Hugo, actually."

"Really? Does Hugo smoke then?"

"No," said Maureen raspily. "Except when he's drinking."

"Hm. And apparently he's been drinking."

"Yeah. Can I have your water?"

"It's empty. Here, let me get you something of your own."

"Thanks." Maureen felt stupid. And because she felt stupid, she didn't feel she had anything to lose by looking stupid. So she put her head down on the table, letting the still-cold metal cool her forehead. This produced a sharp ache instead of a dull ache, which wasn't really an improvement, but it was a change, and for the moment that would have to do.

Maureen sat up again and felt her head throb. It occurred to her that she could take her pulse without once moving her hands.

After a moment that seemed to drag out, Maureen returned with a glass in one hand and a paper cup in the other. "Here's some orange juice, and here's some coffee. Drink the juice first."

Maureen nodded. "Thank you, Allison."

"It's nothing, Maureen. Besides, I have an ulterior motive. I want you to come shopping with me after lunch, and so I need you to be recovered by then."

"I can't promise that."

"Oh, you'll be on your feet before then, I'm sure. So what were you doing all night with Hugo?"

"Talking. Just talking. He's an interesting guy." Maureen squinted up at the sky. Of course, she couldn't really remember talking to him about anything except herself. Good grief, why had she told him so much about her private self? She really should have exercised more constraint. What did she know about the man? Almost nothing.

Well, it was too late now. She would have to cross that bridge when she came to it. Or when it came to her. Maybe she should go find Hugo, talk with him a bit, make sure he understands that the things she had told him were not meant to be shared with anyone else. Of course that just might make matters worse, if she let him know that she actually cared about keeping all of that a secret. Not that she thought him vindictive, but sometimes men enjoyed being difficult for its own sake, didn't they?

"Have you heard about June?" asked Allison.

"No," replied Maureen. What about June? she thought to herself, and then suddenly the memory of last night's dinner came back to her.

"It sounds like a brain tumor is likely to be the cause. She'll be taken off the ship, probably the next time we dock. Jack will probably leave then, too."

"Off the ship?"

"Yes, they're going to fly her to see some specialists, and hope for the best."

Off the ship? Were they really going to be leaving the ship for good? The idea bothered her, though she couldn't quite say why.

"It's scary, but in a way it's good news. Progress is being made, and people are doing what they can. And at least it's not an aneurysm."

"Yeah, that much of it is good," Maureen admitted.

Vanessa came up to their table. She pulled up a chair and sat down. "Oh, Allison, Maureen."

"Mom? What is it? It something wrong with June? Oh god, we were just talking about her."

Vanessa shook her head. "No, it isn't about Vanessa, thank heavens. But it's bad enough. Do you remember that nice man we met last night? Hugo?"

Maureen raised her head and answered, "What about him?"

Vanessa leave in closer, forcing the others to lean closer in order to hear.

"Hugo's dead. They found him in his cabin. He was pounding on the floor for a full minute, but by the time they got to him, it was too late." Briefly Vanessa looked stricken, "He choked to death on his breakfast cantaloupe!"


Part Two

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Maureen opened the door and experimentally took a step into the cramped office. "Hi. Mr. Andromidas?"

The man behind the desk wore a slate-colored three-piece suit with a black tie with thin blue diagonal stripes. It looked quite expensive, and it struck Maureen that a three-piece suit was a bit out of place on a tropical cruise ship. But the man wore it as if he never wore anything else, and Maureen suddenly felt badly underdressed in her khaki shorts and plastic sandals.

Mr. Andromidas nodded curtly and waggled his fingers, indicating that she should approach. Maureen stepped forward and closed the door behind her, out of habit more than desire. Part of her wanted to go back to her cabin and change into something more businesslike — probably her tan slacks and white cotton shirt with the starchy-looking collar. "Uhm." And a pair of serious shoes. "I got a note on my door that I was to come see you after lunch?" Too late for that now.

"Yes yes. You are Maureen Osbourne, right? Thank you so much for coming to see me. Please, sit down." He gestured to a chair facing his desk. Maureen had to move around it to pull it out far enough to sit down. Mr. Andromidas smiled. "How are you enjoying this beautiful day?" His voice was suddenly calm and quiet, almost intimate.

"Fine," Maureen replied.

He watched her for a moment, as if waiting for an elaboration, but then nodded and smiled, as if to indicate that he had understood some larger meaning that she had carefully hinted at with her brief answer. "Good. Good. Let me just apologize for intruding on your time like this, and say how grateful that I am for you agreeing to come talk to me on such short notice."

Maureen attempted a reassuring smile. "Oh, it was no trouble."

"Thank you. That's kind of you to say so. I asked you to see me because I'm dealing with the situation with Mr. Hill. A tragic, tragic thing, isn't it. And I hate to be asking you to dwell on such a morbid subject, especially when it's such a nice day out. So let's just dive in and get this over with, eh? Then you can go and enjoy the rest of your day, have a drink or two, and forget all about this, eh?"

"Sure," said Maureen. She felt that she ought to say something more than just that, but nothing came to mind. Again, Mr. Andromidas stared at her briefly then smiled and nodded as if to indicate, yes yes, I understand, nothing more needs to be said between us.

Maureen shook her head. She was letting herself get nervous. He was just a security employee. No doubt this death was giving the cruise line fits. People far away were probably scrambling to make sure the PR spin was going full throttle. No doubt some of those people were probably breathing down Mr. Andromidas's neck to ensure, beyond a doubt, that nothing sinister was behind Hugo's death. She needed to stop behaving like she had a guilty conscience.

Mr. Andromidas picked up a pen and held it over an open notebook. Without looking up he said. "So. You were with Mr. Hill the night before, is that right? Wednesday night?"

"Yes, Wednesday night. We spent the night chatting in one of the bars on the middle deck. Uh, I don't remember the name of the bar right now."

"The Silver Lounge?"

"Yes, that's it. We bumped into each other on one of the walkways and wound up going to the Silver Lounge. I hadn't been there before, and Hugo wanted to show it to me."

"Do you remember what time it was when you met?"

"No, not exactly. It was late. After ten, certainly. Maybe even midnight."

Mr. Andromidas looked up from his note-taking to smile briefly at her. "Do you remember how long you remained at the Silver Lounge?"

Maureen closed her eyes and shook her head. "No. Definitely not. Longer than an hour. Maybe much longer." She paused. "I had too much to drink that night, and I lost track of time. Sorry."

Mr. Andromidas smiled without looking up. "Oh, please don't feel you need to apologize, Ms. Osbourne. And now what happened after that?"

"Well," Maureen said, then stopped. What exactly had happened? Her memory was hazy. Was that because of the alcohol, or because what had actually happened was too commonplace to be memorable? "Well, we went back to our cabins." I guess, she managed to avoid adding.

"Did you walk together? Or did you leave the lounge separately?"

Maureen strained to remember. It must have been the alcohol, she thought. "I honestly don't remember. It was late," she added. "I was pretty tired." She sounded like she was making excuses, even to herself. "You know, we probably split up just outside the lounge. I think I would remember if we had walked back together."

Mr. Andromidas nodded slowly. "Sure. Sure. Okay. Thank you, Ms. Osbourne. Let me apologize again for putting you through such trouble."

"Oh, it's not," Maureen's hand flitted in a flustery wave. "It's not a big deal."

"Do you remember what the two of you talked about?"

"Oh, well, lots of things. We talked for quite a while."

"Sure. Sure. Any subject in particular?"

Maureen did remember that, all too clearly, but had little desire to discuss such details with Mr. Andromidas. "Well, it was mostly personal details. I told him some stories about my past."

"Ah, I see. What about his stories?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did he tell you any stories about himself?"

"Not — really." Maureen thought for a moment. Had she done all the talking that night? It hadn't struck her until that moment, but it seemed that their conversation had revolved completely around herself. But surely he must have done some talking as well? Yet at that moment Maureen could remember nothing. Had he been intentionally drawing her out? If so, why?

"No?" Mr. Andromidas looked up and stared at her. Maureen felt as transparent as glass under his gaze. "Did he say anything to you that might indicate that he had enemies?"

"No. No, he was just an anthropologist, you know. Very academic type, you know? Immersed in his studies. I hardly got the impression that he would ever be involved in anything dramatic. I mean, maybe a colleague might publish a paper refuting some hypothesis of his about the origin of some Assyrian statue, but that's about it." Maureen realized that she was babbling. His stare was making her nervous. She put her hands in her lap and willed herself to act confident. She had nothing to hide. Or rather, she had nothing to hide that had anything to do with Hugo's death.

"Yes, of course. So the two of you just shared anecdotes about your life, eh? He was maybe trying to seduce you, eh?"

Maureen said nothing, taken aback by the bluntness of abrupt change in direction. Mr. Andromidas looked up at her when the silence continued. His expression was still friendly, almost conspiratorial, as if he thought the two of them might be girl friends comparing notes about the cute guys on board. Maureen collected her thoughts and said evenly, "I really don't think I can tell you what on his mind that night, Mr. Andromidas. But that subject certainly wasn't on mine." But even as she managed this careful dismissal, she thought that yes, he did have a point. Probably not what he was thinking, quite, but that would explain why she had wound up doing all the talking. And why on that particular subject matter. He wasn't trying to actually seduce her, of course. But he was ingratiating himself to her. Moving into the fast track to friendship. As an intermediate step to seducing Allison. To seduce a beautiful woman, first win the trust of her plain-looking best friend.

Maureen didn't know why she hadn't thought of this before or why she was so certain of it now, but there it was.

Mr. Andromidas's gaze finally moved back down to his notes. "No," he responded to her statement. "No, of course not. And you didn't see him at all the next morning."

Maureen shook her head and focused on Mr. Andromidas. She found herself staring at the rows of tight waves in his neatly combed hair. "No, I never saw him again."

Mr. Andromidas nodded. "Of course." He closed his notebook and looked up, putting his pen down carefully. "Let me apologize again for interrupting your day and forcing you to talk about what happened. The company is very grateful to you for being so cooperative. Please don't think my apology is in any way insincere. We know that you'd rather not be spending your vacation dwelling on such matters, and to demonstrate our appreciation for the problems this entire incident has caused you, the company will be issuing you a discount on yesterday's room charges. It's a small token, but we hope you take it in spirit."

"Thank you," said Maureen. She felt more than ready to leave the cramped office. It seemed inconceivable that anybody could work in such a small space every single day. "That's very generous."

Mr. Andromidas smiled. "All right. Now go out and enjoy yourself before the day's over. Have a drink on me, all right?"

"All right." Maureen stood up. It would probably be a fair while before she had another gin and tonic. "Thanks." Thanks? she thought. For what? The wish that she go have a drink?

Mr. Andromidas stood up, making a sideways move to avoid pushing his chair back against the wall. "No, thank you, Ms. Osbourne. Thank you and good day."

"Good day," Maureen responded automatically. She awkwardly turned away from him and found the latch, then with her hand on the doorknob she turned back for a parting smile. Then she opened the door and extricated herself from the office.

 

Jack walked into the doctor's office. The doctor was sitting at a computer, noisily typiing. Jack closed the door behind him and waited, standing, for the doctor to acknowledge him. After a bit the typing stuttered to a halt, and the doctor said with a sigh. "All right. Have a seat, Mr. Wood."

Jack moved over to the chair that was angled up to the desk and sat down.

The doctor looked at him squarely. "Well, Mr. Wood, I'm afraid your mother is not a well woman."

Jack nodded. He had suspected as much from the doctor's request to come to his office instead of talking to him in a public space, and from his body language when he walked in. Aloud he said, "Look, just give it to me straight, okay? What's wrong with her?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm not able to give a diagnosis, I'm afraid. I'm really just a general practitioner. I'm not a neurologist, I'm not —"

"It's something wrong with her brain, though, isn't it? I mean even I can see that."

The doctor took another deep breath. "Mr. Wood, please listen to me. I am not a neurologist, or a cardiologist, or even a nephrologist. And even if I were all those things, there just isn't the equipment I would need in order to make a proper diagnosis. I don't have the machines or the people who could use them."

Jack nodded and waited for the doctor to continue.

"Okay. So there's a lot that I can't tell you. What I can tell you, is that she needs to get to a hospital as quickly as possible, where her condition can be properly diagnosed. Our next port of call is Honduras, the day after tomorrow. From there you could make arrangements to have her transported to an appropriate facility. It will probably be a bit expensive to do so, I'm afraid." The doctor paused and looked at Jack.

Jack smiled grimly. "That's not a problem. We have the resources."

The doctor nodded and returned his gaze to the computer screen. "All right. I will arrange to have someone there at the port to meet you and your mother, and be ready to take her to an appropriate facility."

"And myself?"

"Do you wish to accompany her?"

"If at all possible."

"It may not be. Odds are it shouldn't be a problem, but it depends on several factors. If you can't go with her, you should be able to follow in a separate vehicle, probably no more than a day later. Alternately, you could choose to stay here and I'll be sure to keep you informed of what they learn. You don't have to decide anything now."

Jack shifted in his chair. Keeping his tone of voice polite, he said, "Doctor, I appreciate all this, and I thank you for all the work you're doing. But really, is there nothing you can tell me about her situation?"

"As I said, I'm not —"

"But whatever it is, it involves her brain, right? And if it does, then I just want to know, are the odds good or bad?" Jack was nearly shouting; he forced himself to be calmer. "I've hardly been able to sleep, with this not knowing anything. I'm not asking for miracles here. I just want to know the odds!"

The doctor shook his head. "Mr. Wood, I just can't tell you the odds. You're right, evidence suggests that the problem is with the nervous system. There's a strong possibility that she's suffering from a brain tumor. But if it a tumor, then there's just no good way to estimate the odds until it's located and examined. No one can say."

Jack nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

"Now, as I was about to say, I've been communicating with a neurologist and I've been working with him in the hopes of being able to make a preliminary diagnosis. It's been useful, and we have some information so that when she arrives at the hospital, they'll know what sort of things they should be looking at. But it's just too soon to do anything more than that. I'm sorry, Mr. Wood, believe me, but we'll just have to remain in the dark a little bit longer."

"If you people need anything, please just let me know. Blood. Plasma. A kidney. Anything."

The doctor smiled wanly. "I will."

Jack nodded. His throat was suddenly dry.

The doctor looked at his computer display. "In the meantime, is there anyone else in the family that needs to know? If you want to arrange transportation for anybody besides yourself, I might be able to help with that."

Jack shook his head. "No. My father died many years ago." He stood up. He was ready to leave this office, and be by himself for a while. "And I'll worry about contacting my brother myself."

 

Vanessa sat at a table alone with her cup of coffee. She hadn't touched it since the woman had last come by and filled it, and so she was now being left alone.

On the table in front of her was a copy of The Shipping News, pages folded over to the crossword puzzle. In the last half hour she had managed to fill in three of the clues. Now she looked out over the water. She was sitting on the top deck, with nothing but blue sky directly overhead. Her chair faced the port side, and she gazed out across the ocean. The sun was setting, and was now almost exactly bisected by the horizon.

Vanessa watched the sun slowly descend into the water. She tried to imagine the motion as being hers instead of the sun, with the water and the ship and herself all turning away from the sun as it sat motionless in space. But she couldn't really see it in her mind's eye, much less feel it happening. The ocean remained stubbornly in place, and the sun continued its slow, majestic fall from the sky.

After all, the sun was just a bright little ball, no bigger than the full moon, and the earth was immense, too big to ever be seen at once.

"The world is too big to be seen from a ship," Vanessa found herself saying aloud.

Which was probably true. On the other hand, the world was too big to be seen from anywhere else, either.

All but three fingers of the sun remained visible. Vanessa found she could look almost directly at it without discomfort. The blue of the sky overhead had become darker and less vivid, and the sky above the sun now showed a translucent streak of crimson.

Vanessa watched, and the last bit of the sun disappeared beneath the waves. The wind stirred the fine hairs on her arm. There was a final ray of light, a brief flicker with an unexpected emerald color. Then it was gone and the sky stood completely unadorned. Vanessa sat and stared at the solid blue sky.

 

Evening. Allison sat at the table in her cabin, going over a checklist. When she was certain that everything on it had been taken care of, she stashed it in a file folder marked DONE. Allison turned around in her seat to look at the bed.

"Hey, mom. Are you going to go to sleep now? It's still pretty early."

Vanessa stirred. She was in fact in bed, but Allison knew that she was still dressed in her dinner clothes under the covers. "I don't know, honey. I can't tell for certain." She rolled back over. "I guess I'm just waiting to see what happens next. If I fall asleep, then the answer's yes."

"You really should change into your nightgown first then."

"Mm. I suppose." But she didn't move.

After waiting for a while, Allison decided not to press the matter. Sighing, she turned back to the table, and eyed the stack of papers and notebooks uneasily. Then she picked up a pen and began to write out tomorrow's to-do list.

 

Friday

Maureen and Allison were sitting in the library, addressing envelopes. These were the envelopes that would be used to send out the thank-you notes after the wedding presents were opened. Allison felt it was absolutely necessary that the addresses on the envelopes be handwritten, but she didn't feel it had to be anybody's hand in particular. So Maureen was helping her.

Maureen thought that, what with everything else that needed to be done, this was something that could have easily been delayed until after the wedding. But Allison felt strongly that it was important to have it ready beforehand.

After finishing her third envelope, Maureen found her mind wandering. Eventually she said, "Allison?"

"Mm." Allison seemed to be concretrating on her handwriting.

"Do you think it's possible that Hugo was murdered?"

"Good heavens, Maureen, what a morbid subject. What makes you say that?"

"I'm not sure. Being questioned by Mr. Andromidas just got me thinking along those lines, I guess. I mean, why would he have been questioning someone like me if they didn't suspect something?"

"Oh, Maureen, that doesn't mean anything. A man died under unusual circumstances. There wasn't anybody there to see exactly what happened. Of course they're going to question people. It's just a matter of procedure."

"I know, but well, maybe. Isn't it possible they're questioning people because there's something suspicious about it?"

"Maureen, keep writing." Allison still did not look up from the table. "I suppose it's possible. Anything's possible. We don't konw all the details. But that's normal. They never release all the details until they're sure that there wasn't any foul play."

Maureen considered for a while in silence, then said, "But I mean, can we rule out murder? I mean, just taking the other side for a moment, for the sake of argument. Is it possible to kill someone and make it look like they choked?"

"Oh, sure. Bonk them over the head, crack their skull, then take a chewed-up hunk of meat and jam in down their throat."

"But that would come out in the autopsy, right?"

"They might not do a full autopsy."

"Sure they will, just as a matter of procedure. Right? A man dies, no witnesses. Of course they'll want to be absolutely certain about the cause of death."

"Probably so. Does that answer your question then?"

"Well, no. I mean, couldn't you asphyxiate someone and then after they're dead you could chew up a piece of meat and insert it in their windpipe, right? The cause of death would still be asphyxiation."

Allison shook her head without looking up. "No. There'd be bruising all around the throat from the strangulation. They'd be visible even without an autopsy."

"Hm. Well, could you actually strangle someone without using your hands?"

Allison was silent for a moment. "So then what are you asking? Are you asking me, could you actually choke a man using a half-chewed piece of meat? Against his will?"

Maureen considered this. "Doesn't seem likely, I guess, when you put it that way."

"It seems to me that such a plan pretty much requires you to stick your hand in the vicitim's mouth. Which mean that the person can just bite you on the fingers to make you stop."

"You could use a instrument to insert it."

"I still say you wouldn't be able to pull it off. You'd have to hold the person down, and that would leave evidence of a struggle. A struggle leaves bruises, which don't heal once a person is dead, and a forensic surgeon knows how to find these things. Sheesh Maureen. This has gone from morbid to downright gross."

A long silence stretched out. Maureen broke it after a minute. "Sorry to harp on this."

Allison sighed heavily. "What now?"

"I think I remember seeing a mystery on TV once, where a person drank this special liquid that caused the muscles in his throat to stop working. So as soon as he tried to swallow a bite of food, it want directly down his windpipe, and he choked. Do you think that might be real? I mean, do you think that such a drug really exists?"

Allison shook her head. "I just couldn't tell you, Maureen. We really didn't cover that subject in Human Anatomy."

 

Maureen walked up to the top deck in search of a place in the sun to sit and read her book. But a strong wind had arrived from the east, and while the air wasn't particularly cold, Maureen suspected it would be uncomfortable to try to sit and read with it. So she walked down one flight to the next deck and found an open chair on the west side of the deck, well sheltered from the wind without yet being in the shade.

Maureen composed herself on the chair, and opened the book. After flipping around for a bit, she found where she had left off and began to read.

"Now that's what I call a book," said a voice to her left.

Maureen looked up. A man in a Hawaiian shirt and tan slacks smiled at her. He had a salt-and-pepper moustache, neatly trimmed back to the confines of his upper lip. On his head he wore, to Maureen silent surprise, a skipper's cap. The design was clearly different from that of their ship, but to Maureen's eyes it was similar in flavor, and she could believe that he had stolen it from the captain of some other cruise ship.

In his hand he held a rolled-up copy of the ship's newsletter, and he now used it to point at her book. "You could use that blue brick you got there to brain an elephant, no mistake."

Maureen nodded politely, "It is thick." A weak rejoinder, but she couldn't really think of anything else to say. She suspected that it didn't matter in any case.

"Is it any good?"

Maureen smiled. "That's what I'm aiming to find out." Maureen hated this question, so often asked of people as they were reading a book on deck. Quite often one couldn't really answer that question until after one had finished reading, so why ask it of someone who was obviously still in the middle of it?

The man laughed. "Too early to say, is it?"

Maureen held the book flat, so he could see the disparity in size between the two halves. Hopefully the display came off as friendly and not rude or dismissive. Maureen didn't want to irritate the man just because he had tried to start a conversation.

"Well, I can certainly see with a book like that, you'd have to be patient before you could decide how you liked it. Most books, you read them for a couple of chapters, you have a pretty good idea if you're going to like the rest of it, right? Am I right?"

Maureen nodded absently, but the man continued to look at her, waiting for a reply, so she added, "You're right."

"But with that book, you'll probably have to get through a couple hundred pages before you can say for sure you know where it's gonna go."

Though there were times when she did feel like being irritating to these gregarious strangers. There was something vaguely presumptuous, Maureen couldn't help thinking, about striking up a conversation with a stranger when they were reading a book. Admittedly, this was a public place, and so one couldn't get too upset if a stranger tried to talk to you. But to interrupt someone who was reading seemed, at least a little bit, like you figured that you considered your chitchat more interesting than the other person's book. Because if you didn't, then why were you intruding? Yes, public place and all, but maybe they just wanted to read a book and get some sun. And sure, a lot of people who were out here with books were really here for the sunlight, and the book was just to keep them company because their friends were off doing other things.

"My wife read this Stephen King novel that was like that. I forget which one it was. She reads a lot of his books, and I lose track of them. It wasn't any of the big movie ones, I know that much."

Maureen couldn't imagine doing this herself: going up to a stranger who was sitting outside reading a book, and just starting to talk to them, taking it as a given that they'd rather be listening to you than reading their book. How could people be so narcissistic? The fact that most people reading books outside welcomed the distraction of a face-to-face conversation explained why it wasn't usually considered rude, but it didn't explain how so many people mustered up the audacity to do it in the first place. That part was a bit of a mystery to Maureen.

"Anyway, it was at least as big as that book you've got there. And it was funny, because we're sitting out getting some sun when she first cracks it open and starts reading. I've got my shades on, you know, leaning back in my chair and just about starting to doze off. Five minutes later she suddenly pipes up and says, Oh I'm going to like this one. I looked up at her, and she was on page seven."

Here the man guffawed with a wheezy laugh. Maureen smiled lightly, trying to be polite without being too encouraging. She really had come out here to read her book.

"Seven pages down and a thousand to go. How can she know already that she's gonna like it? She can't, right?"

"No, I guess not," Maureen answered.

"I guess not."

"Though I suppose," Maureen continued, in spite of herself, "if you're already familiar with a writer's style and whatnot, you can made a some pretty good guesses about what their books are going to be like right from the start. Maybe your wife had just read the opening hook and could see his style at work, and that was enough to trigger her anticipation."

"Oh sure," the man conceded. "She's a smart cookie, my wife. It's just, you know, seven pages down, a thousand to go? Too early to be writing a book review, I'd say."

Maureen nodded. Then something in her shifted. "I'm sorry, sir. I kind of need to be alone right now. That man that just died on the ship was a friend of mine and I'm still sort of dealing with that."

The man looked surprised. "My goodness! I had no idea."

"So, I hate to be rude and all."

"Tell me," said the man, moving a bit closer to Maureen, curiosity burning in his eyes, "what exactly happened?"

 

Maureen sat in a deck chair on the top deck. She had finally extricated herself from the conversation with the other passenger with the excuse that she was going back to her cabin. But she hated to miss the last of the sunlight, so instead she had walked upstairs.

There were a handful of clouds in the sky, floating above the horizon, and the sun kept moving behind them and back out again as they slowly crawled past. Maureen found herself unable to concentrate on her book. The story seemed unreal, unrealistic, and far removed from the concerns of life. So she lay back, eyes closed, with her thumb stuck in the book to mark her place.

If she kept doing this she was going to wind up with a suntan everywhere except for her left thumb.

The heat abated again as a cloud's shadow fell abruptly across her. Maureen opened her eyes. No, someone was standing before her.

"Vanessa, is that you?" Maureen squinted up at the Vanessa-shaped silhouette standing between her and the sun.

"Good morning, Maureen. Do you mind if I join you for a moment?"

"No, of course not." Maureen pulled her deck chair upright again and put her book down on the table next to her bottle of San Pellegrino.

Vanessa eased herself into a nearby chair. She was dressed in simple clothes and a large straw hat, but she had also draped a silk shawl over her shoulders, to protect herself from the sunlight. "I'm sorry to bother you like this."

"It's no bother, really," said Maureen quickly.

"I'm just feeling so worried. I can't stop thinking about June."

"No, of course not," said Maureen quietly. "You and she usually spend the afternoon together, don't you?"

"Well, yes. And then Allison has been running errands all day, and without anyone to talk to, I just can't stop myself fretting and worrying. I paid a visit to Mary and Henry earlier, but oh! all they could talk about was their operations, and the pills they have to take, and the pains that they have, oh Maureen. I just want to talk to someone who isn't acting like they already have a foot in the grave!" And Vanessa pulled a face to show that she was sorry for even saying such things about her friends.

"Vanessa, oh dear. I understand, really I do. Listen, maybe what you need is just a distraction. Do you like shuffleboard?"

"Oh, I've played it once or twice with Jack, and I did perfectly dreadfully. But you're exactly right, Maureen; a distraction is exactly what I need right now."

"Okay, well, it doesn't have to be shuffleboard if that doesn't sound enjoyable. Are there any other games you like?"

Vanessa stared out at the horizon for a moment. "June was such a calm and composed woman. If I had to choose a single word to describe her, it would be well-composed. Nothing really seemed to arouse her. She's had a difficult time of it, you know, what with losing her husband at such a young age. Cancer is such a terrible way to die. It robs you of your dignity. It weakens you and tears you down bit by bit, until there's nothing left but the husk of who you once were. It's almost as if it wants you to watch your own death before killing you. Because really by the time you die from cancer, by the time you actually give up the ghost, your corpse is already cold. The heart keeps beating after the person inside is gone."

Vanessa seemed to have run down at this point, and Maureen said, "Vanessa, I really do think you need a distraction." Maureen tried to think of another pastime that was easily available. "Do you perhaps enjoy blackjack?"

"Part of me wants a distraction, Maureen. And part of me is horrified at the idea of turning my head and looking away while my friend is dying. You see, don't you?"

"Mrs. Anderson — Vanessa —" Maureen had been calling Vanessa by her first name for years, but occasionally the name she had first known her, as the mother of her high school friend, slipped out. "There's nothing you can do for her right now. We just have to wait for the doctors to help her."

"Even if I can't do anything, I should bear witness." The wind picked up briefly, blowing directly into Vanessa's face, and Maureen could see a tear begin to escape. "She's dying, Maureen, and she's no older than I am."

"Vanessa," Maureen said firmly, then stopped, unsure what to say next. She willed herself to say something positive and affirming, and what actually came out of her mouth was: "You certainly can't do June any good by wallowing in such morbid thoughts."

Vanessa didn't respond, which Maureen took as a good sign. She continued, "If you want to be there for her, you need to be optimistic. She's not dying just yet. The doctors aren't even sure what it is. Now, look. You've been left to your own thoughts all day, and that's made you paranoid. Maybe what you really need is to just relax. A little rest might help you regain your perspective, let you see that you're getting much too worked up."

Vanessa still said nothing, but she seemed to be listening. Maureen picked up her book. "Look, why don't I come with you back to your cabin? You can lie down there, maybe take a nap. Or just rest and if you want to keep talking, we can talk. I'll stay with you until Allison returns."

Vanessa finally looked at Maureen. "Will you? Oh, you're such a dear. Thank you."

Maureen smiled, relieved to have finally gotten a positive response from her. "It's no problem. I need to go inside and cool off for a while anyway." She stood up, and gestured before her. Vanessa got to her feet and led the way back to her cabin.

 

Jack sat alone in the Silver Lounge. Jack was not normally a person to drink by himself, but today it just felt right. Not merely right: necessary. He carefully nursed his Jack and coke, making it last until it was gone, whereupon he would order a replacement. With the dim light in the bar and the people gambling nearby, Jack could forget that it was a bright sunny day outside. He could imagine himself in a joint like Rick's in Casablanca, which seemed far more appropriate to his mood. He didn't feel despair, not yet anyhow. Just anxious. Very, very anxious.

 

Vanessa did, in fact, begin to calm down very soon after lying down, with Maureen sitting nearby. Vanessa spoke sporadically, letting long periods of silence pass between the fits of speech. Maureen mostly listened, occasionally supplying interjections of encouragement, but nothing so substantive as to turn Vanessa's talking into a conversation. The subjects were occasionally sad, but never particularly desperate or morbid, and Maureen felt it was enough to bear witness to Vanessa's state, as Vanessa wished to do for June.

At one point Vanessa expressed a vague interest in food, and suggested watercress sandwiches with tea. Maureen was hesitant to give her any caffeine, however, and a few minutes later Vanessa had slipped into a light doze. Maureen remained in her chair and silently read her book, content to wait until she woke up again.

Maureen couldn't quite tell how much time passed this way — perhaps as much as half an hour. The spell was broken with the sound of a keycard being impatiently rattled into its slot. Maureen looked up, realizing that Allison had returned and considering trying to stop her at the door and lead her back out before she woke up Vanessa. But the thought didn't have enough time to gel into action before the door swung open with a bang against the wall and Allison came charging in like a hurricane. She slammed the door shut behind her and stood there, briefly taken aback by Maureen's presence in the cramped room.

Vanessa raised herself up to her elbows and looked at her daughter wide-eyed. "Allison, my word. You woke me up from a —"

"The wedding is cancelled!" Allison said loudly. And since Maureen was already sitting in the chair next to the bureau, she sat down heavily at the foot of the bed and folded her arms.

Vanessa was slow to react, still coming into full wakefulness. "Allison, my beloved," she said carefully. "What on earth is the meaning of this temper tantrum?"

Allison suddenly threw herself face down on the bed and began loudly sobbing.

Vanessa finally sat up and placed her hand on Allison's back. "Sweetie, get up off of that bed. Come on."

Allison dutifully pulled herself up and looked at her mother. Vanessa took her in her arms and hugged her, and Allison continued to cry, though less loudly.

Nobody said anything for a moment. Maureen was flustered, feeling like an intruder in this room. Allison probably hadn't come to her own cabin looking for her, Maureen figured. It seemed a bit presumptuous for her to stay there. On the other hand, she was hardly about to just get up and leave. She wanted to go directly to Allison and comfort her, but she felt that that was her mother's duty first, and it would be a bit intrustive to butt in.

Yet another part of her suspected that she was worrying much too much about all of this and she should just follow her gut instinct. And her gut instinct was to wait and see what happened next. Maureen studied the pattern on the bedspread, concerned not to be perceived as staring openly at them. Why did she feel so self-conscious all of a sudden? She had been handling Vanessa so well. Allison wasn't normally like this, though — Maureen couldn't remember the last time she had seen her lose her composure like this.

There was a high-pitched, electronic chirping sound, startling Maureen out of her reverie. She looked around the room for the source, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly Allison extricated herself from her mother's arms and twisted back around to where she had left her wicker purse. The chirping sound repeated and Maureen suddenly realized it was the sound Allison's cell phone ringing. She looked on amazed, but Allison only glanced briefly at the display, then answered the phone and yelled, "FUCK YOU THOMAS!"

She then hurled the cell phone against the wall. The casing broke open and the innards fell free.

There followed a few seconds of stunned silence, and then Vanessa said, "Allison Mathilda, I don't ever want to hear such language out of your mouth. Ever. Again!"

"Oh, give it a rest, mother! I'm thirty-six years old!"

"I don't care if you're ninety-five years old. When you're in my presence you will act like a lady and not like a beast of the jungle!"

"I don't care about your precious composure right now. I really, really just don't care at all. My life is a shambles, mother! And you're yelling at me because I swore at Thomas when you were in the same room! What is wrong with you?"

Allison and Vanessa were both standing now. Allison's face was turning red, and Maureen was beginning to think that her instinct to sneak out of the room earlier had been the right one after all.

Vanessa put a hand to her forehead. "All right, Allison, let's deal with one matter at a time. Why are you saying that the wedding is off?"

"Because I'm not marrying that — that man," Allison replied, calm but clearly seething beneath the surface.

"But what exactly happened, dear?" Vanessa said with exaggerated patience.

"He's been — he's been cheating on me."

Silence fell, as Vanessa waited for Allison to elaborate and Allison waited for a reaction from someone. Finally Vanessa said, in an icy voice, "And what makes you say that, dear?"

Allison's face twisted from an injured frown to a bitter scowl. "Oh, never mind! I just can't talk about it with you right now!"

Vanessa refused to lose her composure. She glared at Allison and said, "Never mind? Does that mean I should ignore everything you've said just now?"

"No!"

"So, as far as you're concerned, the wedding is still off?" Vanessa was unflappable, in her element now. This was a side of Allison that Maureen had rarely seen, but apparently Vanessa was more familiar with it.

Allison was now staring at herself in the mirror on the far wall. She seemed to be memorizing her face at that moment, the look of hurt anger and the marks left by the brief bout of tears. Finally she said, without shouting, "Mom, why do you always have to be so difficult?"

Vanessa was silent for a moment. "Allison, I'm sorry if I'm not the mother you wish you had, but I can't be anybody but myself. You're stuck with the mother you have, you know. Nobody else can come in and give birth to you all over again."

"I know," Allison said, still without looking at her.

"All right. Now that we've all been reminded of that, let's see where we are," Vanessa had shifted into a businesslike tone of voice. Allison rolled her eyes at her own reflection. Vanessa folded her hands and said, "Thomas has done something, only you and presumably he know what, that has caused you to question his fidelity. You therefore wish to call off the wedding, despite the fact that the wedding is less than seven weeks away. You are upset and therefore have chosen not to share the details of the event in question. Correct?"

"Correct," Allison said in a small voice. Her gaze had slowly sunk from the mirror to the royal blue carpet. They both continued to behave as if Maureen was not even present.

"Allison, I want you to understand something," Vanessa said, and waited for Allison to reply.

"What's that?" Allison finally muttered.

"If Thomas is truly not a man who will treat you with all the respect that you deserve, I will not hesitate to prevent him from marrying you."

Allison said nothing, and did not raise her eyes from the floor, but she turned around and embraced her mother, burying her face into her shoulder.

Vanessa put her arms around Allison and continued, "However, you do not indicate this situation to me by charging into our cabin and demanding that the wedding be called off without any explanation. Do you understand?"

There was a prolonged silence, and then Allison nodded her head up and down, without raising it from her mother's shoulder.

"A lot of money has been invested in this ceremony," Vanessa continued. "On both sides, I might add. Your feelings on the matter are integral, to be sure, but not to the point where you can declare the whole thing canceled on the merest whim. So: we will all hear what the matter is when you're ready to talk about it. That said, right now I am on the verge of a monstrous headache. It's not been a good day for me either, Allison, though you didn't ask, and I am going to go straight to bed and try to recuperate. You're free to join me if you wish to sleep; otherwise, I would ask that you leave me alone until then."

Allison extricated herself from her mother, and Maureen could see that she had begun crying again. Her expression was much more composed now, however, and she said listlessly, "Okay. I'll come back later and see how you're doing."

"Thank you, my dear. In the meantime, why don't you and Maureen play shuffleboard."

"Okay."

Maureen stood up. "Sure you'll be okay, Vanessa?"

Vanessa sat down on the bed without losing the starchy expression her face had acquired during the recent exchange. "Yes, Maureen. I was looking for something to distract my thoughts, and Allison has taken care of that in spades."

If Allison was offended at this remark, she didn't show it. Instead she looked at Maureen and tipped her head towards the door.

"Okay. Take care, Vanessa, and I'll see you this evening." Maureen followed Allison out into the hall.

Allison let out a long sigh. "God, she can be such a jerk sometimes."

Maureen looked at the closed cabin door, then at Allison. "So what exactly happened?"

"Oh god, Maureen. I don't think I can talk about it just yet. It's just — I —" Allison shook her head. "Later, okay?"

Maureen suddenly came to a decision. "Okay, if you won't tell me, then maybe Thomas will."

Allison grabbed Maureen's arm. "No, Maureen. Please don't do that."

"Allison, what gives?" Maureen felt her carefully controlled composure towards the subject of Thomas begin to disintegrate. "I feel like I hardly know this guy, but you're marrying him a year after your first date, and now he's done something to piss you off like I can't remember ever seeing before! And you want me to just act like nothing's going on? You won't explain anything to me. So he'll have to."

"Maureen, if you barge into the middle of this with that attitude, I'm afraid it's just going to make matters worse."

Maureen looked at Allison's anxious face with incredulity. "What worse? You're crying and saying the wedding's off? How can I make things any worse?"

"Just — please don't interfere, Maureen."

"Then tell me what's going on already!" Maureen hissed.

Allison nodded. "Okay, but not right now please? I'm still freaking out, Maureen. I need to calm down."

Maureen nodded, and immediately her frustration disappeared. "Of course, Allison. Look, I didn't mean to be so demanding."

"I know."

"I'm just concerned, you know. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I know."

"You know. Okay. How about later this evening? Can we talk then? Is that too soon?"

Allison finally managed a weak smile. "That sounds just fine, Maureen. Let's get together for drinks. I think I'll be ready for a drink by then."

"What about your diet?"

"My diet's off if the wedding's off," Allison muttered.

Maureen decided not to pursue that subject. "Okay. Will I see you at dinner?"

Allison shrugged. "Maybe not. Come find me after dinner, though. We can talk then."

"Sure. Okay. I'll see you then."

"Wait. Maureen?" Allison suddenly faced her. "Can I use your cabin until then?"

"Use it for what?"

"I — I just really need to be alone right now. I don't want to be up on deck trying to deal with small talk, and I don't want to be where Thomas could come find me. I already promised Mom I'd let her have the cabin all afternoon. Can I just hide out in yours for a few hours?"

"Sure, Allison. Sure. No problem." Maureen suddenly felt strangely protective of her friend. She began to walk down the hall. "Let me just get my book out of my cabin. I'll go back upstairs and read until dinner, and then after that I'll come get you."

"Thank you, Maureen," Allison said simply.

Maureen smiled. "This way, I'll know exactly where to find you after dinner."

 

The passenger sat in his cabin. His backpack was packed. Tomorrow morning they would be entering the harbor at Honduras. All he had to do was to get off the ship with his backpack, and he would be gone.

He had brought more than one backpack of luggage with him when he arrived on the ship, of course. No matter. He would be leaving some things behind. Nothing important. A few cheap clothes. Everything he needed was in his backpack.

It would be over twelve hours before the ship docked in Honduras. He could leave his cabin. Go out, have a drink, maybe join a party of other travellers. Have some last bit of fun.

He could, but on the other hand he could also just stay where he was. The cabin was very quiet; it was a calm place. The passenger felt that he had spent too much time experiencing sensory overload recently.

The air was perpetually warm and salt-laden. Even now, at night, it was only slightly cool, but in the daytime it was hot. It was blood-warm. Once or twice dudring the past week, he had closed his eyes and the illusion had overcome him that the heat was from another huamn being, he was being smothered by a body surrounding him, or perhaps he was actually inside another person's body, like a fetus.

And the hot sun made all the colors much too bright and vivid, which wasn't helped by the ship's crew. They were constantly washing every inch of the structure, it seemed. They were unsatisfied unless the walls were a bleached-bone white, glaring to the retina. Where it wasn't white it was bright red, pink, sky blue or sea green.

His cabin had a porthole, but you couldn't really see much out of it unless you stood close to it. And there wasn't usually anything to see except water anyway. Presumably the porthole was mainly there just to let in some sunlight. Some people didn't like it when they didn't get any natural light in the morning. He himself liked morning when he had to get up in the morning. It was like an alarm clock that you didn't have to do anything to make work. But it was unpleasant to have the sun there when you desperately needed to be sleeping in.

And the food. There was far too much food available, all the time. Perhaps he should take the blame for that. Nobody had forced him to eat everything that was placed in front of him. But a person's instincts were to not waste food, particularly good food. And after a while, he had noticed something very odd. His body had gotten used to the food being there all the time. The very first time he had eaten dinner on board, he had felt like he was going to explode for an hour afterwards. He felt like he had eaten more food in that single meal than he had ever had in three. By now, though, he ate just as much as anyone else on the ship, and thought little of it. In fact, he had realized that he even felt hungry when it was time for dinner. Not hungry in the same way he had been, before the ship, but still. The body noticed that it got fed at the same time every day and eventually grew to expect it. And even though his stomach was never really empty, still it managed to make him feel something that he had come to think of as hunger. He hoped that that would change after he was off the boat, that his body would relearn its old ways. If it did, he thought that he might go for a week before he finally used up all the food that was in his stomach right now.

They would probably be annoyed at him for leaving possessions behind. He had noticed that there was a little sign on the inside door of the wardrobe that said: "PLEASE make sure that you have retrieved all of your possessions before checking out!" They presumably didn't like it when they had to figure out what to do with things that people left behind. Ah, well. He had paid a great deal of money for his ticket. They would be able to clean up after him. They cleaned up his other detritus every day. This would just be one more thing, really.

Even the sound was beginning to feel overwhelming. Not that it was always loud, although the ship's horn was certainly an overload experience, when it went off. Instead, rather, he was beginning to realize that he could never escape the engine noises of the ship. They weren't loud, but now that he had become aware of them he couldn't stop noticing them and thinking about them.

No, for tonight and tomorrow morning, he felt he would be happy just to remain right where he was, sitting on the bed in his room. He had dimmed the lights. If he got too warm, he could turn on the air conditioner. If the engine noise became too much, he could turn on the music channel.

Inside this little cabin, he had a great deal of control over his environment. It was nice to be in control of his environment, he now decided. He would stay here for a few hours, eventually he would fall asleep, and when he awoke it would almost be time to leave.

He would be glad, so glad, to be off this ship.

 

When she had finished eating dinner, Maureen walked back to her cabin. It was dark outside, away from the ship's lights, and the air had an unexpected coolness to it. The wind had picked up since the afternoon and could just barely be heard over the ship's own noises.

Maureen knocked gently on the door of her cabin, then fished in her pocket for her key card. "Knock knock," she announced to the door. "It's me."

She unlocked the door and entered. The light was on, but Allison was not present. Maureen poked her head through the open door to the bathroom, but it was also unoccupied. Maureen was careful about turning off the light when she left her cabin. Was Allison just careless about lights, or had she just stepped out for a few minutes? Maureen looked around the cabin to see if Allison had left her purse here, but saw nothing that wasn't hers. The maid service had already been here, so Maureen couldn't actually tell that Allison had been here at all. Of course the maid service came by almost hourly, looking for unoccupied cabins, and they were quite efficient at their jobs. So the fact that the cabin had been cleaned didn't imply that Allison had been gone long.

Maureen changed out of her dinner clothes and back into her preferred casual outfit. She took a couple of minutes to comb her hair and wash her face, but still Allison failed to return. Maureen frowned. She wasn't really surprised that Allison hadn't stayed in her cabin for the entire afternoon, but she had at least expected to find a note.

Maureen considered. Allison might have gone off in search of a distraction and lost track of time. Or, she might have gone to confront Thomas, or even Vanessa. And lost track of time.

Or, she might be sitting at the bar, waiting for Maureen to show up and getting a head start on the drinking.

Maureen decided to check the latter possibility first. She walked over to The Cove, which lately had been their default venue for late-night conversation. The room was busier than usual and calypso music was blasting from the speakers, but Allison was not in attendance.

Maureen wandered along the deck, half hoping to bump into Allison and unsure what, if anything, she should do next.

Suddenly Maureen halted, one hand on the deck's railing. A number of seemingly unrelated items had suddenly stuck together in her mind, and they fit a little too well for her to shrug it off.

Maureen looked at the railing under her hand. It looked extremely sturdy. It would have to be, wouldn't it?

An idea came to mind. A plan of action. If anybody came along and saw her, of course, they would have a fit. But it was dark out, and most everyone seemed to be on the other side of the ship, no doubt admiring whichever islands were currently visible. Maureen wasn't normally the sort of person to go traipsing off in pursuit of a random idea. But she thought she could make an exception for this.

Maureen quickly went back to her cabin and changed into her sneakers. She examined the tread: it was a little smooth in one or two spots, but overall they looked quite dependable.

Back outside, Maureen stood next to the railing for almost a full minute, letting her ears become sensitized to the sounds of the night. Finally, confident that no one was nearby, she took a deep breath and swung her left foot onto the railing. She tested her footing, and finding it reliable she grabbed the pole above her head with her right hand and pulled herself up onto the railing.

There was no time for hesitation, now. If someone came along she would be in plain sight. She had to move as quickly as safety permitted. She looked up the side of the ship. There was a thin ledge a few feet overhead. If she could get onto that, she should be able to reach the next deck. She reached out, but it was still a few inches out of reach.

Maureen took a deep breath, marshalled her courage, and jumped.

At the height of her jump, her right hand cleared the top of the ledge. Immediately her fingers clamped onto its surface, smooth and slightly damp but still rough enough to hold onto. With inspiration born of desperation, she grabbed the pole with her feet, squeezing it between her thighs. She got her left hand onto the ledge and then began to work the lower half of her body up the pole, inching her way up using her legs and feet alternately.

Soon she was angled over, almost horizontal, holding herself at the top of the pole. She brought her elbows up onto the ledge, and then with a reassurance based on absolutely nothing, she let go of the pole and swung her left leg up onto the ledge. Her right leg dangled down, waving like a limp flag in the air, but the rest of her was on the ledge. Unable to find anything to hold on, she hesitated to move, but then finally, trusting her body's inertia, she pulled her right leg up and over the ledge's lip.

She lay there for a moment and waited for the pounding of her heart to subside. She could afford to wait now: she was out of sight of the lower deck now. She could be seen from the upper deck, if somebody came to the edge and looked straight down. Possible, but unlikely.

Once her body had calmed down again, Maureen carefully looked up and assessed the area. The ledge wasn't terribly deep. In fact, it was almost certainly too narrow to walk freely along without falling. An acrobat might have managed, perhaps. She would have to reach up and use the deck and its railing to keep herself in place. So if someone was up there, and looked at the edge of the deck, they might see her fingers. It was a definite risk, but it was one that she'd just have to accept.

Very carefully, Maureen brought her legs up under her torso, then splaying the fingers of each hand against the side of the ship, she slowly raised herself up into a crouch, and from there into a standing position. When her knees were straight again, she raised her left hand up until it found the edge of the next deck. She held it with an iron grip until her right hand joined her left. And now, facing the smooth white wall that was the ship's exterior, she began to nudge her way along the ledge, moving slowly towards the stern.

She quickly got the hang of the motion, and found that she felt far less precarious in this position than she had for some time now, so she was quite surprised when one of her feet slipped out from beneath her.

Immediately she grabbed at the deck with her fingers, trying to dig her nails into the hard wood, but she had reacted a split second too late: she was already falling.

Maureen flailed her limbs at the empty air. When she hit the surface of the water, it felt like she had been hit by a wall of pillow stuffed with bricks. The wind was knocked out of her as she fell through the water. Stunned and unable to think clearly, she began to try to swim, but the water churned around her and she couldn't be sure which way was up. Her eyes were stinging from the impact with the saltwater, and all she could see were vague misty haloes. In shock, she stopped trying to swim. She stopped trying to do anything. She needed to take a moment and collect her thoughts. Her lungs were full of seawater and she couldn't think clearly. She needed to be able to think clearly before she could do anything else.


Part Three

Maureen stared at me. At my horn-rimmed eyeglasses, at my white lab coat, at the clipboard in my hand. I was filling out a form in triplicate with a ballpoint pen. I smiled at her over the clipboard and said, "So, what did you think?"

"Uh. I'm not really sure." Maureen looked at herself. She seemed to be surprised to find herself perfectly dry. Surprised to find herself at all, perhaps. "Um. Well, there's a few things I'd have done differently, if I had it to do over again." She suddenly looked up at me and asked, quite seriously, "Will I?"

I shook my head.

She deflated a bit. "Well, I expect everyone has their list of regrets. I'm probably no different in that regard." She paused. "I guess if you take it all in all, it wasn't really too bad." She thought for another moment, then shrugged. "Yeah. On average, I'd say it was fun, I suppose."

I smiled back at her. "Good to hear." And then her apparatus for experiencing things shut down.

The End