by Jan Thompson
Somewhere in the twenty-first minute, Marie thought she was going to snap.
“How did David cut off Goliath’s head?” Jonas asked.
“What?” Marie gasped.
Sitting on the other side of Mrs. Ping, Logan must have seen Marie’s concern. Instead of looking at his own Bible, he leaned over toward Mrs. Ping’s large-print Bible, and started to mumble. “Ah, decapitation.”
“I thought we’re reading the children’s Bible,” Marie said. “He’s only five.”
“I’ll be six next year, Mommy.” Jonas tugged her arm.
Great.
Marie tried to even out her breathing. “Why don’t we get to the details of decapitation later? Like when he’s thirty years old.”
“Decaf?” Jonas’s eyes lit up. “Like coffee? Decaf coffee.”
How did this child leap from decapitated to decaffeinated?
“Not decaf. I mean…uh, stuff like that. We’ll talk about them when you’re older, okay?”
“Stuff?” Jonas asked. “Did they stuff Goliath’s—”
“Stop!” Marie pressed a hand to her chest.
“Mommy.” Jonas shook his head. “I already know that David killed Goliath. I wanna know how he did it exactly. Did he use a light saber?”
Marie was about to respond when Logan raised his hand, as if to tell her he would handle it.
“Son, let’s talk about onions,” Logan said.
“Onions?” Jonas frowned, looking terribly confused. “Dad, David threw stones, not onions.”
At this point, Marie felt a headache coming.
“Oh, look at the time.” Logan tapped his Tag Heuer watch. “We’re way past our fifteen-minute Bible study.”
Jonas stared at his dad, the way Marie would stare at Logan at every quarrel, every fight, every disagreement in their marriage.
Logan broke the stare, turned to Mrs. Ping. Mouthed something.
To Marie, it looked like “help.”
Mrs. Ping smiled calmly, as though she had been there, done that. “Since we’re on Alaskan time, we can take a few more minutes to answer Mister Jonas’s very good question.”
The dark cloud over Jonas’s face lifted. He looked like he was the most important person in the world.
“David obeyed God,” Mrs. Ping said. “When we obey God, we don’t always understand the details. They will be revealed to us by and by if God so allows.”
Revealed to us by and by?
Marie wondered if Mrs. Ping was speaking above Jonas’s head to her and Logan.
“God will tell us when we need to know.” Mrs. Ping looked at Jonas.
Jonas seemed satisfied with the answer.
“That’s what I was trying to get to,” Logan said. “It’s like peeling an onion. Layer by layer. We’ll find out more and more.”
“Well, that is, if you peel an onion all the way,” Marie said. “I usually peel the skin, and chop up the rest—”
Marie’s palm flew to her mouth.
Logan’s eyes met hers. He seemed to know what she had meant. Yet, neither of them wanted to argue in front of Jonas, though they had done plenty of that when Jonas had been a baby.
Mrs. Ping had seen it all.
Marie pursed her lips.
We can’t even agree on how to cut up an onion. How could we agree on marriage? On life?
“Children, let’s not get distracted,” Mrs. Ping broke the silence. “Jonas, what is the most important lesson we learn today from the story of David and Goliath?”
“Obey God no matter what,” Jonas said. “Now can we go get ice cream?”
Chapter Five
It had taken three adults to persuade little Jonas to postpone his cravings for ice cream until after lunch.
Does that mean I failed as a dad?
Logan wouldn’t admit that in front of his ex-wife, but inside, he felt like his parenting skills were below par.
How many times had he let Jonas get his way, if only to keep the peace between father and son? Too many.
How many times had he prayed to God—his heavenly Father—for help? Too few.
Logan feared he was raising a manipulative brat, and what would he become when he grew up?
In the style of his now deceased Urquhart grandfather, Jonas had cut a deal—yes, a deal!—to be compensated for his compliance. It hadn’t seemed to be a difficult demand to meet when Jonas had first brought it up, but now…
Now, Logan was uncomfortable sitting next to Marie at their table in the formal dining room.
He didn’t know why.
She smelled floral, with a hint of ocean. That French perfume suited her. Her hair was as wavy as ever, though she’d had it cut in such a way that its ends sat on her shoulders. With the Pacific sun shining on her hair, Logan could tell she hadn’t colored it. It was the same chestnut hair she’d had since the first day they had met.
So why was he uncomfortable next to her?
He remembered the days when he couldn’t wait to sit next to her, to wrap his hands around hers, to massage her neck, to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, as a loving husband would his bride.
All those were distant memories, rolling away like dry tumbleweeds across a dusty desert.
Across from them, Jonas sat next to Mrs. Ping.
Jonas stared at his parents. “Now I can see both of you together.”
“You mean at the same time?” Logan corrected him.
“Sitting together at the same time.”
Well, okay.
Marie hadn’t said a word, and it was just as well. Every time she had opened her mouth, they had friction. Or perhaps, Logan had been reading too much into it. Perhaps he had been the friction.
Whatever. The point was that he and Marie were still not getting along.
The more he thought of it, the more he realized how different they both were. Logan didn’t speak a lick of French, didn’t care for French cuisine, didn’t like the French Riviera. He was the meat-and-potato sort of guy, preferred greasy southern fried chicken anywhere in small town Georgia, and didn’t care for seafood.
Like this lunch, for example. He had ordered lamb chops. She had poached halibut.
Why would anyone poach halibut? It’s the grill for me.
If he were to ask Marie, she would probably say the reverse.
Why would anyone grill halibut?
Their differences went on and on. Marie wore what looked like a wool cardigan over her long-sleeved dress. She had always been cold. Back when they had been married, she would always shiver when Logan turned down the thermostat.
Always cold.
As for Logan, this room temperature could get cooler.
“I can’t wait to see the whales,” Logan declared as his hamburger and fries arrived.
Yep, taught my son well.
Meat and potatoes.
When everyone’s lunch was served, it was time to ask God to bless the food. At that moment, Jonas said the unthinkable: “Let’s hold hands.”
To appease the little tyrant, Logan reached across the table to hold Jonas’s right hand. The boy’s left hand was in Mrs. Ping’s hand. Her other hand was holding Marie’s hand.
“Hold Mommy’s hand,” Jonas said.
Logan’s hand was under the table. “How do you know we’re not holding hands?”
“I know you, Dad,” Jonas said.
Marie laughed. “Say please, love.”
“Please hold Mommy’s hand,” Jonas asked again, politely but sternly.
Logan’s jaw dropped at how quickly Jonas obeyed his mom.
And Logan did as he was told.
Marie’s hand was smooth, like she had just applied lotion into it. Logan tried to recall the first time they had held hands way back when, but his recollections were interrupted by a loud amen from Jonas.
Uh oh.
He had missed the entire time they said grace. And God had seen it. Silently, he thanked God for the food and asked for forgiveness.
He felt a tug in
his hand. He opened his eyes to find Marie trying to pull her hand away from his.
“Oh. Sorry.” He was even sorrier to let go of her hand.
Chapter Six
“I have to go to the little boys’ room,” Jonas declared halfway through his hamburger and chocolate milk.
Immediately, Logan put his napkin on the table. “I’ll take him.”
“You haven’t finished eating.” Mrs. Ping pointed to his plate. “I’ll take him.”
She doesn’t get it.
Logan was trying to get away from Marie. If he didn’t have to talk to her, there would be no confrontation. It was a preventive strategy that Urquhart men were known for.
Avoid all conflicts by fleeing the scene.
Mrs. Ping was on her feet and Jonas was already holding her hand, before Logan could come up with a reason to be the one to take Jonas to the boys’ room.
Marie said not a word. She kept eating silently.
Logan placed the napkin back on his lap.
He glanced at her.
She didn’t return the gesture.
Funny, she was even prettier than the day they had married. If he could do it all over again, he would give her a grand wedding. A destination wedding, even.
Sometimes Logan felt bad that, in spite of the Urquhart fortune, they’d had such a small beach wedding that only her parents and close relatives were invited to. Marie had insisted on not inviting too many people, and everyone was prohibited from posting the Urquhart-Bouchard wedding photos on social media.
After their mini honeymoon in England, Logan had to fly back to a string of meetings at the Urquhart Enterprise headquarters in Atlanta, and Marie had to go back to her translator job, wherever it was.
As crazy as it sounded, he would go out with her all over again, if only to revisit the times they had missed or lost. Perhaps he could court her, and let their relationship take its course from their being an item to being husband and wife.
They had leapt too quickly to the wedding altar, and then just as quickly, their marriage had fizzled out.
What on earth is a no-fault divorce anyway?
Had they admitted they’d made a mistake? How could anyone make a big mistake with such an important life event?
Well, I did.
Marie did.
Logan chewed into the last bit of lamb chops, juicy and cooked to his specifications. Still it would have tasted better had he been in a good mood.
There was no way now he could reboot his relationship with Marie. It was too late, wasn’t it?
He glanced at her again. She was gazing out the windows. He could see a bit of her neckline. He remembered…
No. For all practical purposes, their relationship was over.
The only thing they had in common was parenthood. Even that, they could no longer do together.
“How’s work?” Logan blurted.
That’s original. Logan chided himself.
“Work?” Marie faced him. There was no frown on her face. It was cold. Like a steel in some wintry outdoors.
“I’m trying.” That wasn’t much of an explanation, but…
“To do what, exactly?” Marie asked. “To prevent us from killing each other the next five days?”
“We survived the first day.”
“By avoiding each other.”
“As long as you don’t lop off my head like David did Goliath.” Logan didn’t know why he said that.
Marie laughed.
Oh I loved to hear that. Logan stared at her again.
“Parenting is hard, isn’t it?” Marie asked. “So much harder than…”
Logan waited.
She didn’t finish her sentence.
“Than what?” Logan asked.
“Than many things…” Marie seemed calm, but Logan could tell that something was percolating just beneath the surface.
“Like your job?”
Now Marie frowned a little. No one else would have been able to spot it, but Logan could. He could tell when she was upset at all, or starting to be.
“Why do you keep bringing up my job?” she asked. “You said work earlier. How about asking me about my career?”
Logan felt a heartburn coming.
Should he say what was on his mind?
Here goes. “You chose it over us.”
“Us?” Marie’s eyes widened. “You and Jonas against me now?”
“Let’s not fight.”
Marie pushed back her chair.
“Where are you going?” Logan asked.
“None of your business.” She picked up her purse from the floor on the other side of her chair.
“You can’t leave,” Logan said, almost in a panic.
“Why not?”
“Jonas will be back any minute now. He’ll see you gone. Again.”
All around them, the lunch crowd carried on. Nobody seemed to care that these two people were at it again. Everyone else seemed to be busy talking and eating. The servers in their white gloves circled the table. One came over to ask if they wanted their water goblets refilled.
Logan took the opportunity to reach out and touch Marie’s arm.
To ask her to stay.
Don’t go.
Please?
After the server left, Logan continued. “Whenever he asks for you, he’s sad. Always sad.”
Marie’s lips moved slightly. Quavered?
“Don’t make him sad. He just turned five last week. It has been three years without you in his young life.”
“You blame me now?” Marie said between gritted teeth.
“I’m trying to avoid future psychological trauma in our son.”
“Wait. What?” Marie pulled away from Logan’s touch. She mumbled something in French.
Should have learned French. She could be cussing me out right now.
Logan waited.
“You’re as much to blame for our broken family,” Marie said.
“Who left? Who stayed?”
“I had no choice.” Marie opened her mouth to say more. But for some reason, she decided not to.
“Choice? So you chose.”
“If only you knew…”
“Knew what? Tell me.”
“I can’t.” She pursed her lips.
“So there’s another man?” Logan asked.
“No. There is no other. There hasn’t been another.”
“Me neither.” The sudden realization that they both hadn’t dated since their divorce hit Logan deep in his chest.
But.
There’s this matter of transparency.
Maybe someday…
Logan motioned for her to sit down. “Please?”
Marie hesitated. Then she waved.
Logan looked in the direction of her wave, and saw Jonas bouncing back with Mrs. Ping in tow.
Marie sat down. “Only for ice cream.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get,” Logan told her.
Chapter Seven
It turned out there was more ice cream all afternoon on the top deck of the cruise ship—where the swimming pool was, with its noisy swimmers and splashers. At the rate Jonas was consuming all sorts of ice cream, Marie was sure he was going to be sick.
And forget nap time. All that sugar had to be used up first.
If Logan weren’t busy with his work downstairs in his stateroom, he might have stopped Jonas from eating more ice cream than he already had. But Marie wasn’t going to.
What’s an extra scoop?
It wasn’t like Jonas had this every week.
Sitting by the pool in tee shirt and shorts, Marie looked away from her son in the kiddie pool, playing with several other kids. Mrs. Ping was hovering over her charge, and Marie felt at ease enough to check her email.
The next time she looked up from her iPad, she spotted three men, two hijab-clad women, and one kid, heading her way, presumably toward the several empty teak lounge chairs around her. The kid pointed to the kiddie pool that Jonas was in, and he was esc
orted there by one of the women.
The men followed the second woman to the lounge chair nearby. Marie smiled, but the woman did not return it. She might not have noticed Marie there, with the sun shining down on them.
But the men.
Something about them made Marie curious. Having mingled with Arab immigrants in France, Marie felt that she knew more about the culture of the Middle Eastern region, but there was still a lot to learn.
To normal eyes, those three men looked like other vacationers from the Middle East, but to Marie, they looked like seasoned fighters. Were they armed?
Then again, she was probably paranoid. Still, in her line of work, the best thing to do was not to appear too eager to learn, too inquisitive, too nosy.
The woman said nothing to the men. In fact, no one around Marie had spoken. She waited to see if she could spot the country they came from. But they had to speak first.
She didn’t recall seeing them in the dining room. Perhaps they ate at the late seating. Or maybe they ate in the exclusive dining rooms or ordered room service.
She wondered which staterooms they were in. She didn’t remember seeing them on her deck either.
In any case, the woman didn’t seem to be prepared for a swim. She was covered from head to toe, but not in the modest swimming outfits that Marie had seem some conservative women wear. The other woman was dressed in a swimsuit that Marie had seen in the Middle East, but she did not go into the pool either.
Marie kept her eyes on her iPad, but her ears were listening.
Not a word.
She could hear the kids laughing and playing. She tried to pick up what they were saying so that she could determine a place of origin. The new kid were too cute for words. Marie guessed that he was about Jonas’s age. The boy spoke in British English to Jonas and Mrs. Ping.
Marie waited for the men to speak, but they did not. Eventually the woman said something to the men about the weather being unexpectedly pleasant—
Arabic.
Marie strained to hear more.
No, no.
I’m on holiday. I’m not at work.
Besides, there were many languages on this cruise. Even though she could only speak seven languages, Marie could identity many other languages. She figured there were multiple languages spoken among the passengers, including English, Dutch—and Indonesian among the stewards.