Sunny Side Up

by Daniel Stallings

  The purple balloon of Aaron’s face inflated, his eyeballs bulging like a frog’s. He slammed a ham-sized fist onto the table, upsetting the orchid arrangement. His tongue jumped and flailed as if electrocuted.

  Choking. He’s choking.

  That was all the thought Li spared. The boy sprang to the table and hauled his choking customer out of his seat. Aaron pawed at the tablecloth like a drowning man after a life ring, dragging the cloth, dishes, and centerpiece off the table in one swipe. Li fought to remember the techniques he learned in high school. Stand behind the victim. Make a fist. Place it under the breastbone. Wrap other hand over fist. Say a quick prayer to the gods of the universe that this works.

  Thrust.

  Aaron’s hands clawed at his throat.

  Thrust.

  A sheet of sweat drenched Li’s hair.

  Thrust.

  The tiniest smile flickered on Sally’s face.

  Thrust.

  Please God. Let this work. I know he’s a jerk, but don’t let him die because of me. Please!

  Thrust.

  Aaron spluttered like an engine starving for fuel. Half-swallowed food dribbled from between his lips. His caterpillar mustache caught a few stray bacon bits. Li felt the man regain his breathing. It was slow, labored, but effective. Aaron spat out the wad of un-chewed food that tried to kill him.

  Li’s brain reeled with warring emotions. He just saved his executioner’s life.

  “Get the hell away from me, you piece of shit!” Aaron growled. He shoved Li back with a fat, trembling hand. “Come on, Sally.”

  Sally resembled a prisoner dazzled by the chink of sunshine streaming through the crack of a not-quite-closed cell door, only to have it slam shut in her face. Was that a whisper of hate in her eyes as she glanced at her husband’s hero?

  A hand seized Li by the hair. Paul bristled, the vein screaming in his temple. He tore through the dining room with the offending waiter and disappeared into the kitchen. He flung Li against the wall. Kitchen and dining staff milled around behind Paul, craning to get a look at the huddled, trembling boy in the corner and whispering their suspicions.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Paul muttered. His voice was as loud as the rustle of leaves. Li was one curl away from the fetal position. “Assaulting a customer? That’s low…even for you, Dropout. And in front of all of the passengers too. I’m disgusted by you.”

  “H-He was choking.” Li kept his eyes on the floor. “I had to do something, so I gave him the Heimlich and—”

  “I am done with your excuses.” It terrified Li that Paul could be so quiet and controlled. “Your behavior on this trip is abominable. You’ve embarrassed me, you’ve embarrassed your coworkers, and you’ve dragged the Howard Line through the mud.”

  The angry imp in Li’s heart started to fume. He just saved a man’s life, and Paul treated him like a psychotic delinquent.

  “You have a flagrant disregard for ship policies.” There was a certain shrill snap to Paul’s tone, and Li knew he referred to that damn rumor that wouldn’t die. “You constantly blame others for your own mistakes. And you are a liability to the safety of our working environment.”

  The imp breathed smoke now. The cool, clipped way Paul denounced him raised Li’s hackles. He started to uncurl from his crouched huddle on the floor.

  “It’s amazing that you didn’t kill that poor man.”

  “KILL him?” That did it. Li rose to his feet, the imp sharpening his sword for battle. “You think I might have KILLED him?”

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  “No, Paul. You DON’T know.” Li’s smoky blue eyes billowed with the hate of the abused. The control in his voice was threadbare. “I may have made some mistakes before, but I REFUSE to be lynched for saving a man’s life.” He waved a hand toward the doors, where the guests lunched in relative peace. “Ask anyone who was there. The man was choking. I reacted on impulse. I performed the Heimlich. That customer is breathing again, thanks to me.” His eyes flashed with a sword’s brilliance. “Go on. Ask.”

  Paul’s nostrils flared, and two hard dents of burgundy popped onto his cheeks. “Word has it that you were on unfriendly terms with this customer. Why should you help him?”

  “Are you really going to ask that? Do you think I would let someone choke to death in front of me?”

  “It doesn’t matter—”

  “No, it DOES matter, Paul. I wasn’t raised to sit back and let people die. Not if I can do something about it.” His hands curled into fists. “It doesn’t matter if the guy is a jerk or a saint. I wouldn’t let anyone die under my watch.” There was a malicious spark in the corner of his eye. “I’d even save you, Paul.”

  The whispers behind Paul rose like the sound of faraway waves.

  “Don’t you know that you’re one heartbeat away from getting fired, Dropout?”

  “My name is Liam Johnson.” He resisted the urge to add the distinctly medieval epithet, “Son of Gene Johnson, Master Carpenter.”

  Paul’s sense of decorum shattered. “I’ll call you whatever I want!”

  “No. You’ll call me Liam. I am not and never will be Dropout.”

  “You are a selfish, whiny, pretentious piece of crap I should scrape off my shoe!” Paul’s screech prodded some eavesdroppers to cover their ears. “I could fire you whenever the hell I FEEL like it!”

  “Fire me then!” Li’s voice rose bright and clear like a battle cry. “Go ahead! I wouldn’t want to work here if I knew people got fired on the crazed whims of a jealous, arrogant lunatic!”

  That was the dagger in the heart. Paul’s face blanched before sharpening on the whetstone of his fury. He howled at the boy, grabbed Li’s throat, and dragged him to the double doors. The hovering staff scuttled out of their way, a constellation of wide, staring eyes clustered around the two men. Paul threw Li into the dining room, screaming at him, not giving a damn about the now hundreds of startled passengers watching them.

  “Get out of my sight, you stupid son of a bitch! I hate you! You were fired the minute you set foot in my dining room! Go be some slutty sex toy for one of those airheaded fashion designers that love you so much! Never ever EVER let me see you again, because, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”

  He vanished into the kitchen. Li felt his cheeks prickle with anger. Comebacks fluttered on his tongue, but he became aware that every eye watched to see his next course of action. He would leave with dignity. Aaron Brent would not have the pleasure of watching Li beg on his knees for a job he hated.

  Li strode to the door, keeping his steely gaze locked on the exit. Once over the threshold, the taut, terror-strewn face of Sally Brent swarmed to him. She spoke with the breathless quality of having fled for her life.

  “Why did you save him?” she asked. “Are you crazy? Don’t you care about your own life? Dear God, why couldn’t you let him die?”

  CHAPTER 19

  A Damaged Woman

  The bunk was cold. It fought with the surge of heat crowding Li’s body. He flopped on the bed, buried his face in a pillow, and felt the first hot tears burn like acid on his cheekbones. This sucked. Why did he have to cry when he was furious? Why couldn’t he yell or swear like normal people?

  He curled into a ball on the mattress and smeared away the tears with the heel of his hand. The feeling of suffocating solitude closed around his throat. He lost his job. He had no way of leaving the ship. They were sailing on open seas for the rest of the day. Port was tomorrow.

  He was marooned in the middle of the ocean with people who wanted to kill him.

  He fussed among his belongings and drew out his wallet. Tucked into a card slip was a folded photograph, the only one in his possession. Jeremy was insane to think there were more.

  With quivering fingers, Li unfolded the image.

  A beach scene. A sunburned man, sporting a short crop of brown hair and eyes like a lake in the rain, had his arm around a six-year-old boy. The boy’s eyes mirrored his father
’s. To their left, a woman with thick curls of sable hair and laughing brown eyes cuddled a slightly chubby three-year-old girl, whose own head was crowned by a fountain of chocolate hair. The family wore matching smiles as they surrounded the sand castle they built as a team.

  Li never felt more alone than he did right now.

  Deep in his lungs, the sobs clawed their way out. Li pulled the photo up to his face and let his tears soak it. Maybe if he watered the image enough, the happy family would grow out of it: Gentle Gene, Merry Margaret, Little Liam, and Angelic Annaleigh. Maybe they would go out for ice cream after Dad figured out how the timer on the camera worked.

  Every memory scratched Li’s eyes.

  Was Paul right? Was he a waste of air? Was it stupid of him to think he had a chance in this world? His bloodshot eyes traced the alien smiles of his family. Had that even happened? It had been eons since he smiled like that. No…The last time had been on the bus to La Bufadora. That whole day seemed centuries away now, and the future read as blank as a crashed computer.

  Li wanted to die. It was stupid, melodramatic, and ill-thought, but he just wanted everything to end right there, the memories of those matching smiles glinting like stars in his dark, final thoughts.

  Don’t you dare think like that, Liam.

  Surging forward from the back of his brain, his dad’s voice carried like Li’s battle cry against Paul.

  I didn’t raise any losers. You and Annaleigh are the best kids I could have wanted. You’re bright, honest, hard-working, and loyal to your family. I could not be prouder.

  Li knew the thoughts were his own, but took enormous comfort in the way they were dressed in his father’s voice. His dad could reassure him one last time.

  Yes, you lost your job. Who hasn’t? I never thought waiting tables was what you wanted to do with your life. When you get back to Long Beach, you will find a new job. And you’ll save up for school. I don’t want any more mourning. You’re letting your grief control you. My kids don’t give up. I taught them to fight.

  Li admitted that he had been doing a lot of fighting lately.

  You stand up for your morals. You don’t let people box you into a label. Sure, you have a temper. I did too. Don’t you remember my louse of a brother?

  The boy suppressed a grin at the comment about his Uncle Dwight.

  So get to work, Liam. You know what you can do.

  And Li did know. Even though he was banned from the dining room, they couldn’t throw him off the ship, no matter how shrill Paul screamed. So he reached under his bunk and pulled out the first book he touched: the dumpster-discovered Econ textbook. He would study, readying himself for the college he would attend. No question about that.

  He let the book open wherever it wanted.

  Propped in the hinge between the pages about demand elasticity were three photographs of a sunburned Charlegne Jackson.

  “So I hear we had a little incident in the dining room at lunch, my boy,” Captain Crayle said, his diction politician-perfect.

  Li didn’t quail before those iron eyes this time. His chin plowed forward like the prow of a Viking ship. “A customer choked on his food. I performed the Heimlich.”

  A raised eyebrow. “Quick thinking, son.”

  “Thank you.”

  All their manners were rigid, formal, and cloyingly polite.

  Captain Crayle settled back into his leather chair. “I don’t want to admonish you for saving a man’s life. I admire someone who can think on their feet and react on impulse. It’s admirable, especially for someone so young.” He eyed the twenty-year-old, whose face was so set with determination that he looked nearly thirty. “How did you know what to do?”

  “May I ask why that’s important?”

  The captain grinned and spread his hands. “Just making polite conversation. I’m curious.”

  Li raised an eyebrow of his own before answering. “I took a class in my senior year of high school. My Dad died the summer before, and I became obsessed with the idea of becoming a doctor who would find a cure for the leukemia that killed him. Or at least being someone who could save a life.”

  “Noble dream. Why didn’t you continue with it?”

  Li recalled the stink of antiseptics and the man with the long-dried tear stains. “I hate hospitals.”

  The answer seemed to amuse the veteran sailor. “Well, it’s lucky that you did have that dream once. That man owes his life to you.”

  Li shuddered at the idea of Aaron Brent being in his debt.

  “I just did what I had to do.”

  Captain Crayle steepled his fingers and cast his sights on the ceiling. “Of course, the reams of complaints I have about you—”

  “Complaints, sir?”

  If the captain was bothered by the interruption, he didn’t show it. He even smiled. “Mostly for inappropriate conduct. I have reports from…let’s see…” He counted off on his fingers. “Mr. Joshua Cole, Ms. Priscilla Reilly, Mr. Martin Hale, Countess Amelia Ramseyer, Mrs. Emily Anderson, Dr. Innsbrook…” His eyes glimmered at the memory. “But the bulk of it comes from Mr. Aaron Brent and your boss, Paul McCaffrey. And I’m given to understand that Mr. McCaffrey terminated your employment with us. Why is that?”

  “He fired me for saving Mr. Brent’s life.”

  The captain’s eyes twinkled. “Odd reason, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.”

  Li wasn’t going to budge an inch. If Captain Crayle wanted him to lose his temper, they would be here until the last crew member disembarked in Long Beach.

  “Of course, there are several unofficial complaints made by Mr. McCaffrey, but I didn’t see any reason to pursue the matter without evidence until I talked to Mr. Brent.” His eyes gleamed like the dull shine of a war-beaten suit of armor. “Did you have a private conversation with Miss Charlegne Jackson during the first night of the cruise?”

  “I did.”

  There was mild surprise at Li’s frankness. “You admit this freely?”

  “I do. She was in the dining room after it closed. I was in the kitchen on dish duty, as Mr. McCaffrey instructed.” Li hoped that bit of stiff formality would throw off the captain. “I informed her that the room was closed.”

  “Is that all you discussed?”

  Li had a sick suspicion that Aaron might have timed the conversation. He opted for honesty.

  “No.”

  The eyebrow lifted again. “Oh? What did you talk about, son?”

  “She talked about death.”

  Captain Crayle’s bland good humor dropped into a scowl. “Death?”

  “Yes. If you forgive me for saying this, sir, but I think Charlegne was planning her suicide.”

  A bright arc of anger glimmered in those steel-plated eyes. “That is a hideous suggestion, young man. Perhaps even more hideous than that ridiculous idea about her murder.”

  Li kept his temper on ice, but his thoughts were like acid. Oh, she was murdered, Captain. But did she want someone to kill her? I think she edged closer to that idea every day.

  “She told me so, Captain. She said, and I quote…” He stressed that part. “‘Would it be wrong to say I want to die?’ I think she did want to die. Maybe the reason she took too many sleeping pills that day was to kill herself. Only she didn’t take enough. The sun did the rest.”

  “That’s disgusting! That’s the worst perjury I’ve ever heard in my life! Why on earth would she want to do that?”

  “To be with Dustin again.”

  Color drained out of Crayle’s face until it matched his eyes. His mouth looked welded shut.

  Li saw that change and attacked it. “You knew about Dustin. She told you, didn’t she?”

  “I have brigs for people like you.” His voice rumbled with the warning of thunder.

  “Or you can answer my question. You can’t protect Charlegne anymore.”

  Captain Crayle sized up the arrogant youngster with the eyes like freshly-smithed daggers. There wasn’t a ripple of fear in that
face. A startling change from the cringing, shaking huddle that sat in the same seat only two days ago.

  “She drank too much those first few years after he killed himself,” he droned. “It was partly the reason she dropped out of her modeling contracts. You know that Vogue spread everybody keeps yammering about?” He dragged a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “She was stoned to Heaven, higher than the clouds. She didn’t have a clue what they did for that shoot. It wasn’t until she sobered up and saw the dress they made her wear that she completely lost it. Cut off all contact. Disappeared from everyone and everything.”

  “Why? What was wrong with the dress?”

  “It looked like a wedding gown.”

  That was all he needed to say. Captain Crayle squared his chair with Li and gripped the arm rests until his knuckles looked like sun-bleached knobs of bone.

  “I wasn’t there when it all happened. I met her later when she first sailed on the Howard Line. That must be about twelve years ago. I was new to the Howard Line, much like yourself, son. Only I did sleep with her…” The lines around his eyes deepened like canyons over time. “I thought she cared, but she never did. She was beyond caring. She spent most of her time in some faraway Shangri-La. But I kept seeing her for a while. Sometimes, when I was on shore, I’d meet her in this little apartment in Alhambra.” His eyes grew hazy. “One night, I found her unconscious in the living room. I acted on impulse. I forced her to vomit a potent little cocktail. That’s when it all came out. How Dustin was the love of her life…How he killed himself…How she had to find out weeks later when she saw the placard at his memorial service…How his sister, whom she respected and admired, threw her out of the church…How she never got to say good-bye…” He swallowed, but his lips were as wet as the Sahara in summertime. “Charlegne nursed those wounds. She never let herself heal. Her guilt ate at her like cancer. I should have known she would kill herself eventually. She hated living. She only wanted to see Dustin again.”

  His voice dried up. He looked every inch an old man.

  Li’s face softened with sympathy. “Did she tell you why Dustin killed himself?”