by June Shaw
Tommy’s face came into mind, and I yearned to be with him. But I couldn’t achieve that desire right now. Feeling the boat seeming to pick up speed, I scuttled in search of Tetter or Sue.
I’d start with some of the public places on this deck. People walked and sat and talked everywhere. It was still fairly early evening, but many folks would be in bars. I ducked into the Regal Lounge and smiled at the bartender, the only person inside. Scouting faces again in the wide hallway, I peeked into the library. A dozen or so people searched for reading material. I ambled farther, and the boat dipped, making my booted foot slide a pinch sideways. It struck the leg of a stool at the open bar where we had sung.
Gil sat on that stool.
“Great. You’re falling for me.” He clasped my wrist before I fell over. Gil helped me straighten on my feet.
I widened my stance to keep my balance and surveyed people sitting with him. All three were men, making me relax. They wore dressy casual with light jackets or sweaters. No-nonsense drinks without umbrellas stood in front of each of them.
“I need to fall for someone,” I told Gil, “and you happen to be in the right place.” I gave him a smile in which I attempted to give away nothing. These men didn’t need to know he knew me if that’s what he chose, and I could move on, continuing my purpose. He could continue whatever he was doing with these people.
“It looks like you hurt yourself.” With a serious face, Gil pointed to my boot. “Do you need some help, ma’am? I could help you somewhere—maybe to your room.”
I stared at his eyes. No smile lines near them. I checked his lips. Not a hint of a grin.
He wasn’t trying to get me back to my stateroom for sex. What was Gil up to?
I wasn’t in a romantic mood, although that could easily change when he came around. He wore that look of something-serious-is-filling-my-brain-now-so-let-me-work-it-out.
I wanted to know what that serious thing was.
“I appreciate your offer,” I said, pretending he was a stranger. “I’m not ready to go to my room yet, but I was hoping to get to that place.” I pointed aft, trying to recall what might be back there on this deck.
“Oh, the Wake Lounge,” he said.
“That’s the one. My friends are waiting.” I saw his gaze follow my left hand slipping into my right palm and spied his smirk as he watched me pinch, knowing I’d brewed a lie.
“I’ll help her get there and be right back,” he told the men on the barstools.
“Take your time,” one wearing thick bifocals said.
“Give us all another round, would you?” Gil asked the bartender, surely to keep these people in their places till he returned.
He gripped my arm. I bent toward him as I walked, doing my best imitation of a woman in pain needing a man to lean on.
“This is so nice of you, sir,” I said, gazing at my feet.
“Does your foot really hurt?”
“No, I slid. I was just lucky I stopped against Sir Galahad.”
“Damn, I miss you.” His gaze met mine. “I would much rather be with you than any of them.”
“So why are you with them? Why not staying with me?”
We passed through the smaller hallway beside one of the dining rooms. Out of view from the men he’d left, Gil wrapped his arms around me and kissed. Long. Deep kisses. My torso sprang to life.
“Yummy,” I said as he drew back. A couple with small children was passing. Gil, the gentleman, would not let them see us getting too passionate. My mind had all but dissipated. Body parts sent him invisible magnets.
He pushed a lock of hair away from my forehead and placed a soft kiss there.
I reached out for him.
He kept at arm’s length. “Those men are telling me about something that could become a real problem. I need to get back to them.”
“Can I help?”
He kissed my nose. “Maybe if you could whip up lots of fantastic Cajun dishes.”
I grinned and made my shoulders droop. “Mom’s fault. She didn’t create a cook.”
“I know, not even a good microwaver.” He grinned, but then looked serious. “It seems your friend Chef Sandkeep has a special intolerance for Cajun food.”
“So? Lots of passengers love it.”
“Yes, but some people have been getting sick. He seems to be blaming their illnesses on the food my chef prepares.”
I considered his statements. “What does your uncle say?”
“That’s one problem. Uncle Errol keeps so busy with all of the sick passengers we haven’t had time to talk. His reply to my e-mail said he hasn’t seen any proof that any Cajun dishes are causing the problem.”
“Well, there.”
“That doesn’t rule it out. They just don’t know yet.”
“I’m sure your food is fine. The Executive Chef is wrong. He’s just jealous of your chef’s cooking.”
Gil lifted my chin. “And maybe of my girl, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s this deal about him sending you champagne?”
“And two stemmed glasses.”
He didn’t look happier. “Why did he send them?”
I shrugged. “Who knows?”
“A man doesn’t send champagne to a woman he isn’t trying to impress.”
Huffiness expanded in my chest. “What are you suggesting?”
“There must have been a card with his gift. What did it say?”
“The date we sailed and my stateroom.” His eyes glazed over as I told this info I knew he didn’t care about. “And then it said To Cealie Gunther and blank.”
“Blank?”
“Yes, like whoever I was going to drink with.”
His gray eyes hardened. “And that person is…?”
“What? Do you think he wants me?”
“I don’t know why he wouldn’t.”
“This is me, Cealie, with the flabby boobs and droopy skin and crow’s feet gathering near her eyes. And my middle keeps spreading, but not my height.”
He grabbed my hands. “To me, you look fantastic. I love you. I don’t want any other man to do that. I could never stand to lose you.”
I grinned, tight-lipped, not certain what to say. Should I tell him I never wanted another man to admire me?
Absolutely not. Would I want to lose Gil? No way. I just didn’t want to remain with him all the time until I fully knew myself again, and I was so close.
I kept my lips tight.
He kissed my cheek. “I need to get back there. Maybe I’ll get to see you later.”
“Thanks for the help, mister,” I called and entered the lounge.
Everyone sat in large black leather chairs forming a semicircle that faced a huge flat screen wall TV. People drank, smoked, and watched baseball.
Tetter sat in the room. And she had a problem that I was about to help her solve.
Chapter 15
Tetter watched my approach from her leather club chair. She sat in the last row of the semicircle of people gathered in the loud smoky bar, lips tight and eyes appearing harder as I neared. No one sat beside her.
A few bar patrons glanced at me but returned their attention to the baseball game on television.
I located a chair similar to Tetter’s, drew it beside hers, and sat. “Hello,” I said.
“Hello.” She gave me the briefest nod and faced the game.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I pointed to the margarita glass she held. Her frozen drink was almost gone, its thick salt rim disturbed in only one spot.
“Sure.”
I met the male bartender’s gaze, pointed to Tetter’s glass, and held up two fingers. Surprising me, he twisted his lips in a sort of frown. Then he nodded. Why wouldn’t he want to get us both drinks? Or maybe I was reading something into his expression that meant nothing.
Voices lifted in the game. Some people in the bar cheered. Others complained.
Tetter stared at the set, not changing her expression. She sipped her drink
.
I watched her long moments. Still facing forward, she checked me through the corner of her eye.
The waiter brought our drinks. I gave him my sailing card and signed the bill.
Tetter nodded her thanks to me. She took big swallows to finish her other drink and handed her glass to the bartender.
He swung his gaze to me and then to her full glass and the empty one she set on his tray. I felt he was telling me she’d had a few, and he was concerned.
“We missed you at dinner,” I told Tetter.
She stared at the game.
“Which of them do you like?” I asked.
She squinted at me, looking confused.
“Do you like both of them?”
Her eyes widened. She turned away and stared at the TV. I could have sworn that was the first time she noticed two teams played baseball. What did she think I was talking about?
“They’re both good.” She removed the tiny umbrella from her glass and swilled her drink.
I sipped my frozen drink, the coarse salt on the rim making me need to lick some grit off my teeth. Thwack came from the TV. People with us cheered and griped. Some urged players on. Others quieted and waited.
I touched Tetter’s forearm. “I’d like to help.”
She drew her arm away and gulped down more liquor. “With what?”
“The situation troubling you.”
Her gaze met mine. Worry lines crinkled skin between her eyes, which now revealed fear. She breathed, not saying a word, but appeared the Tetter I had known as a teen, the buddy who was ready to tell all and help all or ask for help if she required it.
A smoke tendril drifted between us as a woman in front fired up her cigarette.
I fanned the smoke aside, momentarily considering my cousin I’d visited not long ago in Gatlinburg who had recently quit smoking. I would have to call or e-mail and find out how she was doing, especially with her new love life.
Tetter’s expression stayed tense. “Cealie…”
“Yes.” I leaned close so she could speak without fear of being overheard.
She shook her head, her gaze seeming to go inward, where a decision was made.
“I have to leave.” She pushed up to her feet. Standing, she swayed.
I grabbed her arm. “Maybe you need to sit awhile longer.”
“No.” She set her drink down and picked up her purse. “I’m okay.”
I kept my margarita and followed her out the bar. My booted foot made keeping up with her quick steps especially difficult. She glanced from side to side at people as though searching for someone, and did not slow for me.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I touched her elbow.
“I’d rather not.” Her voice slurred, probably from tequila. Maybe she had been drinking awhile. Her eyes looked red.
We sped past the open bar where Gil sat. His back was toward us. He leaned, listening to one of the men with him, and did not notice us passing.
Tetter reached an area with few people.
“Stop,” I ordered.
She paused so quickly I almost rammed into her. “What?”
I grabbed her hand. “Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
“I had a few drinks. Is that all right?”
“Were you watching baseball?”
“Where?” Her eyes focused on a vacant spot as though she were locating the sport I mentioned. “Oh, in the bar. No, I don’t give a diddly squat about baseball.”
This sounded more like the Tetter I knew. “So what were you doing in there?”
“I was thinking, okay?”
“It’s not okay.” I didn’t realize I’d raised my voice until people passing turned to stare.
Clutching my friend’s hand, I guided her into an empty alcove that held stands with pictures. “I’m your friend. I have been your friend ever since we were twelve, and I felt I could tell you anything. I thought you were the same way with me.”
“I was.”
“And now you’re different?”
“Are you kidding me?” She turned her face sideways, gazed up, and shook her head. She stared at me. “You don’t actually think any of us are the same people we were in junior or senior high school?”
“Well, no, but…yes, we are the same people inside. We couldn’t have changed that much here, right?” I balled up my hand and pressed it to my chest.
Her eyes tightened into smaller orbs. They saddened. She grew quiet, her vacant gaze taking in the air surrounding me. Her mind, I hoped, was helping her decide what her heart probably told her—that she should confide in me. This troubled woman needed to share the weight in her soul with someone. Why not a trusted friend?
She seemed to decide. Yanking up her purse, she dug inside.
I swallowed a small sip of margarita, wetting my throat for the counseling session I was about to share with her.
Her gaze into her purse made me wonder what she so intently searched for. Possibly a letter from someone that made her fear. A doctor’s diagnosis of an incurable disease? That would be especially horrible. Maybe instead she had kept track of how many times she’d done something she regretted, like too much gambling.
The moment after I sipped my margarita, I regretted it. What if the problem she was ready to tell me about was alcoholism?
I lowered my glass and held it toward my rear.
She dug a small rectangular plastic item out of her purse and handed it to me.
A mirror.
“Is that the person you once were?” she asked.
Overhead lights meant to brighten the photographs set on boards struck the mirror, making it glitter and highlight my wrinkles. That was the main thing I saw. And there was the under-eye puffiness. The skin that no longer looked fresh.
“Ugh.” I yanked the mirror down as though it were on fire and handed it back to her. “I hope I looked better than this at one time.”
“I hope the same thing for me.” She slipped the vicious mirror back into her bag.
“Okay, we don’t look anywhere as young as we did back then.”
“We surely don’t.” She leaned forward. “That was decades ago, Cealie.”
“Right, but we still have the same basic values, the same things we consider right or wrong.”
“Sometimes those change, too.” She zipped her purse. “I really need to go.”
“Please don’t.”
Three women approached. They smiled at us and studied the pictures, probably searching for photos of themselves.
I touched Tetter’s forearm. “Let’s go somewhere to talk.” I almost suggested one of the quieter bars but thought better of it in case her difficulty included liquor. “We could sit by the pool or go to my room.”
She moved her arm away from my hand. “I don’t know what Jane told you about me, but I’m fine. I don’t have anything serious that I want to talk to anyone about. I’m only on this cruise to see a few classmates and relax. And you surely aren’t contributing to my relaxation.”
I raised both hands as though in surrender, although one still held my drink. “I’m sorry. I thought you might want to confide in an old friend.”
“Old is the operative word.”
“Damn, Tetter, you’ve changed.”
“Yes, so have you. When I’m in a better mood, I’ll pry into your life and try to dig out every little situation you’ve been through during the last decades, and we’ll see if they’re all pretty.”
“No, I’ve done things—”
“So have I.” She stomped off.
The women standing near stared at me with my mouth hanging open. My good friend had told me off.
I forced my jaw closed and hobbled away. My feelings were hurt. I wanted sympathy.
I wasn’t sure Gil could sympathize since he normally told me I should keep my nose away from other people’s troubles unless they asked for help. A female friend would understand. Females, even from an early age, instinctively knew that you stuck your nose into others’ bus
iness whether they wanted it or not.
Deciding I’d like Gil’s shoulder to lean on even if he didn’t grasp my inner ache, I aimed for the bar where I’d seen him. He’d talked to those guys long enough. If I couldn’t pry him away, I would join them until they were done with their discussion. And then I could snuggle in one of the nearby comfy lounge chairs with Gil, having him hold me.
Darn. His barstool was empty. The men he’d spoken with were also gone.
“A man sat here talking to some other guys,” I said to the young bartender and pointed to Gil’s barstool. “He’s a nice-looking man about my age. Did you happen to see which way he went?”
“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t notice.”
I would find Jane instead and tell her about my encounter with Tetter. Maybe together we could decide if we should we just leave her alone.
Jane was no longer in the casino. The boat dipped under my feet. I gripped the edge of a video poker machine. An elderly man playing it looked at me, and I smiled. Then I glanced at his watch.
The early-evening show in the theater began minutes ago. That was probably where most of my friends were.
I headed for the front of the ship, skimming faces I passed, most of them cheerful, but none I recognized.
I inadvertently entered the theater’s top deck. House lights were down, everything dark except for the spotlighted stage. The orchestra played. Dancers in pink and red swirled around the floor.
A swell of fear shot trembles to my shoulders and snaked past my elbows to my fingers. The sway in my torso and legs made me fear I’d slip down. I gulped and gulped, working to stave off my terror of balconies. Your big cousin will not hold you over the edge, pretending he’ll toss you down. You’re a big girl now, Cealie.
And, I reminded myself with my head taller, I’d stood on a balcony not that long ago. Of course, then I’d faced a killer. But won.
I’d purposely climbed to that balcony to protect my grandchild and then made it back down again just fine, I considered. Until I recalled I hadn’t been able to get down alone.
Oops.
And I had come up here before, but not by myself.
A glittering ball made slow spins above, shooting rays of brilliance off sequins in velvety folds of dark fabric. Music swelled in a popular Broadway tune my numbing mind refused to name. My arms felt stuck out like a penguin’s. Knowing I blocked the center of the entrance, I could not force my legs to move me.