by June Shaw
“From you. Or her. I don’t know.” I realized my mind was fuzzy, maybe from eyeing ice-crested waves. With help from salt-crusted margaritas.
Randy jabbed a finger toward my face.
I drew my head back, thinking he might strike me.
A man’s voice grew in volume but didn’t sound like anyone on the sound system. Cigarette smoke carried from one of two tall men walking toward us. The person speaking and smoking wore all white.
Executive Chef Sandkeep.
He was speaking with Gil.
Chapter 16
“Hello.” Gil lifted his hand in a small wave to me. His gaze shifted toward the man I stood alone with on this area of the deck. His smile gave way to a somber expression, eyes unhappy, chin jutting like a man preparing for a fight.
When Gil became jealous, it told me he thought I might be attractive enough in some way to get another man’s attention. Funny.
I did not like it a bit when he brought out my jealousy of him around a woman.
Chef Sandkeep smoked beside Gil. Should I thank him now for the champagne?
I’d want to ask who he thought I should drink it with, and what did he mean on that card, For Cealie Gunther and blank. Could he have been thinking of himself?
Glancing at the harshness in Gil’s eyes, I decided now wasn’t the time to ask those questions. Gil appeared to take sharper breaths in fast succession, as though getting pumped up for something not nice.
The chef ran his gaze over Randy and me with no change in expression. He didn’t appear to recognize either of us and seemed more interested in his cigarette.
“Hello,” Randy told them. “I need to go,” he said to me and took off.
“Wait,” I said, but he rushed away.
What an awkward situation. If I ran after him, he probably wouldn’t talk anymore now. And I’d also be thinking about Gil, knowing how I’d feel if the situation were reversed. I decided since I’d gotten Randy to start talking about him and Tetter, I should easily get him to continue once I had him alone again.
Chef Sandkeep sucked in a long drag from his cigarette, blew out smoke, and tapped the butt in an ashtray on a plastic table. He tossed the butt over the rail.
“No! You’re not supposed to throw a cigarette out there,” I said, hands flailing in his face.
“I put the thing out.”
“You just stubbed it in the ashtray. It wasn’t all the way out. Suppose your cigarette starts a fire on this ship? What’ll we do?”
“It won’t start a fire.”
Gil stepped between me and the chef. He lifted his hands as though trying to intercept my hands that had balled into fists. “It’s okay, Cealie. Let it go.”
“It’s not okay. The literature tells people not to throw anything from the ship, especially cigarettes. They can start fires. And then what?”
“And then people would put them out.” Gil gripped my fists.
I smiled at him. “That would be nice.”
“Yes, and so are you, now be nice to this gentleman. He makes sure all of your food tastes good.”
“And your food? Your wonderful Cajun dishes?”
I eyed the Executive Chef, who could stop Gil’s chef from preparing meals in his galley. I was ready to turn on that white-hatted dude. Maybe he was big, but I could kick. And pinch. And stomp on his feet.
Gil nodded, slowly backing me up. “All of the food’s good. And I believe someone enjoyed a few drinks today.” He gave me a wider smile.
“Yep, margaritas.”
“Ah, and more than one of those makes your thoughts fuzzy.”
“And my tongue thick. Wanna see?” I wagged it at him.
“Yes, but in private,” his deep voice rumbled in my ear.
“Yummy.”
He turned to the chef. “I’ll see you later. Not tonight,” he added with a wink. Taking my hand, he guided me through the glass door into the buffet.
“It’s nice and warm in here,” I said.
“I know a place where it’ll be even warmer.” He nuzzled my ear.
I reached back, grabbing for a vital part of him, my hand brushing only his thigh.
He pushed my hand toward my side. “We’d have too many people watching us in here. But I can get you to your room in a flash.”
“I can’t wait for a flash.” I leaned my head back as I walked. “Let’s do it when we get on the elevator.”
“There’s an idea. Nobody else is waiting for one.”
He pressed the down button.
I pressed back against the wall, people’s voices and reggae music in the distance. Grabbing Gil’s shirt, I fingered buttons. “As soon as we get in there, I’ll go for your zipper.”
“I can get it faster than you can.” He kissed my forehead, leaving me to wonder if he really meant we would try to have sex in the moving elevator. We’d had quickies, but how many seconds would an elevator take between decks?
I felt I could sizzle as soon as his hot body met mine. The idea of getting it done on this trip downstairs grew more appealing. I slid my fingers inside Gil’s shirt and smiled at him.
His sultry eyes sucked me deeper into his space.
“It’s here,” he said, making me notice the ding as the elevator door opened.
My anticipation shot into higher gear.
“Y’all come on in. We’ll make room.” A woman wearing a black and gold Saints T-shirt and cap waved us inside. Other people shifted over, giving Gil and me space.
He thanked them, but I didn’t feel like saying a thing to those people. Selfish me wanted a sexual experience. Now.
The trip down took forever as we made stops on every deck for someone to get on or off. On one deck, a woman waiting on the floor spoke when the door opened. “Oh, you’re going down. I wanted to go up. I’ll get the next one.”
I’m not getting what I wanted, either, I wanted to shout. Now let us get to my room.
My body felt droopy by the time we reached my deck.
Gil guided me down the hall. “We’re almost there. You’re still in the mood, right?”
“Why shouldn’t I be in the mood?”
“You seem a little tipsy. I thought you might fall over while we were walking out here.”
I had felt that sway right before he gripped my hand tighter. “That was from the waves. And my boot.”
“How is your ankle? And can I have your key?”
“My ankle’s fine. The whole leg’s fine. You’ll see in a minute. I’m ready to stop wearing this thing.” I pointed to the boot, dug out my key, and gave it to him.
“I look forward to seeing everything,” he said, tone deeper.
“I need to tell you about some things, too.”
He held the door open to let me enter first. “What kind of things?” He unbuttoned his shirt, stepping toward me. Deftly, he unbuttoned mine.
“There’s a killer on this boat.”
His fingers stopped. He stared at my eyes. “Who did he kill?”
“That man, Jonathan. I think.” I considered and determined that concept wasn’t one I was certain about. I thought of Randy and Tetter. “But I do know there’s an adulterer.”
“Probably lots more than one.”
“Don’t stop.” I put his fingers back on my buttons. “I really want you.”
“And I want you, Cealie. I always want you.” He slid my top off. Gil’s satisfied smile at my bared breasts made me certain that my droop and waist flab had disappeared.
“You are so nice.” I sat on the side of the bed, loosed my foot from its boot cage, and patted the sheet beside me.
Gil sat. He looked me over. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.” A frown tugged at my lips. “No. I almost got to visit with Tommy, but I turned my back on him and sent him away.” Sniffles worked to the tip of my nose.
Gil handed me his handkerchief. “It’s not too late.”
“Yes, it is. I turned him away—or turned myself away from him. I miss my boy.�
�� Tears swelled in my eyes, burning them. I hiccupped, making my chest hurt.
Gil drew back his head. “Tequila breath,” he explained and reached toward my pillow. “How about a chocolate?” He lifted a square wrapped one that the room steward had left.
I unwrapped it and sank my teeth into the rich chocolate. He handed me another one. I ate it.
“Chocolate is good for your soul,” he said, patting my pillow.
I leaned toward it. He lifted my legs and set them on the bed. My head sank deep into the soft pillow.
“Let’s get your slacks off, too.” He worked magic, sliding them and my panties off without disturbing my upper body.
“You’re great,” I murmured.
“We can solve all of those other problems later.”
He stretched in the bed beside me.
Sex or not? I wasn’t sure yet.
* * *
Flames roared, sweeping across the bottom deck, licking up each higher one, until red-yellow heat engulfed the whole ship. Then we sank. Like passengers and staff from The Titanic, we scrambled in the icy sea, clawing to grab hold of icebergs.
I shook from cold and fear, struggling against panic.
And heard myself snort. A louder snore followed. I sank deeper into sleep, satisfied that the cold and the fire had faded.
I popped my eyes open. Gil had been in my bed. Where was he?
I touched the sheet where he’d lain. Cool. He’d left that space some time ago. I sat up, hoping to find him in my room, but didn’t. My mind scuttled for thoughts. I’d wanted him. He’d wanted me. Did we make out? He certainly wasn’t a man to wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, and leave.
“Gil,” I called.
Maybe he was in the bathroom, ready for a shower. I hoped he was nude in the shower. I would hop in there with him.
Okay, we hadn’t had sex yet. And he didn’t answer. I glanced around the room.
A small page with the ship’s logo lay on the pillow next to mine.
Sorry I had to go. Gil’s strong handwriting made me smile. Baby, you snored so loud, I think you kept people awake on the deck above us. Hope you got lots of rest. I’ll find you later, and we’ll catch up with where we left off. I love you, Gil.
I slid out of bed and glanced down. Naked. The man could look at this body with its wrinkles and dimples where dimples weren’t appealing—and still say he loved me.
But I did not want to love him so much because I had started to depend on him. I’d depended on Gil last night, I recalled. I’d wanted him to help me solve all of my troubling situations. One concerned Tetter and probably Randy. A member of my family might have caused a death. I didn’t want to even think about that one but needed to.
Some of my friends had started to depend on relatives as they’d gotten older. I refused to do that, thus often trying to avoid family members, most of whom I adored. Sue, however, was giving me a special challenge.
And there was Tommy. I hadn’t seen my son in much too long. I imagined the feel of his muscular body inside my arms and against my chest. Why hadn’t I even hugged him?
I was a mess.
But I would work things out. And I would not depend on family members or Gil. I called up my mantra: I am woman. I can do anything—alone.
The words didn’t have a strong enough impact.
Today I would take positive steps to take care of some problems. I’d get hold of Randy again and learn all of the truth. And I would confront Sue and discover for sure whether she’d killed Jonathan.
I recalled that last night Gil and the Executive Chef had been talking together. What was that about? Previously, Sandkeep seemed almost hostile toward Gil.
Needing to uncover many truths, I heard my stomach grouse. Food would help straighten my thoughts. I lifted the phone to call room service, then determined we could be in Glacier Bay. I didn’t want to miss any of that site’s beauty. Dressing quickly, I snagged an elevator and found Jane riding inside.
“Good morning!” she said, voice much too chirpy. “How surprising to see you up at this time.”
“I couldn’t sleep anymore. Maybe because I fell asleep early, courtesy of margaritas.”
Jane grinned. She wore a navy jogging suit with white stripes down the sides and running shoes. I had shrugged on a heavy sweater and covered it with a thick quilted jacket.
“Do you want to come and work out?” she asked.
“You must be kidding. You are not climbing out of bed and dashing up there to run around the ship?” Of course I’d recently visited a cousin who did that. I tried with her once. Maybe I could work out a little, but not so early or with so much enthusiasm.
“I love to run and to play tennis. Do you play?” Jane asked.
“Good grief, didn’t you get any older since we finished school? I have grandkids who play tennis, but I gave up the sport after my knees suggested I stop.”
“Oh.” She peered toward my knees as though she could see any difficulty through my slacks. “Do you have arthritis?” she asked, nose scrunched.
“I don’t think so, but I imagine some of the people we graduated with must be suffering with that affliction by now.”
She straightened, appearing to accentuate that she had no physical difficulties. “Darn, Cealie, the way you talk, you’d think we were ancient.”
“And you play tennis. You can still do all of the things you did when we were in high school?”
“Probably. You can’t?”
Our elevator stopped. I regretted that we weren’t on the Lido Deck yet so I could get away from this conversation.
Two women with deeply wrinkled faces and white hair smiled and stepped in. “Are y’all going up to eat?” one of them asked.
“We sure are,” I said.
“Not me. I’m going to run.” Jane jogged in place.
“Tell me,” I said to our passengers, “do you think she and I should still be running?”
They checked out both of us. “You’re the same age?” the one with frizzy hair asked, bespectacled eyes narrowed.
Jane sucked in her stomach and threw back her shoulders. She lifted her chin as though a rope pulled her straight and tall.
I could do straight, but not tall.
“Who did you think was older?” Jane asked the woman whose trifocals I could have smashed when her gaze slid toward me.
A blessed ding rang out.
“Oops, we’re here. Nice talking to you,” I said to the women and hustled out before they could give Jane a reply. She came out, too. I liked Jane, always had, and walked away from the elevator telling myself I would get with the program, some kind of physical program. Running didn’t tempt me, but I watched her pumping her arms, going up a set of outdoor stairs, ready to run around wherever people ran on these ships. I would start working out. One of these days.
“See you later,” Jane called, and I waved, heading for the buffet that gave off enticing aromas of biscuits and bacon when someone opened the door. The buffet would also offer strawberries and cantaloupe and sweet rolls and salmon prepared various ways. And buttered grits, among other tempting dishes.
More people than I would have imagined headed out of the enclosed area, having already eaten.
Dawn sprinkled out a few early sunrays. They glittered through a dusky frigid mist that settled on my hair and across my eyelashes. Black mountains topped by snow that we drifted past could have been piles of ice cream dipped in chocolate and coated with whipped cream. Soon we should see majestic blue-white glaciers.
A sound system crackled to life. An onboard naturalist welcoming people on outdoor areas surprised me, letting me know I must miss a lot by normally sleeping late. An astonishing number of passengers already stood along the boat’s railings.
I found it difficult to hear much of the speaker’s words. He mentioned glaciers we approached and the icebergs our captain was slowly steering us through, most of them looking so tiny way below that they could have been shaved ice.
A collec
tive gasp roared.
Passengers standing at the port rail screamed. They stared down near the boat, pointing and yelling.
I dashed to that side of the deck and worked my way through people to see.
The ship’s whistle gave one long bone-chilling blast that could not mean anything good.
The deck shifted under my feet and felt like we were stopping.
A man near me bellowed, “It’s a body!”
“Oh my God!” people screamed. Footsteps stomped on outdoor stairs and along the deck as more passengers and staff members dashed out. All around, people snapped pictures with cameras and phones.
I viewed the larger iceberg we’d passed that looked so small. A dark object that could have been a sea lion stretched along its side. My teeth chattered, striking each other as my head shook. Waves of shivers ran to my fingertips. My back swayed, legs ready to give way. I could not steady myself and would fall—I hoped not all the way down there, where I feared one of my high school classmates lay.
Jane.
She’d run up those stairs moments ago, planning to jog around the upper deck. Had she slid off? Been running and not been able to slow or stop?
I hadn’t seen the face or even been able to determine whether the person on the iceberg was male or female. I didn’t know if that person still lived.
“We’re going to stop, and they’ll go get him,” a man near me said.
“Him? Did you see the person?” I asked. “It’s a man?”
He shook his head, long black hair swaying. “It always is. Don’t you know that?”
“What’s always a man?” I asked, legs a little steadier.
“People that jump or are stabbed by their spouses and then pushed off a ship.”
A cluster of passengers around us nodded their agreement.
I gained little respite from his words. Trembles sweeping through my body reminded that the person on the ice could be Jane. I glanced at faces and the clothes passengers in my view wore. No face or jogging suit was Jane’s.
That doesn’t mean she’s down there. The person on that ice could just as easily be a man.
I imagined the face of the man I knew best on this ship. My legs trembled.
The person lying across that iceberg could be Gil.