The Living

by Matt De La Peña

  Soon as they were gone, he turned to Kevin and said: “So, what’d you wanna warn me about?”

  “Had his hands full, didn’t he?” Kevin said, staring at the wet footprints the girls had left behind. “I was certainly willing to help a bloke out. All he had to do was ask.”

  “I’m with you,” Shy said, and he began dragging white lounge chairs back where they belonged, pulling off discarded towels, readjusting seat backs. There were over two hundred chairs, and every morning, before the sun came up, they had to be perfectly aligned.

  He rounded the second row and veered toward the housekeeping room, saying: “The warning, Kev.”

  “Right,” Kevin said, picking up a towel Shy had dropped. “So, after I board the ship this morning, I go directly into the bar to do my prep. But the cellar door’s locked, which is a pain in my ass. I have to hike it all the way up to Paolo’s office to get the key and— You’ve met Paolo, right?”

  “Head of security.” Shy pushed open the door to housekeeping and heaved the stack of towels off his shoulder and into the wash bin. Kevin tossed in his towel, too. Claudia, a German woman Shy had met on his first voyage, waved and wheeled the cart toward laundry.

  “I forgot,” Kevin said. “You spent a few hours with him after the suicide, no? Anyway, I can’t go in his office right away because someone’s in there. A man in a black suit. And guess who he’s asking Paolo about?”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  Shy stopped. “Why?”

  But he had a feeling he already knew why.

  The comb-over man.

  “Like a good mate,” Kevin said as Shy resumed straightening lounge chairs, “I wait behind the door, out of sight, and listen. Black suit wants to know about this Shy bloke. Who is he? Where’s he from? What did he and the jumper discuss before things went bad? And he’s using tough talk with Paolo, which I’ve never seen on board a Paradise ship. Paolo outranks almost everyone, you know? So this guy’s probably not crew.”

  Shy shook his head in frustration. “How many times do I have to explain shit?” he said, facing Kevin. “I gave the guy a water. When he tried to jump I grabbed his arm, but he was too heavy. I couldn’t hold on. What else do they wanna hear?”

  He was leaving out his strange conversation with the comb-over man, of course. Had yet to mention that part to anyone. But it didn’t make any sense. And he figured the less interaction he said they had, the quicker they’d let him get on with his life.

  So much for that theory.

  “Easy,” Kevin said. “Don’t go shooting the messenger now. Anyway, sounds to me like Paolo relayed the right information. But the man in the black suit wasn’t satisfied. He wanted your file. And your work schedule.”

  Shy yanked a damp towel off a chair. “This is crazy, Kev. Did Paolo give it to him?”

  “Don’t know,” Kevin said. “Sounded like they were wrapping up at that point, so I stepped away from the door.”

  Shy shook his head some more and walked a last handful of towels to housekeeping, dropped them into an empty bin. How was he supposed to put shit behind him when everyone kept bringing it back up?

  He turned toward the fancy Jacuzzi, flipped off the jets and the waterfall and the heat, started covering it with the special lid. All Shy wanted was a summer job before his senior year. And when his counselor brought up the connections she had with Paradise Cruise Lines, it sounded different, exotic. If he had it to do over again, though, he’d apply for something more normal instead. Like Subway or Big O Tires. No one tries to kill themselves while buying a set of damn Goodyears.

  “Don’t you get it yet?” Kevin said, shadowing Shy. “These aren’t regular cruise ship passengers we’re dealing with. They’re the richest of the rich. We’ve had ex-presidents. Actors. Donald Trump was on my first voyage.”

  “What if I went and found this dude first?” Shy said. “Maybe I could talk to him. Get it out of the way.”

  “Could try that,” Kevin said, glancing over Shy’s shoulder. “I’m thinking he must be FBI, something important like that. And if the jumper didn’t say anything to you before he went, you have nothing to worry about, right?”

  Shy moved over to the infinity pool, pulled the fancy skimmer out of its holster. He didn’t know what to think as he fished out a tiny scrap of paper, a hair band, a couple small bugs. The FBI? Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He wished he could fast-forward through the rest of this voyage, get back to his simple life in Otay Mesa—though even that was messed up now that his grandma had passed.

  Shy noticed Kevin glancing over his shoulder again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Well, that’s a bit odd,” Kevin mumbled.

  “What?” Shy said.

  Kevin stared at the ground, shaking his head. Then he spoke to Shy in a quiet voice. “Don’t go turning around or anything, but I think someone’s been watching us this whole time.”

  “Who?” Shy said. “The guy in the black suit?”

  Kevin shrugged.

  “The one you saw?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  Shy froze, pool skimmer in hand. He could feel his heart start beating faster inside his chest. Things seemed more serious all of a sudden. Like maybe he was actually in trouble for something.

  “Look,” Kevin said. “Handle your business out here and go to your cabin. First thing tomorrow morning I’d have a chat with Paolo.”

  Shy put away the skimmer.

  He could feel the guy’s eyes burning a hole in his back. Or was his mind making it into a bigger deal than it really was? Either way, he didn’t feel like being out here alone. “Hey, Kev,” he said in a quiet voice. “You think you could hang for a few more minutes?”

  Kevin shot him a look that said he had his back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  4

  Insomnia

  Shy couldn’t sleep.

  Again.

  He tossed and turned on his cot, listening to the rise and fall of Rodney’s snoring, watching the digital numbers switch places on his clock radio. He stared up at the ceiling, unable to stop his mind from spinning.…

  He imagined the man in the black suit sneaking into his room, wearing a ski mask. Inching a machete closer and closer to Shy’s exposed neck until it pierced his skin and blood ran all over his sheets and his blankets and his flat-as-shit pillow.

  He imagined the comb-over man slipping through his grasp, only this time they were handcuffed together and Shy was pulled overboard, too. Both of them falling falling falling toward a swirling ocean that sucked them in and held them in its clutches like the Bermuda Triangle.

  Shy pictured the last few hours of his grandma’s life. How she started clawing at her own skin in the hospital bed. His mom crying from outside the quarantine room. Pounding her fists against the thick glass and screaming at the nurses. Shy unable to move or speak or even breathe.

  It was almost three in the morning when Shy finally gave up on sleep. He threw off his blankets and went to Rodney’s computer to check his email.

  Only one message in his in-box.

  From his mom.

  Could they please Skype tomorrow? Between his shifts? She had some possibly worrisome news she’d rather not share over email. “Please, Shy,” the email read. “I know you’re busy on your ship, but find a few minutes for your mom. I’m a bundle of nerves right now and I really want to talk to you.”

  Shy read it two more times without blinking.

  Last time she wanted to talk was after his grandma was diagnosed with Romero Disease. And when Kevin wanted to talk it was about some guy in a black suit who’d been asking about him. The same guy who was watching them at the pool.

  All these “talks” eventually turned to bad news.

  He typed a message to his mom saying he’d log on to Skype at some point between two and two-thirty. Tomorrow afternoon. Then he closed the computer and left the cabin to wander the halls and think.

  The entire
ship was like a ghost town. Tumbleweed rolling past in Shy’s imagination. He kept expecting to find a pack of black-suit-wearing FBI agents lurking around every corner, but every corner was empty.

  The ship’s great weight pitched subtly under Shy’s shell tops. Tiny movements in the floorboards that made him feel uncoordinated as he climbed a few flights of stairs. His whole body tired and achy from lack of sleep.

  He moved through one of the premier-class levels. Rustic light fixtures made to look like old-style lanterns, spotless framed mirrors, doors made of real wood with brass handles and brass locks and brass knockers.

  So much money went into these premier decks.

  The hallways alone.

  How would it feel, he wondered, if he’d been born someone else? Not a housekeeping crew member who couldn’t sleep, but a first-class passenger coming back from a night of killing it at the casino. He’d key open one of these fancy doors, toss his winnings on the oak table. Strip out of his clothes while watching the ocean through his cabin window. Climb into bed next to his smoking-hot wife and pull the silk covers up under his chin.

  People in premier class probably fell asleep within seconds.

  Shy climbed back up to the Honeymoon Deck and stood at the railing in the exact spot where he’d dropped the comb-over man. His first time back to the scene of the crime. Even hooked his right leg into the railing to remember what it felt like. But the only thing it made him feel was stupid, so he pulled his leg back out and just stood there, staring down at the dark water.

  Listening to its constant whispering.

  Still unable to make out any meaning.

  Seemed like forever ago that the bus dropped him off for that first voyage—though it had only been eleven days. He remembered looking out the window as his bus squeaked to a stop. There was the massive, sparkling ship at anchor. It towered over everything around it, even what was on land, and he couldn’t wrap his head around the immensity of it. The giant hull perfectly white, lined with orange-bottomed lifeboats and row after row of single square windows. The glass-covered atrium reaching up from the highest deck, into the sky. Thick synthetic cords jetting out of the bow, tied to solid steel hitches built into the pier. The name “Paradise” written across the side in huge calligraphy letters.

  It stood there in the water, motionless.

  Waiting for him.

  Now Shy was aboard that ship for a second time, staring out from the empty Honeymoon Deck. The ocean stretching out endlessly in front of him. Far as the eye could see. Nothing but water and more water.

  It made Shy feel incredibly alone.

  A tiny, insignificant human.

  This sudden awareness crushed down on him and stole his breath, and for a split second he understood how someone could be moved to jump.

  5

  Carmen

  After wandering a while longer, Shy found himself outside Carmen’s cabin, knuckles raised in front of her door, ready to knock.

  But he couldn’t knock.

  It was three-thirty in the morning.

  He lowered his fist and just stood there a few minutes, trying to think.

  On his first voyage, he and Carmen had hit it off right away. They realized they were from the same area, went to rival high schools—though Carmen had just graduated. Then they discovered something else they had in common. Romero Disease.

  Shy had lost his grandma.

  Carmen, her old man.

  They talked and talked that night. Carmen crying in front of him. Leaning her head against Shy’s shoulder at one point, and him telling her, “It’s okay, Carm, it’s okay,” even though they both knew it wasn’t okay.

  Shy turned and started back to his own cabin.

  He only made it a few steps down the hall, though, before he heard a door creak open.

  Then a tired voice: “Shy?”

  He turned, saw Carmen peeking out from behind her door. Eyes puffy from sleep. Hair reckless. An oversized guy’s T-shirt barely covering her long brown legs.

  “What are you doing up?” she said.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Again?”

  Shy shrugged.

  The girl looked so good it made his heart hurt. A few strands of thick brown hair in her face. Full lips and dark eyes. Chest stretching out the vowels of her vintage-looking Padres shirt. He did his best to keep his eyes on her eyes so she wouldn’t think he was being sketchy.

  He cleared his throat. “How’d you know someone was out here, anyway?”

  Carmen frowned as she considered this. “I woke up and…I don’t even know, I just went to the door. I had a feeling you’d be here. Is that weird?”

  So she wouldn’t see his smile, Shy leaned over to retie his shoelace. He double-knotted and gathered himself and then stood back up, saying: “Anyways, I was out walking and I passed—”

  “Hang on,” Carmen interrupted, and she ducked back into her cabin.

  Shy stared at her closed door, butterflies now going in his stomach. Back home he’d been with a respectable number of females. He was the starting point guard on his hoop squad. Found occasional notes stashed in his locker. Girls sometimes stepped to him at a house party or on a basketball road trip. And he always played it mellow. But with Carmen—even just as friends—it was a different story. He never really had a handle on his vibe. Felt awkward, even. Maybe because she was a year older. Or because she had a fiancé. Or maybe because he actually cared what she thought.

  The door reopened and Carmen came all the way into the hall this time. She was wearing baggy sweatpants now and holding her laptop and a nearly full bottle of wine with a plastic cup over the top.

  “Sit,” she said.

  Shy sat.

  Carmen sat on the floor next to him and opened up her iTunes. “My roommate’s sleeping,” she said, putting on some Brazilian music, lowering the volume. She unscrewed the wine cap, poured some into the lone cup. “We’ll have to share.”

  “For real, though,” Shy said, making like he was about to get up. “I wasn’t trying to pull you out of bed.”

  “What, you can’t share a cup with me? You think I got cooties?”

  He smiled. “You shouldn’t have to suffer ’cause I can’t sleep.”

  Carmen rolled her eyes and took a sip of the wine. “That first night we met. You remember the long conversation we had at Southside?”

  “Yeah.”

  “At the end of it, what’d I tell you?”

  Shy remembered her exact words, remembered the tears he saw going down her cheeks. “You said I could stop by whenever I wanted to talk. Didn’t matter what time.”

  “So?” Carmen said, swirling the wine in her cup. “What are we gonna talk about, then?”

  Shy settled back in and took the cup from her, pulled a sip of his own. Cool red wine running down his tired throat, settling in his tired stomach.

  It was nice sitting here with Carmen.

  In the hall.

  Listening to music.

  Everyone else on the ship miles away in their sleep.

  “Kev says some suit guy’s been asking about me,” he told her. “Maybe FBI or something.”

  “That’s why Kev followed you out to the pool?”

  Shy nodded. “The guy might’ve been watching us, too. Kev thinks the whole time we were talking.”

  “Ay, creepy.”

  Shy shook his head. “I can’t believe people are still asking me questions.”

  “They’re being thorough, I guess,” Carmen said. “You know these passengers are all, like, super important, right? Costs a grip to go on a Paradise cruise.”

  “That’s what Kev said.”

  “Now if it was me or you who went overboard…trust me, there wouldn’t be no FBI involved.”

  “Doubt they’d even slow down,” Shy said.

  Carmen shook her head. “Probably speed up.”

  They both smiled a little and Shy took another sip of wine, passed the empty
cup back to Carmen, watched her pour it full again.

  “I also got an email from my mom,” he said. “She wants to Skype tomorrow. Says she’s got some bad news.”

  Carmen cringed. “Any idea what it is?”

  Shy shook his head. “Ever since my grams, though, first thing I always think about is that stupid disease. I swear to God, Carm, if my mom’s sick…I don’t even know.”

  “Tell me about it,” Carmen said. “Anytime one of my little brothers even rubs his eyes I freak out.” She reached over to her keyboard and skipped to a different song. Then she looked up at Shy, shaking her head. “We both know how awful it is, that’s why.”

  “I heard they might have meds soon.”

  “I heard that, too,” Carmen said. “Not that it does jack shit for my papi now. Or your grandma.”

  Shy looked at the ground.

  As they made their way through another cup of wine, Carmen caught Shy up about her mom’s quilting. Ever since her old man passed, her mom had been on a quilting binge. Quilts hung from every wall in their apartment, she said. They covered every couch and bed and end table. If the woman wasn’t working or sleeping, she was needling her way through another quilt.

  Shy told Carmen about the job his older sis had just landed at the elementary school across the street from their building. She was gonna be a teacher’s aide. She’d make a little money and the hours were the same as his nephew Miguel’s preschool, so she wouldn’t have to pay for day care.

  “What about your fiancé?” Shy asked, figuring he should ask about that part of her life, too.

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know,” Shy said. “What’s his story?”

  “He’s good,” she said. “Busy like usual.”

  Shy nodded. “He got one of those quilts on his bed?”

  Carmen laughed. “You know it. One with a bunch of little musical notes sewn into it. Not that Brett knows shit about music.”

  Shy grinned and took the wine handoff. Pulled another long sip. He was already feeling it and he decided it might help him sleep.