Javier shot her an amused look. “Do you know something I don’t?” he asked.
At that moment, the ship lurched violently to the right, and her glass slid helter-skelter across the table. Javier caught it before it tumbled off.
“Good catch!” Her own hands white-knuckled the tabletop.
“Please,” the moaning passenger begged. “Please get me back to Boston.”
“Poor woman,” Abby whispered. “I wish there were something we could do for her.”
“Unfortunately,” Javier said, “I think she has to soldier through it like the rest of us. But tell me again. How do you know you won’t die in a hurricane?” A smile played across his lips, as if Abby had proposed they play a game.
She shrugged. “I guess I don’t really, but I’m pretty sure when I die it will be of natural causes.”
“And you know this because?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Because you’ve seen a fortune-teller?”
Abby shook her head. “More like a doctor. An oncologist.”
Something—was it surprise? confusion? affection?—flickered across Javier’s face. He frowned. “I’m sorry. An oncologist?”
Abby nodded. “Turns out I have leukemia.” She waited a beat. “Which, by the way, no one on this ship knows about. Not Caroline. Not Lee. Not my boys. No one except for Sam.” She paused. “And now, of course, you.”
Without warning, Javier reached out and took her hand. “Abby, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” His eyes swam with concern. “Leukemia? That’s supposed to be curable, right? Are there medications you can take?”
“Yes and no,” she said softly. It was the first time she’d heard true sympathy from anyone other than her husband. And even Sam didn’t really sympathize with her. He was all about the Fight, about stopping the disease in its tracks, as if cancer were an intruder who’d entered their home and all Sam had to do was politely show it the door. Abby knew better, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him.
“In some cases, it’s curable. If you can find a match for a bone marrow donor, that is. In my case, probably not. So, I’m taking a lovely assortment of pills. My doctor assures me something else will kill me before the cancer.” She shook her head. “I’m not quite sure how that’s better, but he seems to think so.”
Javier came over to wrap an arm around her. “I’m so sorry. You’ve hid it from us very well. How are you feeling?”
She laughed. “At the moment, not so hot.”
“Right, of course.”
“Anyway, we’ve known for a few weeks now. Sam and I.” She swallowed more soda. “The pills I take are actually my chemotherapy. They’re supposed to kill all the bad cells. The naughty ones,” she joked.
Javier returned to his chair and stared intently across the table at her. “From what Caroline tells me, if anyone could beat this, it’s you.”
Abby nodded doubtfully. “Well, let’s hope she’s right.”
Suddenly, a wave of regret splashed over her. Why on earth had she told Javier? How could she let the news slip so easily to him, when she could barely talk about it with Sam? Because he’s a stranger, a voice inside her head whispered. He doesn’t know you well enough to let it break him. Because, Abby realized with a start, I’m protecting my best friends. This wasn’t about her being selfish or vain or a private person. It was about her wanting to guard her friends from the news that she was sick and could, quite possibly, get much sicker.
“This must be so hard for you,” he said finally. “And to think of you guys today!” He shook his head. “Anyway, Sam didn’t allude to any of this last night.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” She massaged the cords in her neck, her fingers working out the tiny knots along it. “He’s been sworn to secrecy.”
Javier nodded. “And you will tell Caroline and Lee? Eventually?”
“Yes, I just didn’t want to ruin everyone’s vacation right off the bat.”
He turned thoughtful for a moment. “That’s incredibly kind and generous of you.” Then he added, “But I think they’d want to know. Don’t you? At least Caroline. I know she’d want to help you any way that she could. Find the best doctors in New York. Whatever it takes.”
“Thank you, Javier.” Abby wrapped her hands around her cup. “I mean it. Your saying that means a lot to me. More than you know.”
“Of course. You’ll let me know how I can help?”
There was something refreshing about his old-fashioned chivalry. Javier’s take-charge machismo, which initially Abby had found off-putting, was now welcome, as if he were offering her an enormous bagel after a monthlong carb-free diet. Sam was doing everything to help except talking about it. Which, she realized with a start, was probably the one thing she needed most right now. For Sam, Abby’s illness was cut-and-dry: you attacked it with medicine, you killed the misbehaving cells, you carried on. There were no other options. For him, losing the fight, losing Abby was not an option.
But what if it was? She wanted to scream at him some days. What if the doctor was wrong and she had much less time than they thought? Any time she raised the specter of fallibility, though, Sam would dismiss it. Much like he did with his students, he’d play devil’s advocate: Who was to say a branch wouldn’t fall on his head and kill him on his walk to work the next day? You can’t live your days worrying about when the last one will be, Sam counseled her. But what if Abby needed to let herself worry? Even a little? What if it was her way of getting her ducks in a row, just in case? For the boys’ sake?
“It helps just to be able to tell you,” she admitted now. “I haven’t had much practice at it.” She craned her neck back and forth. “Anyway, I guess you can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”
Javier stared at her blankly. “What does that saying mean? All my life, I’ve heard it, and not once have I understood it. How can you possibly have your cake and eat it, too? It makes no sense. In Cuba, we have no saying like this.”
Abby smiled despite herself. “I guess I’m not really sure myself. I think it has something to do with wanting to enjoy the anticipation of eating the cake as well as the act of eating the cake. If you eat it, you can’t look forward to eating it, right? Anyway, I think I should enjoy my cake right now.”
“Oh, enjoy the moment, in other words.”
“Yes, something like that.” She drained the last of her drink and saw that Javier was smiling.
“Did you notice?” He waited a moment. “I think the rocking has stopped.”
Abby looked around and realized her stomach wasn’t hurting quite so much. It was true. The ship seemed to have leveled out. The woman who had been moaning was now sitting up straight and pleasantly chatting with another passenger. The baby had calmed with a bottle.
“You’re right.” She took a deep breath, exhaled. “Thank goodness. I guess you’d better go check on Caroline.”
“Right. She’ll be wanting her juice.” He stood up and pushed in his chair.
“Hey, Javier,” Abby said now. “I’m so glad you and Caroline are getting married. She’s one of my favorite people in the entire world. You’ll take good care of her, yes?”
“I promise,” he said. “You have my word.”
21
On Thursday morning, a thick fog blanketed the ship, as if to soothe the passengers after last night’s rocking storm. A cup of coffee sat cooling next to Caroline. She was writing up her notes for her story before everyone else woke. Last night had been awful—she hadn’t felt that sick since she’d gotten food poisoning from a Caesar salad in SoHo years ago. Given the smooth sailing now, however, it was almost easy to forget that she’d been hunched over the toilet last night, Javier rubbing her back and desperately trying to make her feel better. For a while, the cruise had felt like her own special version of Deliverance.
The only remaining pieces of evidence of the storm were the large puddles around the pool, where water had sloshed over, and the abandoned cocktail cups, wrappers, and flip-flops scattered across the deck. Caroline w
atched while a steward swept at the mess with a wide-brush broom. It occurred to her that maybe he’d be willing to talk with her about the working conditions on the ship, but then she thought better of it. He was probably recovering himself from last night.
In her sleuthing, Caroline had learned that the Bermuda Breeze hired more than one thousand crew members from over sixty countries. She’d spoken with one woman, Jenna, who worked in the kids’ clubs on the ship. Her own children, she said, were back in Burma, where her sister cared for them for the eight months she was at sea. It seemed an inordinately long time to be away from one’s family, but almost everyone Caroline talked to acted as if they’d been granted a rare opportunity, their paychecks pennies from heaven that they could send home—and money that would stretch much further in those places than it would on American soil. Especially the young male stewards she’d interviewed seemed to consider working on a cruise ship a privilege. They enjoyed the perks—the travel, meeting new people, the food and entertainment—that came with it.
In her more cynical moments, Caroline wondered if maybe they’d drunk the Kool-Aid, convincing themselves that they were living lives of leisure when, in fact, they toiled for ten-hour shifts or longer. But who was she to judge? Her job was to report on the leisurely aspects of the cruise and the highlights of Bermuda, not prick people’s conscience. It wasn’t as if she was a journalist for Mother Jones, after all. Maybe another day.
She went back into the cafeteria to refresh her coffee. Whether it was due to last night’s rough seas or the fact that she’d been picking at the same food for several days now, Caroline found it difficult to glance at the buffet. What had seemed like an ambrosial spread the first night had transformed into a ransacked display of muffins and bagels, bruised apples and bananas. The kitchen, she thought, must be nearing the end of its wares. Caroline had gorged herself on so many buttery treats that even the blueberry muffins didn’t tempt her this morning. (She’d long since given up on working out on board. What was the point? The caloric invasion was swift and unbeatable.)
Like impatient toddlers, the passengers lined up for the buffet this morning were getting pushy and belligerent. There were those who cut the line, pretending not to know better; the parents who juggled their own plates and their children’s and inevitably ended up dropping food; and then the handful of finicky passengers who demanded a gluten-free, dairy-free waffle that wasn’t available. It was this last group that got on Caroline’s last nerve. She wanted to ask them if their waffles should be calorie-free as well. Yes, even in her newly engaged state, she could still feel uncharitable toward her fellow passengers.
Which probably meant it was time to go home.
Besides, she had a wedding to plan! It seemed surreal. She’d been so focused on the proposal that the actual marriage part hadn’t quite registered yet. There was so much to do, so much to decide on before, well, when? A fall wedding, she thought, would be nice. Yes, autumn in New York would be a lovely time to get married. Something small and intimate. Maybe in Central Park?
Across the room she spied Lee, nursing a cup of tea, and went over to say hello.
“Good morning. Glad to see you survived the Poseidon,” she said. Lee peered up at her, big bags looming under her eyes, her blond hair flattened against her scalp.
“Very funny. Wasn’t it awful? I think I got maybe two hours of sleep total. Between the rocking and the stuff with Lacey—” Lee stopped and sipped her tea. She hadn’t revealed Lacey’s secret to anyone.
Caroline cocked her head. “Uh-oh. Is Lacey’s ankle worse?” She pulled out a chair and sat down.
Lee shook her head. “No, the ankle seems better actually.” She debated whether to say anything. Would it be breaking Lacey’s confidence to tell Caroline? Her daughter adored her aunt. Would she be upset if Caroline found out that she’d been “almost” pregnant?
“We had a little pregnancy scare,” Lee whispered. “But it’s nothing,” she added quickly. “No need to worry.”
Caroline fell back in her seat. “Whoa.” She was quiet for a minute. “That’s big. I had no idea. Is she doing okay? Are you okay?”
Lee nodded. “Yeah, it was quite a shock at first, I’ll give you that. But now we’re fine. At least, I think we are.”
“Oh, lovey, I’m so sorry you were dealing with that. And here I was, only thinking about myself. I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good friend lately; I’ve been so focused on things with Javier.”
Lee shrugged. “It’s all right. I didn’t know myself until two days ago.” She paused. “Besides, I’m really happy for you guys.” And, as she said the words, it struck Lee that they were genuine. She was glad that Javier and Caroline would be together and that there would be another celebration to look forward to after the cruise.
“Aw, thanks,” Caroline said. “I still can’t believe it myself.” Her eyes turned dreamy for a second, as if she were imagining a five-tiered wedding cake with fondant, then quickly refocused on Lee. “But what about Lacey? Do you want me to talk to her? Was it that boyfriend of hers—or some other loser—who almost screwed up her life?” Caroline grunted. “Sorry, poor choice of words.”
But Lee laughed. It helped to have a girlfriend who wasn’t shy about getting to the heart of the matter. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing Caroline’s no-nonsense attitude.
“Do we need Javier to fly up to Maine, maybe, and break the kid’s legs?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” answered Lee. “I will tell you, though, I’m going to make a more concerted effort to visit Lacey this year. Get to know the boyfriend a little better. Give him the hairy eyeball and all that.”
“Ooh, that sounds like fun.” Caroline grinned evilly. “Let me know when you’re going. I might invite myself along for a girls’ trip. I think I’d like to meet this Taylor guy, lay down the law.”
“Tyler,” Lee corrected. “I always mix it up myself.”
“What about Tyler?” Abby asked. She’d found them and was wedging herself into the last open chair at the table. Despite the gloomy weather outside, she carried a bag filled with all her pool gear, including her sun hat.
Caroline tossed Lee a look. “Oh, nothing,” she said. “We just want to make sure that Lacey’s boyfriend understands there are certain rules that come with dating our goddaughter.”
“Why? What’s going on? Do we not like the boyfriend?” Abby asked, easily falling into their routine of talking in the collective we when it came to forming opinions beyond their own rooming group. “Do we not like the dining hall food?” someone might ask or “What do we think of Professor Peterson?” It had always comforted Abby, as if their rooming group was a collective force, one person with three minds.
“We’re not quite sure about the boyfriend,” Caroline explained now.
“We think he’s nice, but we don’t really know him that well,” Lee concurred cryptically.
“And we’re thinking we should get to know him better since Lacey thinks so highly of him,” continued Caroline. Abby felt as if they were speaking to her in code. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she was pretty certain she’d be agreeable to whatever her girlfriends suggested.
“Okay?” said Abby.
“And we were thinking, more specifically, of taking a little road trip up to Maine this fall. You know, to visit Lacey, maybe introduce ourselves to Taylor. I mean Tyler.” Caroline winked at her. “Are you in, Abs?”
“Oh.” Abby thought she understood now. From the sound of it, Tyler had gotten Lacey into a bit of trouble and needed a talking-to. Well, the roommates had been down this path before, typically with their own boyfriends, when one or the other needed to be set straight. But the rule of looking out for each other naturally extended to Lacey and, Abby hoped, to Chris and Ryan.
She gazed around the table at her roommates’ expectant faces, the friends she loved most, the girls who would traipse across the Sahara to give her water, if need be.
> “You bet I am,” she said.
22
Friday dawned sunny and bright, perfect weather for their last full day aboard. Abby and Sam sat in the cafeteria with plates of eggs and toast and multiple glasses of juice and coffee strewn around them. Sam’s reading glasses were tipped on the end of his nose as he perused the two-day-old newspaper. It seemed like forever since they’d had a chance to read the paper together. Most mornings, Sam was out the door by 5:30, off to the gym and then the classroom or the office, while Abby and the boys slept in.
He lifted his eyes and caught her staring. “What?”
Abby shook her head. “Nothing. I was just thinking about how we used to go to that diner down the street from my apartment for Sunday brunch. This reminds me of it. Those mornings when we had nothing but time to kill.”
“Oh, right. What was it called? Rita’s? Renée’s?”
“Renée’s.”
“Right. And they had the best blueberry pancakes.” He smiled. “Remember your place in the North End?” Sam liked to remind her about her attic apartment with slanted ceilings, where Abby had lived for three years after college. Her place had always smelled of pasta from the Italian restaurant three flights below. She, on the other hand, liked to think of it as her pied-à-terre, which made it sound mysterious and romantic. Sam joked that he’d rescued her from a life of endless flights of stairs and potentially bum knees.
“Those were the days,” she said now wistfully.
“Ah, pre-twins. Good Italian food. And lots of sex.”
Abby laughed. Of course, Sam would remember the sex.
“But would you change any of it?” he asked. “I mean, can you imagine our lives without the boys?”
Abby shook her head. She didn’t even need to consider Sam’s question. Without the boys, their family would have been incomplete. It wasn’t true for everyone, of course, but in her case, it was. She fed on the chaos and drama of family life and remembered the twins’ swaddled bodies, one in each arm, the craziness of trying to synchronize naps and feeding times (impossible). Then suddenly they were toddlers, kindergartners, third graders, and middle schoolers racing to the rink for hockey practices. Where had the time gone?
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