by Cindy Sample
They should have asked me. I would have had no problem refusing said deal for them. My brain still refused to believe that my family actually thought it was a good idea to intrude on our honeymoon.
Ever the diplomat, Tom cleared his throat and said, “How, um, nice that we can cruise with one of your best friends,” he turned to me, “and every single adult member of your family.”
Except one. My ex-husband. Now that would have been a honeymoon to write home about. Not!
“Who’s watching the kids?” I asked Mother.
“Hank offered,” she replied. “Said he would enjoy the extra bonding time.”
Tom and I mutually sighed in relief that my ex wouldn’t be popping by our stateroom. My perceptive mother noticed our dejected expressions. “We certainly aren’t planning to spend every single day and night with you two.”
“Definitely not the nights,” my stepfather emphasized as he wrapped his arm around my mother and squeezed her tight. “As you may recall, Barbara and I never had the opportunity to take our own honeymoon last year.”
“January is a slow month for selling real estate,” Mother added, “so when Stan mentioned the ship wasn’t full and they were offering last minute discounts, we jumped at the suggestion.”
Stan proffered an apologetic smile.
“Remember what a great time we all had when we joined Liz and Brian for their honeymoon in Hawaii?” he asked. “Best vacation I ever took.”
A dead body notwithstanding, our group did have a good time on the Big Island. While trying to prove that my big brother wasn’t a murderer, I became a connoisseur of Kona coffee.
And of daiquiris.
“I won’t get in your way, neither,” Gran interjected quickly, reading my expression. “My friend Mabel will keep me out of your hair. Now where did that woman disappear to?” Gran snapped her head around so fast that her platinum pixie-cut wig toppled off. Stan snatched it before it landed and smoothed it back on Gran’s head.
A stout woman with wispy carrot-orange hair, dressed in red plaid Bermuda shorts accessorized by support hose rolled to her knees, a white T-shirt, and a bra that did not cross her heart or provide any lift whatsoever, waddled to Gran’s side.
She belched and sighed in relief. “That’s better. That plane food went right through me. I never should have…”
Rather than listen to a lecture about the negative effects of airplane food on an elderly woman’s digestive system, I gave in to the inevitable and put out my hand. “I’m Laurel, and this is my husband, Tom.”
Mabel pumped my hand as if it were a slot machine lever before turning her scrutiny to Tom.
“He’s a looker, isn’t he?” she said to Gran as Tom’s face reddened. “Maybe we can find ourselves some lookers on board this ship. I hear it’s got over two thousand passengers. Gotta be a few available old coots for us.”
Mabel lifted her paisley carryall and moved ahead, ready to board the ship and find herself a suitor.
I already had my own fellow so I grabbed my husband’s hand and followed Mabel’s plaid posterior up the gangplank. The rest of my family could do whatever they chose.
CHAPTER FOUR
Once Tom and I completed the mandatory safety drill on deck three, we decided to explore our cabin. We finished that in far less time than it took to explore the delights of each other.
I lolled on our surprisingly comfortable queen-size bed and read the information sheet about the Celebration. With a length of over 1,000 feet, twelve decks, nine restaurants, ten lounges, a casino and multiple pools, not to mention over twenty activities a day, plus five Caribbean island stops, there should be enough options to keep my family occupied. And out of our hair for the next nine days and eight nights.
The bed swayed and I realized that while we’d been otherwise engaged, our ship had left the dock. And here I thought Tom was responsible for all that rocking and rolling. Since I’d never taken a cruise before, I’d worried that I might be prone to seasickness. So far so good. In fact, our afternoon activity had left me with a healthy appetite for something other than my husband.
Since we’d signed up for open seating dining, we weren’t locked into a set time or a specific table in the main dining room. For the first night on board, the ship recommended casual attire. I opened the stateroom door and discovered that our large suitcases had been placed in the hallway while we were otherwise occupied. Hopefully we hadn’t provided any surround-sound entertainment for the cabin stewards or adjacent passengers.
I quickly unpacked my limited cruise wear and hung the items on the hangars provided. “I hope we’ll have time for some shopping,” I said. “There weren’t a lot of summer clothing options available this time of year back home.”
Tom’s gaze shifted from his side of the closet to mine. “Yet you’ve still managed to take over three-quarters of the closet.”
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. “Welcome to married life, sweetie.”
After making only two wrong turns, we reached the main dining room located at the stern of the ship, the opposite end from our stateroom and four decks below. The glass-walled dining room took up two levels on decks two and three. We requested a table for two, but they were all currently occupied, so the maître d’ led us to a table of ten with four open seats. Three couples were already seated and perusing the menu.
I sat across from a man who at first glance looked to be Al Roker from the Today show. Sitting beside him was a woman with short silver hair and a smooth café au lait complexion. She introduced herself and her husband, as Margaret and Fred Johnson from Daytona Beach, Florida. When I mentioned that we were on our honeymoon, she leaned forward and asked, “So that rosy glow isn’t from sunbathing by the pool?”
I blushed, adding several shades of red to my post-coital glow. Tom chose to pick up his menu and hide behind it. I directed my attention to the woman next to me and asked whether she and her husband were celebrating any special events.
The brunette tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her left ear, displaying sparkling emerald earrings that matched her eyes. I doubted they were purchased on the shopping network. She patted her husband’s knee and said, “Rick surprised me with this cruise for our twenty-fifth anniversary.”
Her tanned, silver-haired husband leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Claire has put up with my horrible travel schedule for years. And with both our kids in college, it was time for a second honeymoon for the two of us.
The plumpish freckle-faced strawberry blonde seated to the right of Rick jumped into the conversation.
“We’re the Abernathys. I can tell you that marriage takes work and a great attitude. And compromise.” She jabbed a dimpled elbow at the man seated next to her. “Right, Darren?”
Her husband, a Mr. Clean look-alike sporting thick black glasses, nodded as he ran a hand over his shiny dome. “Lots and lots of compromise. Deborah is the most patient wife. We’ve had ten glorious years together, and I’m looking forward to another forty or fifty.”
These three couples were so sweet to one another and excellent role models for newlyweds like us. I hoped my husband was taking notes.
Tom put down his menu. “This is the first cruise for both of us,” he said. “Do you have any tips?”
Margaret replied immediately. “You’ve come to the right folks. Once Fred and I retired, we started taking advantage of last-minute deals. This is our twentieth cruise.”
“Wow,” I said. “You certainly must like cruising.”
“You sure can’t beat the price.” Fred patted his well-fed paunch in affirmation. ”All the food you can eat, non-stop activities and first-rate entertainment.”
“We’ve taken a few cruises but never on this line,” Deborah said. “I’ve heard their shows are fantastic.”
“We’re acquainted with the stage director,” I replied, referring to Stan’s boyfriend, Zac. “He’s very talented so the productions should be terrific.”
“As long as Stan stays
off the stage,” Tom muttered.
The white-jacketed waiter arrived to take our orders before I could object to Tom’s comment. Actually there wasn’t much to refute. He was completely right. Stan was convinced he was a late bloomer, and that someday soon Broadway would be calling him.
Much as I loved my friend, I wasn’t ordering a congratulatory bottle of champagne just yet. Even Zac wasn’t a miracle worker.
We enjoyed our five-course dinners with relish. As well as the bottle of chardonnay Tom and I split. Just as we polished off our desserts, another couple joined us. She wore a body-hugging red dress that emphasized every curve, while her long chestnut hair cascaded down her back. The white-haired man sitting in the wheelchair she pushed looked to be a half century older. Father? Grandfather?
Wrong on all counts. The beautiful young woman introduced herself as Danielle and her husband as Pierre. They looked forward to a warm break from their home in wintry Montreal. Although he was wheelchair-bound, Pierre regaled us with entertaining stories of their previous travels.
I was curious to learn how the couple met, but that would have to wait until another day. Tom and I had previously arranged to watch the evening show with members of my family. Since internet and cell phone service on board the ship cost almost as much as the cruise itself, our family was forced to handle communication the old-fashioned way, either via the phone in our stateroom or notes in the small mailbox holder outside our door. Gran had informed us that she and Mabel would save seats near the front so we could all enjoy the show together.
Tom and I arrived twenty minutes before the performance was scheduled to begin. Patrons packed the theater wall-to-wall. How would we find Gran and the rest of my family?
Silly me.
“Yoo-hoo, you honeymooners, over here,” cried out my grandmother from near the front of the theater. For an elderly woman, her vocal cords are in amazingly good shape. We waved at her and scurried down the stairs.
I plunked down next to Gran and stared at the drinks she held in each hand. They were almost as big as she was. “I hope those are non-alcoholic,” I said to her.
She handed one to me and one to Tom. “My treat for the lovebirds. Best pina colada you’ll ever drink.”
I sipped the fruity drink. She was right. Tom said he would pass, but Mabel was more than happy to down his cocktail. Based on the number of souvenir glasses under her seat, she would need an additional suitcase for her collection. Stan sat on Mabel’s right, his face wreathed in a huge smile. I’d never seen my friend so happy.
Stan leaned over. “You’ll love this opening act,” he said. “It’s like Cirque de Soleil meets Broadway. Zac said I can be the under-understudy for one of the chorus members.”
Zac was truly a gem. And a wise stage director. The odds of Stan ending up on stage were lower than me losing weight on this trip.
The cruise director glided onto the stage. In her official Nordic American uniform, the tall stately blond commanded the audience’s attention.
The same way she’d once commanded me to clean up my room.
What the heck was my cousin, Sierra Sullivan, doing on board the Celebration?
CHAPTER FIVE
I nudged Gran. “Did you know Sierra was the cruise director on this ship?”
Gran leaned forward, her chin nearly colliding with the person sitting in front of her. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s aunt. How about that?” She lifted the hand not gripping her cocktail as if to wave to my cousin, but I yanked it back down.
Sierra peered into the audience, but I knew that up on stage the performers could barely see past the first couple of rows. It was highly unlikely she’d noticed her California relatives sitting in the audience. Yet. The last thing she needed was for us to disrupt the show, so I intended to make sure my grandmother remained silent for the next ninety minutes. I leaned back into my chair, took a swig of my drink and prepared to be entertained.
The show met all my expectations and then some. The two female lead singers were great, especially Nicole, the petite blond, who possessed a stellar voice and an engaging smile that made me feel like she was singing right to me.
Despite the rocking of the boat, the dancers, acrobats and trapeze artists kept the momentum going nonstop. I squeezed Tom’s hand when Nicole was lifted far above the audience where she managed to belt out a song while rocking back and forth on a swing.
The show ended with a breathtaking acrobatic finale that literally took my breath away. Sierra briefly spoke into the microphone and invited everyone to attend the evening shows in the piano bar, the Queen’s Lounge and the Downtown Disco. Then the heavy velvet curtain fell, and the lights came back on.
Mabel stood and stretched. “Good stuff. What’s next on our agenda?”
“Let’s hit the disco.” Gran thrust out one bony hip then the other. “I’ve been practicing my Cupid Shuffle.”
I turned to Tom. “Any preference where we go next?”
His dark eyes looked into mine. “I’ll give you one guess.”
Aw, he wanted to help me work off that chocolate cream pie I’d eaten for dessert. Although the disco might work it off even faster.
I beckoned him with my index finger. He leaned down and I whispered in his ear. “You do know that dancing is my favorite form of foreplay.”
He grabbed my hand. “So what are we waiting for?”
Honeymoon lesson one: Don’t let anyone tell you a drink doesn’t have much alcohol in it.
Lesson two: Especially if that someone is your grandmother.
It turned out that Gran could pack away far more tropical booze than any senior should be able to. It made me wonder whether her weekly card games consisted of gin rummy or gin fizzes.
Her granddaughter, however, turned out to be a lightweight when it came to fruity concoctions. After three dances and two margaritas, or maybe it was two dances and three margaritas, it was all I could do to stumble alongside my husband as he guided me to our stateroom. Once inside, I stood on my tiptoes, wrapped my arms around his neck, told him I loved him, and plastered him with the biggest sloppy kiss ever.
Then I fell into our marital bed, face first. I woke in the middle of the night, the sheet tangled around my legs. The room felt sweltering, either due to my alcoholic consumption, peri-menopausal state or hot hubby. Tom’s internal furnace would provide much needed heat during winter nights in our communal bed back in Placerville. But right now, I needed to cool down.
Tom had removed my clothes leaving me in my lacy lingerie. I grabbed a short black silk kimono robe from the sofa where I’d tossed it earlier in the evening and wrapped the belt tight around my waist. Then I walked over to the desk and poured a giant glass of water from the bottle the ship provided its guests.
I glanced at the digital clock which read 3:30 a.m., a most inconvenient time to be awake. Maybe some fresh air would help. I unlatched the balcony door and pushed it outward. The gust of wind that assaulted me felt wonderful after the clammy heat of our cabin. I gently shut the door and settled into a chair on our balcony.
My head still felt groggy so I downed the entire glass of water, hoping to flush the alcohol out of my system. I leaned back against the cushion and closed my eyes. A sudden thump from above caused my eyelids to fly open.
Was someone moving furniture around this time of night? Maybe one of the occupants of the stateroom above us decided to rearrange the chairs on the balcony. Or maybe they also suffered from a splitting headache and hangover and were trying to find a way to deal with it.
I stared out at the mesmerizing sea. There was barely any moonlight, but I could still see the waves churning as the ship pushed its way under the velvety night sky. I rested my feet on the ottoman, wiggled my toes and relaxed into my chair. This was the only way to travel. It was so tranquil, so relaxing so…
A dark shadow suddenly invaded my musings. Then it disappeared. I leapt out of the chair and peered over the balcony railing. I’d heard about people hallucinating when they
’d had too much to drink.
But I was fairly certain I wasn’t hallucinating.
I was also fairly certain that a body had just flown past me.
CHAPTER SIX
I cautiously leaned over the mahogany railing, not wanting to become a shipboard casualty myself, and peered seven decks below. There was no sign of anyone frantically struggling in the sea. No cries for help from the water. Nor was there any shouting coming from the decks above ours.
I plopped back into the chair and wondered what to do. Had I imagined the entire thing? A combination of too much alcohol and a too vivid imagination?
Should I call our steward? Customer service? Who exactly do you call when you need to report someone going overboard?
Silly me. There was a detective sleeping in my bed. I flung open the glass door and tiptoed across the carpet. I slipped under the covers and nestled against Tom. It was wonderful to have someone you could lean on when times were tough. My own personal port for any future storms.
As I pondered whether to awaken him, I realized Tom was already wide awake. One vital part in particular appeared to be up and ready for action. He pulled me close and began to place soft kisses on my neck. Oh, my, but that felt good. I hated to interrupt our private party, but my priority wasn’t my personal pleasure right now.
“Tom,” I murmured in his ear.
“Mmm,” he replied, as his lips moved lower and lower.
I yanked on his arm interrupting his progress. Such a shame since he had been progressing so nicely.
“I saw a body,” I said.
“That’s nice.” He went back to what he was doing before. Gosh, that felt good. For a few seconds I lay there, pleasure short-circuiting thought. Suddenly he lifted his head. “What did you say?”
“I saw someone fall overboard. At least, I think I did.”
Now I had his full attention. Tom sat up and leaned against the headboard.