Stephen would have nothing less than the best, including my judgment which failed miserably when I decided to jump out of that cake.
The ship’s horn blasts its last call. I better get on board if I don’t want to be left behind. This is one Christmas I do not want to face my large and boisterous family.
The disappointment on my mother’s face. My father’s hangdog look, my sisters alternating between syrupy, sweet condolences and gossipy speculation, and worst of all, everyone tiptoeing around me, acting like I’m about to die of embarrassment. It’s is enough to make me shout, “Bah, Humbug!” to their “Merry Christmases.”
This cruise is the perfect hiding place. Christmas at sea among an ocean of senior citizens checking off adventures on their bucket list will be amusing and nonthreatening.
The horn blows long and loud, so I send my bestie an urgent text.
They’re blowing the horn already. Where the heck are you?
She’s usually as punctual as Stephen. If the airline says one hour, she gets there two hours ahead. If they say two hours, she stretches it to three.
By that logic, she should have been here by now.
I call her number, but it goes to voicemail.
The ship’s horn blasts again, and I notice the line is getting shorter as the stragglers march aboard.
Maybe Jade is on deck already, claiming a spot at the pool. Or she’s already gathered at the safety presentation, and she’s tired of my tardy ways.
I text her,Okay, I get it. You’re trying to teach me a lesson. Right. I’ll see you in the cabin.
With that, I slap my phone into my purse and flip my carry-on over my shoulder. Since it takes the cruise company a few hours to deliver luggage, I decided to pack my toiletries, sunglasses, a sundress, flip-flops, and any other items I might need in my carry-on. I take my place in line in front of the x-ray machine. The cruise ships aren’t quite as strict as TSA, so I don’t worry about my bottled water.
I take a swig of water and wait in line behind an elderly man with a walker. The metal detectors buzz all over him as he removes keys, spare change, and a dog leash from his heavily laden pockets.
I wonder what he needs that dog leash for. Kinky much?
The man looks innocent enough, but the guards check carefully for alcohol, unscrewing the caps on his “water” bottles and sniffing them.
I laugh when the elderly man insists the “water” is for his health, but the guards are unmerciful. Cruise ships charge a lot for alcohol, so he’s out of luck.
When it’s my turn, I slap my light carry-on onto the belt of the x-ray machine and saunter through the metal detector. No problem.
“Miss, we need to check your bag for secondary screening,” a dour-looking guard says.
“I don’t even have a laptop,” I exclaim. “I emptied my water bottles.”
“Step aside, please. There’s a suspicious-looking object in your bag.” He turns around and says in a loud voice, “Everyone clear the area. Dangerous object. Go. Go.”
The other passengers turn and stare at me with horror written all over their faces as they scurry back to safety behind the metal detector.
A man with gelled hair and aviator sunglasses raises his camera phone and snaps a picture of me.
I don’t have time to confront him. The guard drags me to secondary screening and forces me to stand there as he opens my flimsy, hot-pink carry-on.
My bikini is unfurled, my towel unwrapped, toiletries and makeup in plastic bags are set aside.
“I don’t have anything suspicious in there,” I protest.
“Be quiet, Miss.” The guard extracts a long object shaped like a gun. It is wrapped in aluminum foil. “Well, well, well, what is this?”
“I don’t have a clue what it is,” I sputter.
The crowd of geriatrics and that used-car salesman-like young man gasp. More than a few pull out their cell phones and point them at me.
The guard lifts the suspicious object and says, “Explain what this is used for.”
