* * *
I like the not knowing.
I like the not knowing.
I repeat the mantra to myself as I sit meditating in my yoga class.
It’s another day at sea, and all I’m going to do is get pampered. I don’t need a man or even a traveling companion to keep me busy.
I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do when I return home, and I don’t much care.
Sure, I’ll have to work eventually, after I sell off the expensive dresses, jewelry, and furniture Stephen accessorized me with. Move out of the Nob Hill penthouse he paid for. I’ve already disappointed my family.
But most importantly, I’m not disappointing myself.
My life stretches out in front of me.
I’m free because I don’t know what’ll happen next.
After being massaged, mani-pedied, and hot stoned to jelly, I stroll through the promenade deck where the ship is having a huge sale. Everything’s up for grabs, and I spy Alice and Sylvester bargain hunting.
“Hey, you look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Alice says, her arms overflowing with shopping bags.
Sylvester’s wearing three hats and T-shirts on top of sweatshirts with at least two jackets. “How are you feeling?”
“Great. I’m having a blast.”
“Have you eaten?” Alice asks. “We missed you at breakfast.”
“Someone delivered room service. Have you two, by any chance, seen a crew member who looks suspicious? Anyone like Jordan?”
They both gape and gasp, shaking their heads.
Somehow, they look over-the-top innocent.
“Are you two in cahoots with him?” I narrow my eyes and dart from one to the other.
“Oh, no, we haven’t seen him,” Alice says. “Why would we be helping him?”
“Someone is,” I retort. “Sneaking into my room and putting seashells with messages and gifts inside.”
“Really? What kind of gifts?”
“It’s not us.”
“Fine,” I say. “But something strange is going on, and I suspect Jordan’s hiding on board. He monkeyed with my cell phone and swapped SIM cards. Did you know he recorded everything I did with him?”
Snickers rat-a-tat-tat from brother and sister, and they shake their heads.
“I think he’s still spying on me,” I continue. “He seems to always be one step ahead of me. Sending me little messages as if they’re answers to my questions.”
“Let me see your phone.” Sylvester drops his shopping bags and extends his hand.
I hand it to him, and he immediately turns it off. “He could have fixed your phone to record whenever it recognizes your voice.”
“He can do that? How do you know?” My heart, lungs, stomach and all my guts slump to the deck. The knife in my back twists like it’s doing the tango, and what’s left of my heart crumbles into pieces again. How can I ever trust anyone again?
“All of these smart phones can be enabled as listening devices,” Sylvester says. “Let’s go back to my cabin and check this out.”
