“So, no one else is after you now. He was the last of them.”
“No one else.” I decide it’s not the right time to mention Tony Schaefer or the Chicago Police Department.
“And I can trust that you’re telling me the truth?”
“Yes, Robbie, you can trust me,” I say, and I truly hope it will be the last lie I tell him. With that, I have nothing to look forward to but sunshine, beaches, and Robbie Barnes, my best friend.
And to think, when I first met him, I thought he was a geek.
CHAPTER 20
VIVIAN JEAN
The SSTalamancaat Sea, Day Two
The day after the storm, the turmoil is far from over for Tully and me. Our feelings are still raw and choppy, fluctuating between guilt and grief, love and loss, and the possibility of loving again. Mr. Shakespeare said something like, “the past informs the present.” So does that mean life’s sorrows return with sharper edges and at different speeds? Or does such repetition destroy the soul? And without a soul, how can you love?
Even if I prove Tully wrong about the note, will he let go of his guilt? Will his fear that his confrontation with his brother somehow led to the trouble in our marriage? And what about me? Is my only chance for forgiveness to be found in the roots of the silk cotton tree?
A crewman knocks on our door and announces dinner, but Tully and I are exhausted from delving too deeply into the painful parts of our lives.
I roll off my twin bed and jostle Tully’s shoulder. “Wake up. We’ve got to hurry.”
Bleary-eyed and licking the dryness from his lips, he asks, “When did we fall asleep?”
“I don’t remember, but I’m hungry. We missed dinner last night and I don’t want to miss it again.”
“Neither do I.”
We arrive in the dining room on the Saloon Deck and sit next to each other at a round table set for eight. Tully and I are the last to join our dinner companions, three of whom are strangers. It’s a formality of cruise ships, Katherine explained before. The captain assigns passengers to the people they will share meals with.
Katherine is seated to my left, with Othella and Robbie beside her. To Tully’s immediate right sits a German orchestra conductor, Erich Greenberger, and his wife, Hannah. Between Robbie and the conductor’s wife is Anne Spencer, a Negro poet traveling alone.
The composition of the table surprises me. I didn’t expect to dine with white passengers. Noticing my confusion, Tully whispers that aboard a ship like the SSTalamanca, Commander O’Flanagan makes decisions based on his preferences. He and his crew seem somewhat indifferent to a passenger’s skin color. That tolerance extended to Jews, but only to a point. “He wouldn’t sit a Jew at a table of whites, I don’t imagine,” Tully had said.
Tully blames my single-minded focus on Negro civil rights or anthropology and the study of ancient African cultures for my lack of knowledge about white people’s prejudices among themselves. “Infighting doesn’t interest you if it doesn’t relate to the civil liberties denied the Negro by whites.” Tully shrugs. “It’s one of your shortcomings, darling. The world is bigger than our backyard.”
He tells me this while the others discuss the storm and the stowaway who went missing at sea the night before. Then the conversation shifts to Jamaica.
“We are staying at the Constant Spring Hotel, a resort located five miles outside Kingston,” Mrs. Greenberger says. She is blond, younger than me, with soft, bland features and a whispery voice.
“I plan to alternate between playing golf and lounging by the pool,” Mr. Greenberger interjects. “I guess I’ll explore the local markets. Perhaps I’ll take a trip to the Blue Mountains.”
Mrs. Greenberger laughs. “Pipe dreams. He’ll be on the golf course the whole time.”
Their accents fascinate me. I haven’t been around people who aren’t American other than Maxi. I hope I’m not being too rude, staring down their throats when they speak.
“We’re traveling up to the Cockpit Mountains,” Tully adds. “And the Maroon village, Accompong.”
“That sounds like an intriguing trip,” says Anne Spencer.
“I hear you’ve traveled to Jamaica before, Miss Spencer,” Katherine says. “I am familiar with your articles on the subject.”
“How flattering. You are correct. I spent several weeks on the island in ’29, visiting several parishes and mostly villages rather than cities like Kingston or Montego Bay. It helped me connect more deeply to the people and the African cultures here.”
“That’s similar to the goals of my fieldwork,” Katherine says proudly. “I’m exploring the history of African dance in the Caribbean by focusing on the Maroon people in Accompong.”
“I saw you perform at the World’s Fair in Chicago,” says Anne Spencer. “You and your company of dancers were brilliant.” She nods at the rest of us. “I’m so sorry. We don’t mean to dominate the conversation.” Anne Spencer turns to the Greenbergers. “What are your plans besides golf, Mr. Greenberger?”
