Tully and I sit on the edge of one of the twin beds in our stateroom. The telegram, open in my hand, stares ominously at me.
“What did Maxi say?”
“Ask your father. The Major will explain,” I read.
“Ask your father?” Tully’s voice echoes. “What does that mean?”
“How should I know? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Tully lets out a sigh. “Show me the telegram.” He extends his hand, and I pass it to him. He skims the note, frowning. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”
I had hoped Maxi would shed light on the mystery surrounding Clifford’s note. She’s always come through for me before. But this time, her reply only deepens the confusion. What would my father know about Clifford’s note?
Tully might not believe in coincidences, but I’m starting to think he wishes for them just to escape the misery. “Read your father’s telegram.” Tully stands up, walks to the stateroomdoor, and presses his head against the steel, with tension evident in his every muscle.
“Perhaps it’s not merely a coincidence that the telegrams arrived simultaneously.” I raise the envelope. “Let’s hope that after I open it, this whole thing will be behind us. Then you’ll need to find another reason to be mad at me.”
“Stop putting it off. Open it and read it aloud,” Tully suggests.
I set aside Maxi’s brief telegram and read my father’s message, making sure my eyes don’t skip ahead. Tully and I will discover what my father wrote at the same moment.
Dear Vivian Jean, I will meet you at the Appleton Station, the stop before Maggotty. The train will drop you off there, and I’ll be waiting. You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve already arrived in Kingston. I had the chance to fly on an airplane. What an experience! I hope to share it with you and Tully someday. Also, I received a message from Maxi that requires a more complicated response …
My breath is trapped in my throat and I can’t go on. I close my eyes and cross my fingers and toes, as if it will help make my father’s words easier to digest.
“If you don’t hurry up,” Tully urges, “I swear to God …” He sounds dramatic, but I share the emotion.
I swallow and continue.
Maxi invited me to read Clifford’s note. She also told me about your questions. I will discuss it with you when I see you, which will be very soon. And I know this—the truth will be hard for you to hear, and I genuinely regret that. The truth is often difficult. Your loving father, Major Thomas.
Tully sits beside me on the twin bed. Instead of asking for the note, he takes it from me.
“What do you think the note means now?” I ask.
He rubs his eyes wearily. “As far as I’m concerned, nothing has changed.”
“How can you say that? Everything has changed. Maxi and my father know why Clifford wrote the note and to whom he wrote it.”
I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round. As soon as I step off one horse, I climb onto another without any time to recover. I squeeze my eyes shut. Tully can’t be right about the damn note. But what if he is?
“We’ll find out everything when we meet your father.”
“So, let’s get ready for dinner. It’s our last night on board and it’s black tie—the commander’s orders.”
“Oh, right,” I murmur, lost in a trance. “There will be dancing and champagne.”
“And a lot of whiskey,” Tully adds.
Our final night aboard the SSTalamanca, dinner will consist of items I dislike. The food is too heavy and has a fishy smell, whether it’s beef or baked chicken. The champagne is rarely cold enough, the potatoes are lumpy, and the bread is stale. As for the musicians, every other note they play sounds off-key. But since it’s the last night at sea, do I have a choice? I must attend.
I wear my best outfit, the same mint-green sheer chiffon I wore at Mr. Abbott’s reception. Maxi had reminded me that I had also donned it at my twenty-ninth birthday celebration. I danced the night away in Tully’s arms while the quartet played a captivating tune. With my heart racing, Tully and I forgot about the two-step and lost ourselves in a delicious rhumba.
The lively rhythms and Tully’s graceful movements weremagnificent. Clifford only danced the waltz. I enjoy the waltz, but the rhumba pulses through my veins.
Everyone is already chatting when Tully and I reach the table. Erich Greenberger thinks everything he says deserves attention. Anne Spencer brings up topics I must research in the ship’s library, so I remain quiet to avoid embarrassing myself. Even Othella and Robbie, who usually appear sullen and downcast, are annoyingly cheerful. They are falling in love, which is tough to witness. The only love match I care about is with the man, ordering his second whiskey, sitting next to me.
After a glass of warm champagne, the meal continues as I relax, but I’m not the only one savoring the last night aboard the SSTalamanca. Katherine laughs at one of Tully’s baseball jokes. The poet Anne talks about Ethiopia’s struggle against fascism with Erich. Hannah, the German conductor’s wife, keeps rubbing her round belly to soothe her unborn child between bites of buttered potatoes while inquiring about dessert, particularly the apple pie. I feel a pang of jealousy, having lost Clifford’s baby before I ever experienced any cravings.
