Lee and Cord stared at each other. Lee felt dizzy, the edges of her vision growing black. She was very warm. She shook her head, unable to speak. But Cord remained still, believing in Lee more than she believed in herself, trusting she had something to offer him.
IT WAS TIME FORthe captain’s toast. Charlotte and her family stood in the Atrio, a three-story, mall-like space, staring at an enormous cylindrical screen, onto which moving images were projected, creating a column of color that tapered to a bar on the bottom floor, where adorable youngsters tossed cocktail shakers. The captain and his entourage—what were they called? Mates?—appeared on one of the Atrio staircases, illuminated by a spotlight.
The column, which had seemed filled with aquarium water and giant, multicolored fish when they arrived, began throbbing with light and images of corks popping from champagne bottles. Itwasbewitching, thought Charlotte, she’d give it that. If she had a giant pulsating column in her living room, maybe she’d be more easily distracted from her loneliness and decrepitude.
“Is it beautiful or tacky?” Charlotte wondered aloud.
“I think it’s awesome,” said Matt.
Charlotte surveyed him, the genial way he took in the insane Atrio. Matt reached for Regan’s hand and Charlotte felt wistful.
It wasn’t that she wished she were married, and certainly not to a man like Matt. He’d been a part of the family for so long that she almost considered Matt her own son, but while he was dull—a good match for Regan—Charlotte preferred a bit of spice. Matt was a bland pudding, and what Charlotte craved was a metaphorical hot jalapeño!
She longed to feel a man’s erection pressing against the small of her back, hot breath at the nape of her neck. She wanted to feel skin against her skin. Charlotte blushed.
“Welcome,” said the captain into a microphone, “to theSplendido Marveloso!” He wore a white suit and cap like Paros, her handsome porter, but the captain’s chest was covered with ribbons. “There is a very special moment to happen at now.”
A portly couple made their way past the elegant crew. The room quieted down, and the man fell to one knee. He spoke and the woman jumped up and down. “He says,Will she be his wife?and she says,Yes, why not?” said the captain.
The Atrio erupted in cheers, the column aswirl with gyrating triangles.
Charlotte sighed. Her own marriage proposal had been a dud. Back in Paris for her father’s funeral, Charlotte had crossed paths with Winston, and after a week he had proposed, sliding a jeweler’s box across a café table, saying, “I guess we belong together after all.” Charlotte had opened the box and put on the ring, filled not with hope, but with resignation. She was tarnished goods, and this was all she could expect.
CORD WAS VERY DRUNKat dinner. Charlotte was disturbed. He kept repeating himself and saying, “Am I right or am I right?” Charlotte herself had never had a problem just stopping after a few glasses of wine. It was a matter of free will! But clearly some people couldn’t keep it under control. Winston, for one.
Was it alcoholism that had changed Winston from the mild-mannered gentleman she’d first met in Paris into the cruel person he’d become, or had booze been a salve to him? Charlotte didn’t know. She tried to believe that Winston’s depression hadn’t been her fault, and sometimes she succeeded.
Charlotte hurried through her “Marvelous Mediterranean meze platter” and declined dessert, wanting to return to her small, safe cabin and change into her nightgown.
“Mom! You’ve got to have a tiramisu!” protested Lee. “It’sfree,” she hissed.
“Tiramisu for me and for you,” said Cord. “Am I right or am I right?” His words were somehow both slurred and overenunciated. The way he was speaking reminded Charlotte so much of Winston that she was shaking as she touched the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“In fact,” said Charlotte, “you’re wrong. I’m going to bed. Good night!” Cord barely glanced up. He was topping off everyone’s wineglasses with great care, seemingly checking the levels to make sure they were even, then refilling his own glass to the brim.
“Good night, Mom,” said Regan. “Love you.”
“Oh,” said Charlotte, touched. “Well, I love you, too.” For a moment, she considered staying for dessert.
“See you in the morning for towel-animal lessons in the Aqua Zone,” said Lee.
“Wait, what?” said Regan.
“You heard me,” said Lee, raising an eyebrow. “I saidtowel-animal lessons.”
Charlotte’s children began giggling. Were they making fun of the cruise—of Charlotte? She blinked, trying not to be upset. She stood.
“I think it sounds fun,” said Regan, grabbing a roll from the basket.
“Sure you do, hon,” said Matt, patting Regan’s hand. Lee and Matt laughed. Now it seemed they were being mean to Regan, who looked down at her butter plate.
“Who likes grappa around here?” said Cord, motioning to their waiter.
Charlotte turned to leave. Only Matt was kind enough to call after her, “Charlotte? Can you find your way back to the cabin? Do you need help?”
“I’m fine,” she said, waving with forced gaiety and exiting the restaurant. She probably did need help, but was too embarrassed to admit it. Confronted with wide staircases and dazzling lights, Charlotte continued walking straight, but soon found herself completely lost inside an empty discotheque. She watched tiny rectangles of light move across the floor, trying to wrest her thoughts from Cord. It was unbearable to think that he was following his father’s path. Charlotte almost turned back, believing she owed her son, or could help him in some way. Put him to bed. Scratch his back as she’d once done.
He used to come into her room, late at night. Next to snoring Winston and later alone, Charlotte would feel someone needing her—a mother’s instinct—and she’d open her eyes to see Cord. He never shook her or made a sound, just sat cross-legged on the floor next to her side of the bed until she woke. He looked up at her, his pupils wide in the dark. His skinny legs in pajamas, his thick eyelashes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he’d whisper.
