WHEN SHE OPENED HERcurtains, Charlotte was amazed by the lively scene that had replaced the placid horizon. Pulling on her bathrobe, she stepped outside. Below the ship, a wide parking lot was lined with tour buses and taxis. Past a highway lay a medieval world: fortress walls, crenellated at the top, met deep blue sky. And was that aturret? Charlotte imagined a knight on his steed, cantering against the Greek breeze, brandishing a silver shield. And a dagger! Entering one of the dark passageways that led into…a moat? That the steed could leap over? A harem of lovely…princesses? A lawn-like battlefield? Charlotte definitely needed to brush up on medieval Europe. She went back into her room to find her coffee tray and a tiny, wrapped box.
Her heart beating fast, Charlotte opened the present and found a jar of honey. In the mirror above her dressing table, her expression was delighted, her cheeks rose-colored without any blusher.
Charlotte remembered her mother, how she never emerged from her room in the morning without a full face of makeup. When Charlotte was fifteen, Louisa had taken her to a beauty counter and bought Charlotte a bag of cosmetics. “Why do I need these?” Charlotte had asked on the way home, poking through the tissue paper to fondle jars of foundation and liquid rouge.
“Can you imagine what would happen if I stopped putting on my face?” asked Louisa. She barked, a sad laugh.
“What?” said Charlotte.
“Your father would find someone who hadn’t let herself go,” said Louisa.
“No, he wouldn’t,” said Charlotte.
Louisa stared out the window. “Let’s not find out,” she said.
Charlotte’s parents had acted as if they were always on TV. They evaluated themselves and each other, speaking in fake voices. Charlotte’s father called Louisa “darling,” but they were rarely alone, and Charlotte never saw them embrace.
Maybe this was why Charlotte yearned for sex. It was messy and real. You couldn’t be naked with another person and remain perfectly put together. Sure, your lover might leave you, might think you were ugly and wrinkled. But maybe that was the risk you had to take to connect to another. Was it too late for Charlotte to take the risk?
She slipped the jar of honey into her beach bag.
CORD HAD READ THATthe medieval city of Rhodes had actual castles, Byzantine temples, knights’ buildings, mosques, stone-paved streets, and amoat. As they shuffled off the ship into a parking lot filled with idling tour buses, he put his hands on his hips and envisioned himself from above: just a small dot on a crazy island between Athens and Turkey in the midst of the Aegean Sea. How far away his actual life seemed.
He put his arm around his mother and smiled as one of the ship’s ever-present photographers snapped a picture of them behind a cardboard cutout of a life preserver withRHODES, GREECEprinted in (what else?) glowing orange. His sisters crowded in, unable to resist a chance to preen: Lee with her giant sunglasses and cosmetically enhanced lips pouted in what she’d told Cord was called “duck face” and Regan with an “oh,who me?” expression better suited to a twelve-year-old. Cord’s spirits sank; he was glad he’d had a few mimosas to buffer the misery of being with his family.
“Look!” cried Regan. “A little trolley!”
There was, indeed, a tiny trolley in the parking lot, accompanied by a man who looked a great deal like Zorba the Greek, if Zorba had worn a conductor’s hat and held a sign advertisingRHODES TOWN CITY TOUR 7 EUROS ONLY!
“Let’s do it!” said Regan, grabbing Cord’s arm. When he snatched it away instinctively, she looked stricken.
“Sorry,” said Cord. “I just…we already have a tour arranged, so I thought…”
“It’s fine,” said Regan, her voice steely.
Matt the Philanderer had stayed on the ship for the day, telling them at breakfast that he had some work to catch up on. Cord wanted to punch him. He turned to Charlotte, who—despite her extremely bright beach outfit—looked small and a bit overwhelmed. “Mom?” he said. “Do you have the tickets?”
“Tickets?” said Charlotte.
Cord’s stomach ached. He yearned to reach into his pocket for the tiny bottle of Jägermeister he’d stuck there for emergencies.
“Yassus! Yassus!”said a young woman, approaching them. “You are for the beach?”
“We are for the beach,” said Charlotte proudly, gesturing to her monogrammed, terry-cloth cover-up (which matched her monogrammed visor and monogrammed beach bag).
Regan strode ahead of them toward the bus, followed by Charlotte. Cord turned to his older sister. “We need to talk about Regan,” he blurted, desperate to share the bad news. “Zoë called me. There’s some very bad news. About Matt.”
“What?” said Lee.
“Zoë hired a private investigator. Regan won’t evenlookat the report.”
“Oh my God,” said Lee. “Do you know what it says?”
“Yes!” said Cord. He told Lee, thrilled not to be alone with the disgusting news. Cord had vague memories of Lee being not only his ally but his best friend. In the YMCA pool, swimming butterfly, or afterward, in her swim-team suit and gray sweatpants, she seemed invincible. A warrior. She protected Cord from Winston’s wrath—she defended them all. One time, when Lee found Cord crying because Winston was making him join the flag football team with kids who bullied him, Lee stormed into the kitchen, where Winston was pouring himself a drink, and told him he should be ashamed. She actually said those words! And Winston said, “Give me a break, Lee Lee. That kid’s going to need asport.”
“What he needs,” Lee said, “is a father who supports him!” She’d been thirteen, the bravest girl in the world, her hair in a chlorine-smelling ponytail, her voice strident and strong. And Winston had relented! Cord, clutching brand-new football cleats in the hallway, was filled with profound relief when Winston rounded the corner and snatched the shoes from his grasp. “Forget it,” he said. “Just forget it. I’ll return these.”
“How about telling him you love him?” Lee said, appearing behind him, her hands on her hips. Winston didn’t answer, just went into his den and shut the door.
