Charlotte scanned the beach. “I don’t see her,” she said. “Maybe she’s taking a dip?”
“In her old-lady bathing suit?” said Lee.
“Be kind,” said Cord.
“Sorry,” said Lee.
Charlotte turned away from the disturbing spectacle of Pete staring at Lee’s chest. “Toodle-oo,” she said, opening her book.
“I think I’ll just stay with Mom,” said Cord.
Charlotte ran the scenario through her head—Lee tottering on cobblestone streets with this skeevy fellow; Lee getting pregnant and needing to live with Charlotte forever. A squalling bastard child in her placid home. Named Pete, Jr.
Ugh!
“No, Cord,” said Charlotte. “Please. I’m fine. Regan will turn up eventually.”
“If you’re sure, Mom,” said Cord.
“I am utterly sure,” said Charlotte. She added, trying to keep her tone light, “Just keep an eye on your sister!”
“Oh my God, Mom!” said Lee.
“I will,” said Cord, leaning down to kiss Charlotte on the cheek. Why couldn’thefind a dalliance? Maybe he’d meet some expert in Greek antiquities—a woman with tortoiseshell eyeglasses and a ponytail. Wearing a khaki jumpsuit, but in the evenings she’d change into a smart dress from Talbots and cook for Cord—lamb or whatever they ate here on Rhodes. Someone on the bus had mentioned octopus.
Was Cord gay? It was possible he was gay. But why wouldn’t he have told her if he were gay? She did, okay, hope he was not gay. Pope Benedict XVI had said that gay marriage was “an offense against the truth of the human person, with serious harm to justice and peace.” (Charlotte had looked it up.) But now there was a new pope, Pope Francis, who seemed more open-minded.
It would be hard to tell her church friends—and even worse,Father Thomas—if Cord was gay. The Bible said that being gay was “an abomination.” Charlotte believed that the Bible said a lot of things, and maybe some of them were more allegorical than prescriptive, but “an abomination” was hard to put a positive spin on.
Charlotte wished Minnie were here beside her, though she knew what Minnie would say. “He’s your son! You choose your son!” Charlotte thought of Father Thomas and his kind face. He had been there for her through these years…so many years, it felt, during which her children had abandoned her.
Father Thomas sat beside her when she needed comfort, and she loved his manly smell. If she didn’t come to morning mass, he called to see if she was okay. There were days when, after mass, Charlotte didn’t talk to anyone at all. The hours were endless, bleak, but there was the possibility that Father Thomas would stop by for coffee. People forgot Charlotte, assumed she was fine or busy or didn’t feel lonely. But Father Thomas remembered. He treated her as a person, as the woman she still felt like inside, though she seemed invisible to everyone else.
Charlotte would not allow a gay son to cause her to be ostracized from church. How could she possibly choose between the faith that had sustained her and her own son? Charlotte loved Cord, but without Father Thomas, now that Minnie was gone, she would have nothing at all.
THE SATURDAY VIGIL MASSwas odd. The priest couldn’t use candles, so battery-powered tea lights cast a dull, dim light in the Tranquillo Conference Room. The priest pulled on plastic gloves before handling the host. A passenger wearing a zebra-striped pantsuit whispered to Charlotte, “He’s wearing gloves because of the norovirus.”
Charlotte nodded gravely.
The zebra-pantsuited woman leaned close enough for Charlotte to smell her perfume and body odor. She whispered, “The only reason they evenhavemass is for the Filipinos.” She jerked her head toward a dozen or so men and women in folding chairs. “Can’t run a ship galley without them,” said the woman. Charlotte turned toward the makeshift altar and put her shoulders back, universal language (she hoped) forplease stop talking to me. When mass was over, the woman stood at the same time as Charlotte. “Well, hello,” she said, smiling. “I’m Jane-Ann and I’m from Oxford, Mississippi.”
“Charlotte Perkins. I’m from Savannah.”
“Iknewyou were a Southern gal,” said Jane-Ann.
Charlotte did not ask how Jane-Ann knew. She didn’t really think of herself as a “Southern gal,” though she’d lived in Savannah for decades. Charlotte considered herself a woman of the world, a diplomat’s daughter. She wished she could convey to Jane-Ann that they were not the same.
“Are you going to the co-cathedral?” asked Jane-Ann.
Charlotte had no idea what Jane-Ann was talking about, but didn’t want the woman to think she was uninformed. “Hmm?” she said.
“St. John’s Co-Cathedral? In Malta? It’s supposed to bebeyond.”
“Hmm,” repeated Charlotte, backing away. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too!” cried Jane-Ann. “It’s refreshing to meet a real Catholic around here, unlike all the heathens upstairs at the morning buffet.”
“Don’t talk about my children that way!” said Charlotte. “I’m joking! Though they are at the morning buffet.”
