When it was dimly lit at evening time, Shells Restaurant seemed almost festive. But in the morning, Shells was revealed as the hungover party girl she was: a bit tattered, her napkins rumpled, her lavishments too much, too bright, too early. Even at the crack of dawn, the waitstaff were dressed in tuxedos.
“I’ll have the…hmm…Maltese breakfast sampler. Why not?” said Charlotte. She handed her laminated menu to the waiter. “How do you even pronounce this?” she asked Cord, pointing to her Magical Malta Day Tour ticket.
Cord ordered an egg-white omelet, then scrutinized the word on his mother’s ticket:Marsaxlokk. “Marshmallow-lox,” he said. He lifted the carafe in the middle of the table and poured his mother a coffee, then filled his own cup.
“Where is everyone?” said Charlotte. “I need to talk to you all about my essay. There are some things you need to know.”
“I haven’t seen anyone since last night,” said Cord. “I fell asleep right after dinner.” In truth, he’d watched a movie and had WhatsApp sex with Giovanni, which had been surprisingly hot. Giovanni had been on his lunch break, and had brought his phone into the teachers’ bathroom. The event had been sordid, blurry, and very exciting. Afterward, Cord had fallen asleep without drinking anything from the minibar.
“Hmm,” said Charlotte, vexed.
“What is it, Mom?” said Cord.
“I think I should tell you all together.”
“Mom!” said Cord, teasing. “Do you have a secret?”
She looked flustered. “What?” she said. “No! Of course not!”
“Who’s talking about secrets?” said Regan, approaching. Matt followed a few feet behind her, wearing a button-down shirt, pale pink shorts, and loafers. Cord felt a seething anger toward his brother-in-law, toward all the straight Southern men he’d known who thought the world was their oyster. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to be one of these men. On the outside, he looked like them, but under the skin, he knew he couldn’t be more different.
“Now listen,” said Charlotte, pulling out her tour tickets. “After a walking tour of Marshmallow-lox, a traditional fishing village, we go to the prehistoric temple of Hagar Qim, the Blue Grotto including underwater flora and fauna, and then we’ll mingle withlocalsat a typicalwhatever-this-word-is,and see the place where some movie calledBlack Eaglestarring Jean-Claude Van Damme was filmed. And then we see a Caravaggio painting in St. John’s Co-Cathedral.”
“Wow,” said Cord. “That sounds…”
“Exhausting,” admitted Charlotte.
Cord was relieved to hear his mother say so. “Why don’t I run down to the Excursions Desk and see if we can change to a more low-key tour?” he said. “I mean, I want to see some of the sights, but maybe notallof the sites.”
“Honey, would you?” said Charlotte. “I don’t want to see all the sights, either! Just a few.”
“Actually, there are crazy tunnels hidden underground here—war tunnels—wouldn’t that be cool?” said Regan.
“We must see the co-cathedral,” said Charlotte. “And then maybe a nice Maltese beach?”
“I didn’t get any tours,” said Matt. “I’m going to just relax by the pool.”
“Matt,” said Charlotte. “What are you talking about? We’re in Europe. You can’t just stay on the ship.”
“I need a break, not an excursion,” said Matt sharply.
Charlotte looked down, hurt. Regan pursed her lips but did not speak. Cord, fury coursing through him, met Regan’s gaze. With her eyes, she pleaded for him to stay silent. “I’ll be right back,” said Cord, swallowing his ire.
There was a long line at the Excursions Desk. Cord searched on his phone and found a small operator out of Valetta named Kiko. He booked the Half-Day Delights of Malta tour, paying with his own card. Then he sat down in a bright orange chair to read the paper on his phone before heading back to Shells.
The story was fairly deep in the Business section ofThe Wall Street Journal. Cord would have missed it entirely had he not been so reluctant to return to his family. It was written as an op-ed, and the headline asked, “Is 3rd Eyez the New Theranos?”
“Oh, God,” said Cord.
The story said that “anonymous sources” were reporting a “shake-up” inside 3rd Eyez, calling the company “secretive to a worrisome degree.” Cord rubbed his forehead, anxious. An “insider” was quoted as saying, “Will 3rd Eyez change the way we see the world…or turn out to be just another overvalued scam? Only time will tell.”
Disregarding the time difference, Cord called Georgie. “Cord,” she said, “it’s three in the…”
“Have you seen it?”
“Seen wha—”
“Third Eyez inThe Wall Street Journal.I’ll wait.”
