“Yeah,” said Regan. “Yum.”
Lee looked deflated. Whatever she’d been doing, it had failed.
“Well, hello there!” said Matt, appearing tableside in a fresh shirt, his face sunburned and relaxed. “How was Sicily?” He sat down and gave Regan a showy kiss on the cheek.
“Where have you been, Matt?” said Regan evenly.
“I’ve been in the roomall day,” said Matt, grinning. “Very refreshing,” he added. His lie sat, an extra loaf in the middle of the table.
Lee observed her first love as if he were a strange exhibit at the zoo. “Oh, Matt,” she said. “What’s happened to you?”
“What does that mean?” said Matt.
“Let’s eat some bread,” said Charlotte, forcefully. No one moved. “Lee!” cried Charlotte. “Regan! Eat some delicious bread!”
“I’lleat some delicious bread,” said Matt.
CHARLOTTE WAS SO UPSETabout her family’s dysfunction that she could barely sit through the Michael Jackson musical revue. Cord had told her how much he’d been looking forward to the show, but though she called his cabin and even went to knock on his door, he did not reappear. So much for the idea that he couldn’t absent himself on a ship!
As they entered the theater, Regan made sure to seat herself between Charlotte and Lee, leaving Lee next to Matt on her other side and Charlotte next to a fat man wearing a Yankees baseball capto the theater. Charlotte had known that “cruisers” (as they called themselves on the Internet) weren’t the most refined—the vast majority of their web conversations were about how to smuggle booze onboard—but honestly, a baseball cap? Charlotte flared her nostrils in distaste and scooched herself as far as possible toward Regan.
As the lights dimmed and the stage exploded to life, Matt appeared to be having a fine time, shaking his shoulders to “Billie Jean,” oohing and aahing as a lithe woman in a red zippered jacket hurled herself around a gold cage–like apparatus that hovered midair. But it was hard for Charlotte to enjoy herself with her baby girl, Regan, so clearly distraught. Regan’s face was impassive, but Charlotte could see her hands balled into fists in her lap.
A man in a tuxedo and a lovely woman in white took the stage and began singing a slow song called “You Are Not Alone.” Regan appeared to be transfixed, her face a mask of pain. Lee sang along, her voice low and lovely. The baseball cap man brought a hoagie sandwich from a bag and unwrapped it, taking a bite. As the smell of meatballs reached her, Charlotte was horrified and also hungry. Cord was gone.
Charlotte sighed audibly, but no one seemed to hear her. The show went on. TheSplendido Marvelosomoved through the night, engines buzzing, heading for Naples. For a moment, Charlotte wished she had never come on this cruise. She ached for Godiva, a plate of Triscuits, a few slices of plain old American cheddar. Her children, it seemed, were irredeemably messed up. It was her fault, and furthermore.
THE VIEW FROM CORD’Sbalcony was gritty: a row of red-brick buildings, trucks idling in a parking lot, a hill stretching toward a smoggy horizon. A few dinghies were anchored along the Molo Beverello dock. To the right, he could see passengers walking off the ship already, filing toward the blocky blue Stazione Marittima, the passageway to the city of Naples.
Cord felt a primal thrill. He wanted to run into the city—grab a slice or three of pizza, shove that crisp crust and hot cheese into his mouth—he could taste it—kiss a stranger on one of these dirty streets with his oily lips. He was aroused just thinking of it.
He had slept well because he had taken three Benadryl tablets. He didn’t have any Ambien, and thank God he’d asked the porter to clear out his minibar, because when he’d returned to his cabin the night before, he would have started unscrewing those tiny caps. Being with his family was making him anguished. That was the word—anguish. There was nothing to do. There was nothing that could be fixed. He just wanted not to feel the anguish. That was all. He should have called Handy, or found a meeting onboard. But he took bright pink pills and lay in bed and waited and fortunately, sleep came.
As the sun rose, Cord felt shaky but okay. He just needed to get through four more days—Naples, Rome, Florence, and Marseilles—and then they would dock in Barcelona and he could go home. A small, true voice in his brain said,You can’t do this. Get off the ship or tell her who you are and accept what comes.
He told the voice to shut the fuck up.
—
FILLED WITH APPREHENSION, CORDreturned to his family’s table at Shells for breakfast. Regan looked puffy-faced and miserable sitting next to her husband’s empty chair; Charlotte looked peaked but game; and Lee looked about sixteen years old with no makeup and her hair pulled into a high ponytail. No one said a word about the previous night’s dinnertime theatrics.
“Good morning,” said Cord.
“Oh, hello, dear!” said Charlotte. “How did you sleep? Well? I slept well. I slept beautifully. And now we’re in Naples! Can you believe it? I can’t believe it. Can you?”
“I can’t believe it,” said Cord. He hated to see her trying so hard! It brought to mind the days after their father’s heart attack, when Charlotte continued to make dinner for Winston and get dolled up, as if he might somehow rise from the dead. Cord thought of the night when he saw his mother pause before setting out Winston’s plate on the table. She stood by the cabinet, as if frozen. And then she put the plate back.
Cord leaned down to give Charlotte a hug. “It’s the birthplace of pizza, Cord!” she chirped. “Did you know that? The birthplace of pizza!”
“Is that right?” said Cord.
“Yes!”
Cord sat down, attempting to plaster on his “Holiday Cord” face. “What bus tour awaits us today?” he asked.
“Lee, I’m going to ask you a question,” said Regan. “Okay? And I just need you to be honest.”
Lee looked up, her cheeks coloring. “Be honest about what?” she asked, her voice a bit high. Cord’s radar went off: Lee was definitely acting suspicious.
