Page 20 of A Perfect Disaster

On the other side of the central pool, I see Helen give a brief, imperative order over her walkie-talkie. Immediately, Gonzalo moves toward the stern entrance, dispersing a group of kitchen crew members who were beginning to block the emergency exit.

For the next half hour, the rehearsal is a perfectly choreographed dance.

We keep going like this. Twenty minutes. Forty. A full hour. The main deck comes alive. The music picks up the pace, the spotlights play with the silhouettes, and the crew’s laughter becomes real. Even though we all know it’s just a damn drill, something in the atmosphere starts to feel like the real journey that begins tomorrow.

Helen and I barely exchange a word over the radios, but we work in a synchrony that scares me.

After an hour, the rehearsal ends and the crew bursts into applause. Helen comes down from the upper deck with the tablet under her arm. I feel the vibration of her footsteps even before she’s beside me.

“The flow has improved significantly with the position changes,” she says, stopping at a safe distance. “At least three bottlenecks will be avoided.”

“Does that mean we won’t be swamped by a human avalanche on the first night tomorrow?”

“It means the result is in line with expectations,” she clarifies.

“Wow, another enthusiastic quote to frame in my office.”

“Don’t push it, Maika…” she scolds me.

“Sorry. It’s just that when you’re so generous with compliments, it’s overwhelming,” I say sarcastically.

Helen narrows her eyes again. Now I can see the weariness of her watch, the rigors of her job, and, perhaps, a hint of humor hidden behind all those regulations and maritime laws.

“Good work,” she adds a second later.

This time I’m at a loss for a witty reply. Because she means it.

“Thanks,” I manage to say, and I have to force myself to clear my throat.

For a moment, the clatter of the technicians gathering the wiring from the deck fades away. It’s just her and me, with the golden reflections of the harbor outlining her silhouette, the calm sea in the background, and that deep gaze that makes me feel terribly alive. I want to tell her that she’s been amazing, too. I want to confess that I regret how things ended and that not a single day goes by without me thinking about what we left unfinished. But I bite my tongue. We’re in the middle of a deck, there are officers around, and I have no right to reopen that wound just because tonight we managed to work together without going for each other’s throats.

“Tomorrow will go well,” I simply say. “The whole cruise will run smoothly.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m sure it will,” I insist, regaining my nerve. “Because you’ll be keeping an eye on things.”

The corners of her lips tremble, resisting the urge to give in.

“And you’ll be dragging the passengers onto your turf so no one has time to think.”

“We’re a pretty peculiar team, Müller.”

“I won’t argue with that, Maika.”

I don’t know which of us starts smiling first. Maybe me. Maybe her. Maybe neither of us, and it’s just an optical illusion caused by the lights and my own desire for it to happen.

Helen looks down at the tablet, breaking the spell.

“I’ll upload the final observations to the system before midnight.”

“I’ll do the same with my report,” I assure her.

This time, Helen doesn’t turn around immediately to flee toward the bridge. She lingers for a second longer. Just one, looking at me in silence. I feel that second as if the entire ship had held its breath. Then she nods briefly and walks away toward Gonzalo, who’s waiting for her, flashing me a mocking smile from a distance.

“One of these days I’m throwing him overboard, I swear.”

I’m left alone in the middle of the outer deck while my team finishes packing up the microphones. I’m exhausted, drenched in sweat from the adrenaline, my feet aching from my shoes, and several stray strands of hair escaping from my ponytail. But I feel a strange warmth in my chest. Tomorrow everything will be fine.