Page 39 of A Perfect Disaster

Helen

The next day.

The port of Civitavecchia welcomes us with a sky suspended between the leaden blue of night and a golden light that is just beginning to peek through. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, as if it, too, needed a strong cup of coffee before taking on its nautical responsibilities. For an absurd second, I envy the sun.

I’ve been at the gangway station for half an hour now, the clipboard pressed tightly against my chest, the operations device in my hand, and the uncomfortable certainty that I slept with my eyes open. In fact, I don’t even know if I managed to fall asleep. I spent the night wide awake, pacing back and forth, going over every detail of all the protocols ad nauseam.

Anything can happen when three thousand people disembark. And that is precisely the thought that has kept me from getting a wink of sleep.

“You’ll see, everything will turn out fine,” I try to reassure myself.

I breathe in the morning air, which is filled with the scent of freshly baked pastries wafting from the exhaust vents in the kitchen on Deck Three. The gangway lobby isn’t crowded yet. The most impatient passengers are already lining up in front of the turnstiles with backpacks slung over their shoulders: sleepy couples checking their group stickers between yawns and children who, mysteriously, have more pent-up energy than the ship’s generators. Business as usual, basically.

The little twitch in my left eyelid is attacking me again with humiliating persistence.

“Don’t you start too,” I mutter under my breath, pressing my eye with two fingers.

But my body has never understood rules.

I peer out the hatch by the gangway to look at the pier. The Transmarine buses are already parked, perfectly lined up in their assigned bay. From here they look harmless, but I see them for what they really are: forty-eight seats per unit; forty-eight opportunities for a passenger to lose their pass, get delayed at the Trevi Fountain, faint, complain about the air conditioning, or decide that five minutes of courtesy time equals half an hour on the clock.

Maika will be with group three. I don’t know why my gaze is fixed on her name with such intensity, but it is. Of course it is. As if my brain were incapable of obeying such a simple command: “Don’t think about her.”

Great, Helen. Very mature of you to focus on the distractions in the cabin when the company audit is about to arrive.

“You’re so stiff it looks like someone stuck a stick up your…” Gonzalo blurts out, appearing beside me in the ground control room with a plastic folder and a complete lack of survival instinct plastered on his smile.

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He falls silent as soon as he catches my expression, and for once in his career, his prudence moves me. Almost.

“I’m asking you, please, to save the jokes for the afternoon shift,” I reply without taking my eyes off the vehicles. “I’m not in the mood for group dynamics.”

He tilts his head, his expression twisting with irony.

“And when have you ever been in the mood for that?”

I glare at him.

“Gonzalo…”

“Okay, message received. No messing with the officer today, no touching the security beast, and no nautical analogies allowed. Got it and agreed.”

“Thanks for proving that your larynx can stay silent for more than three seconds,” I snap sarcastically.

“Don’t get used to it; it takes a lot of effort for me,” he replies with a mischievous smile.

Despite the knot in my stomach, a tiny part of me is grateful for his presence. But I force myself to keep a stern expression. If I relax my features for even a moment, I fear my anxiety will get the better of me in front of my subordinates, and this isn’t the right place to turn into a bundle of nerves.

Gonzalo leans against the access control counter and watches the local guides at work.

“It looks to me like the operation is going wonderfully,” he remarks in an analytical tone.

“Just because it looks that way doesn’t mean it’s safe. It means nothing has gone wrong yet, which is quite different.”

He lets out a sigh.

“Seriously, Helen, someday you should try sailing with the wind at your back.”

“I’d rather calculate the force of that wind, check if the hull has any leaks, and make sure no one throws a rope at the company auditor’s head,” I reply coldly.