The Summer Sail Read online

  “You meeting someone?” the cabbie asked, unloading her suitcase from the back. He sounded worried to be leaving her by herself.

  “Oh, yes,” she replied. Not that it was any of his business. “My old college roommates. It’s a mini-reunion.” She might have added that Javier would be boarding with the last wave of passengers, around two o’clock. That was assuming his flight from Paris to New York and then Boston landed on time. But she didn’t feel like getting into it with the cabdriver right now.

  “Well, I hope you have a wonderful time,” he said, taking the money from her with a little nod. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.” She snapped the suitcase’s pull handle into place and headed for the cruise port, a stuffy warehouse where men in orange vests busily pointed passengers to various queues. Caroline had already scheduled her check-in time online between noon and one o’clock, though now that she saw the serpentine line winding its way around the dividing belts, she wondered if staggered boarding was truly swifter.

  She pulled up behind a family with teenagers, their pillows tucked under their arms. Next to them sat a rolling cart piled with a small mountain of luggage plastered with stickers like BOXERS ARE THE BEST! and I NEVER MET A WINE I DIDN’T LIKE. Caroline was confused by people who packed as if they were traveling for a month. What could they possibly need aside from a few outfits and a swimsuit?

  Eventually a porter approached and took her bag, then waved her over to yet another line, where she filled out a form swearing that she’d had no recent exposure to the Zika virus or any other communicable diseases. She wondered if the small rash on her elbow counted but decided not to mention it. Around her, flustered parents struggled to corral their young children while they completed their own forms. Caroline watched while one boy pulled back his arm and slugged his sister square in the shoulder, prompting a wail. Caroline frowned and shook her head disapprovingly at him.

  At last she reached the check-in desk and handed the agent her forms and passport. “You travel a lot, yes?” the agent inquired. Bright blue eye shadow shimmered on her lids as she scanned Caroline’s passport. France, Italy, Greece, Iceland, Spain, India, Japan, Myanmar, Finland.

  Caroline nodded. “Yes, I’m a journalist. For Glossy magazine?” The woman’s eyes failed to register any connection, which wasn’t that surprising. Caroline was accustomed to describing Glossy and its mission to strangers, even though she’d helped increase its circulation to a million readers over the last decade. She’d traveled to the French Riviera, dined at charming cafés in Paris and Milan, had prayed in the temples of Myanmar, all in the name of capturing the essence of what defined today’s woman. Which was how she’d pitched this trip to her editor, with an eye toward writing off the cruise as a business expense.

  “Why Bermuda?” her editor, Sara, had asked. “Don’t you have to sail across the Bermuda Triangle to get there?”

  “I think so,” Caroline said, though she wasn’t really sure. “But how is that a story unless our ship goes missing?”

  Sara had laughed wickedly. “Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? What is the story?”

  Caroline was prepared. She’d done her homework. “As far as I can tell, Glossy has never run a story on cruises, and it hasn’t covered Bermuda since 2008.”

  “But I thought cruises were for old people?” One carefully penciled-in eyebrow arched in Sara’s smooth forehead.

  “Me, too. But it turns out that a lot of families go on cruises these days, and so do newlyweds. Some of them are real party boats.”

  “Sounds more like a cultural exploration of the modern drunk woman.” Sara paused. “You might have to wait till you get to Bermuda for culture.”

  Which was fine by Caroline. No doubt Bermudian women had insights to offer the readers of Glossy. What were their favorite beaches? What were the island’s hidden gems for restaurants? What did they think of American women?

  “Smile for the camera!” the agent suddenly commanded.

  Caught off guard, Caroline flashed a crooked smile, and her face, a cross between startled and pained, appeared on the screen behind the agent. “Your photo is electronically tagged to your room key,” she explained as she stamped Caroline’s documents. “So, it’s important that you keep your key with you at all times.” She handed over Caroline’s passport and key card. “Especially when you’re leaving or boarding the ship in Bermuda. It’s the only way for us to know that you’re an Aequor Cruise passenger.”

  Caroline nodded. “Got it. Thanks.” Though once the crew got a good look at her photo, she thought they might have second thoughts about letting her back on board. The agent slid a handful of brochures about Bermuda across the counter, and Caroline dropped them into her handbag.

  “Happy smooth sailing,” quipped the agent, who’d clearly recited this exact line a million times. Caroline smirked at the reference to aequor, which she’d googled before the trip. It meant “smooth sailing” or “of the sea” in Latin.

  She followed the signs pointing to a gateway that connected land to ship. As she drew closer, she saw bright red and yellow balloons dancing from the boat’s railings, and her heart did a little skip. Somewhere calypso music played. On board, porters dressed in dapper whites greeted her with rich Bermudian accents. It was, she thought, like crossing over to her very own tropical island.

  Inside the ship’s lobby, Caroline allowed her eyes to adjust to the light and laughed when she saw how luxurious it was. Surrounding her were gilded pillars, a floor-to-ceiling glass elevator, crystal chandeliers, a duty-free shop a stone’s throw away. It was a sailboat hopped up on steroids. She locked her knees, waiting for the rocking sensation beneath her feet, but felt nothing. Maybe so long as the ship was tied to the pier there would be no swaying? Passengers swarmed around her, pulling their small bags and children behind them. When an elderly couple sailed by on their motorized scooters, Caroline had to quickly duck out of the way.

  She knew that there were miles and then there were nautical miles—a nautical mile was equal to 1.2 land miles. From Boston to Bermuda, it was roughly 673 nautical miles. It would take them two full days to get there and two days and change to return. Of course, Caroline didn’t need to understand nautical terminology to set sail (she wasn’t driving the boat, after all), but, as a journalist, she liked to have a firm grasp of the facts. One of her coworkers had likened a cruise ship to a limousine on the sea, but Caroline wasn’t taking any chances. She’d almost forgotten: she fished the Dramamine box out of her purse and swallowed the tiny orange pill, then went to join the line for the elevator.

  While she waited, her phone chimed in her purse. A text from Abby: On our way! To which Lee had already responded: Us too! See you soon. Caroline texted back: Ship is amazing! See you on top deck, front and right for the sail away. She was pretty sure the bow was the front and the stern was the back of the boat, but she didn’t dare mix them up for the sail away.

  When the elevator reached the tenth floor, Caroline threaded her way through the crowd and navigated down a long hallway to her cabin. A few swipes with the key card and the door swung open onto a room about ten feet wide and eighteen feet long. Everything was so small and quaint! There was a double bed, a small love seat, two stools, a table beneath a television, and a closet. Multicolored striped beach towels, rolled up like fat sausages, sat atop a white comforter. The adjoining door—locked when Caroline checked it—connected her cabin to the next room, where supposedly Lee and Lacey were staying.

  A mere seven steps led to a wisp of a balcony, big enough for two chairs. Caroline slid open the door and breathed in the salty air. Below, a crew was busy lifting crates of food onto the ship. She wondered how many eggs got packed for the roughly two thousand passengers and one thousand crew members—and made a mental note to find out.

  Back in the cabin, she freshened up. Even though her roommates would be arriving within the hour, Caroline didn’t see any reason to wait in her cabin. She grabbed her room key and headed for th
e top deck, where a flirty bartender took her order. A reggae band played near the poolside cabana where a small group danced, the ship’s photographer buzzing around them and snapping pictures.

  Caroline wandered over to the ship’s railing for a better view of the city. She’d seen the wide expanse of the Himalayas, the elegant stretch of the Eiffel Tower, the translucent walls of an ice castle in Finland. But she’d never seen Boston quite like this before, from this vantage point, the orange sun blazing overhead, the windows of the John Hancock building twinkling back at her. In the distance, the twin peaks of the Zakim Bridge hovered like two pointy hats. “Cheers,” she said softly, toasting the skyline, the sound of tinny steel drums beating nearby.

  Suddenly she couldn’t wait for her girlfriends to arrive. Couldn’t wait for Javier to circle his arms around her waist and tell her how much he’d missed her. And at that moment, Caroline Canton, previously wary, decided that this would be a fabulous trip, perhaps her best yet.

  All Lacey could think when they pulled up to the boat was “Holy cow. It’s huge!” She might have said “Holy” something else, but she’d been swearing like a truck driver and was trying to cut back. That, plus her mom would be on her case if she started cursing around her aunts. The fact of the matter was that the ship was immense. Perfectly enormous. She couldn’t understand how all that heavy metal could possibly float. She didn’t want to think about it. Every week thousands of people sailed to Bermuda. What were the odds that their particular ship would sink? It seemed improbable.

  Like pretty much everyone else who lived in a port of call, Lacey had waved to passing cruise ships from Waterfront Park in Charleston, an ice cream cone dripping in her hand. But even then, she couldn’t have imagined how massive the boats were up close. Her mom paid the cabbie, and they headed for the cruise port, a gray formidable-looking building. Lacey followed a few safe steps behind her mother, as she had since they’d left Charleston this morning. To an onlooker, she might appear to be traveling with the woman ahead of her—or she might not. Lacey hoped the relationship remained ambiguous.

  A quick look around revealed a handful of teenagers and college-age kids, enough to suggest that the trip might be remotely fun. When her mom had first mentioned the cruise, Lacey had been reluctant. As much as she loved her aunts, Abby and Caroline were, well, older now, and the thought of hanging out with them to celebrate Abby and Sam’s twentieth wedding anniversary struck Lacey as anything but romantic. More like corny and, quite possibly, boring.

  But then she’d talked with Tyler, who pointed out that if Lacey went along, her mom could hardly pester her about finding a summer job—and that in and of itself would be worth it. If Lacey heard about one more person her mom had bumped into at the grocery store who knew so-and-so, who happened to be looking for help this summer, she was going to lose her mind. Her mom didn’t get that she needed to relax, that college was stressful. None of her friends had jobs this summer, so she didn’t know why Lee was making such a big deal about it. “Really, Lacey, you should have figured something out months ago,” her mother had scolded after a particularly rough day with her preschoolers.

  And then there was the whole guilt thing. Abby and Sam were her godparents after all, and they’d asked her to come along. It also occurred to Lacey that on such a big boat, it might be difficult for her mother to actually find her. Lacey pictured herself on a lounge chair in a remote spot on deck, where she could hide behind her Jackie O sunglasses and get a killer tan. She was furthermore counting on her aunts to keep her mom entertained—and Lee’s mind off Lacey. It wasn’t that her aunts were bad people; they were actually quite nice. Plus, Lacey hadn’t seen Abby’s boys in about a hundred years. It might be fun to hang out with them after all this time.

  She tried to think when she’d last seen them. Maybe in New York? No, it was on the Cape, when the boys were probably eleven or twelve. Now Chris and Ryan were teenagers. Fifteen or sixteen, maybe? Lacey wondered if Chris was still cute. He’d always been the self-assured one, but Lacey had a soft spot for Ryan, who was sweet and empathetic beyond his years. Once, when she’d cut her foot on a piece of sea glass at the beach, it had been Ryan who’d offered her his shoulder to lean on while she limped back to the house. Ryan, who had found the antiseptic and bandages for her foot. Chris, meanwhile, had hung back at the beach to play football with his dad.

  Lacey and her mom wove their way through check-in and hurried over to the ship. Eventually, they arrived on the tenth floor, where they dropped their bags in the cabin (small but nice) and knocked on Caroline’s cabin next door. No answer.

  “I didn’t think she’d be there. Just checking. She texted she was on the top deck earlier. Let’s go find her,” said Lee, her cheeks flushed pink.

  Her mom, Lacey had to admit, was kind of cute whenever she got together with her college roommates. Lee hadn’t seen Abby or Caroline since last spring, and something about their reunions always made her mom act like a goofy freshman. Abby and Caroline liked to remind Lacey that her mother had been a fox in college, but, of course, Lacey didn’t want to think about that.

  She could imagine that at one time Lee might have been attractive, with her long blond hair, her lean legs. Her mother as a total knockout, however, was tougher to conjure. Judging from her yearbook photo, Lee had put on a good forty pounds since college, and her hair was now an ashy blond, cut short, with roots that she touched up only infrequently. To Lacey, her mother looked like a woman who had just barely weathered the storms of single parenthood, life crumpling her like a dollar bill.

  It might seem cruel, but Lacey thought her mom had no one but herself to blame. Sometimes she wished Lee would pull her own life back together, start exercising, lose some weight, instead of trying to live vicariously through Lacey. It would make things so much easier. But anytime Lacey suggested a plan along those lines, Lee would only roll her eyes and say, “But I am happy, honey, with the way I am. This is just who I am now. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” Lacey made a mental note never to let her own kids feel as if her every happiness depended on them. That was just mean.

  They made their way up three flights of stairs to the top deck, both of them weaving through the crush of people, many of whom already appeared to be drunk.

  “There she is!” her mother shouted, rushing toward a woman in a sheer white blouse and pink shorts. “Caroline!” The woman spun around to see who was calling her name, and a huge smile crossed her face.

  “Lee!” Caroline raced over and pulled her mother into a hug. “Look at you! You look fantastic!” This was something her mom’s friends always did, Lacey had noticed over the years—compliment each other on their looks no matter how fat or gray or wrinkled they’d become. “And you! Come here, sweetie! You’re all grown up—and gorgeous!” Caroline squeezed Lacey so hard she could feel her aunt’s ribs pressing against hers.

  She laughed and pulled away. “Thank you. Good to see you, too, Aunt Caroline.” And she meant it. It was no secret that Lacey had a special bond with Caroline. Her aunt was glamorous and cool in a way that her mom would never be. Plus, Caroline was always sending Lacey complimentary gifts from Glossy, like a cashmere wrap or a new mascara.

  Caroline clapped her hands together. “I’m so excited. Aren’t you? I mean, at first, I was kind of worried because, you know, I don’t really do boats.” She gestured around them. “But then I thought, What the heck? If our girl Abby wants to celebrate twenty years of marriage on a cruise ship, then count me in. Besides, we’ll be in Bermuda before we know it, right?”

  Lee nodded with little head bobs. “It’s going to be great. I can’t wait to plant myself in a lounge chair and enjoy a cocktail.”

  “Oh, go get one. Look! I already have a Bahama Mama.” Caroline held up a glass of orangey liquid, a pineapple wedge hooked on its side.

  “Shouldn’t it be a Bermuda Bellini or something?” Lacey half kidded.

  “You’re right!” said Caroline. “That should definitel
y be our next cocktail. Does it exist?”

  “Hold on there,” Lacey’s mom interjected. “Lacey’s only nineteen. She’ll be drinking soda and lemonade on this cruise.”

  “Mom—” Lacey started, then stopped. What was the point? The only way she’d get any alcohol on the ship was if someone covered for her. No matter that she’d done keg funnels at Tyler’s fraternity parties. It wasn’t exactly the kind of argument you made to your mother.

  “Oh, right. Forgot. Sorry, sweetie.” Caroline shrugged. Just then, her cell phone dinged in her pocketbook and she pulled it out. “It’s Abby,” she said. “They’re on the boat and headed up.” Caroline began to tap out a reply.

  “Excuse us while we go grab a beverage,” Lee said as she pulled Lacey along with her. “Be right back.”

  Her mom’s friends were too funny when it came to technology. Lacey felt like she was watching Land of the Lost. They texted each other only when they were within walking distance, as if their texts couldn’t be trusted to cross the gaping miles between New York City and Boston and Charleston. For whatever reason, though, they were completely comfortable communicating through Facebook and old-fashioned e-mail, the equivalent, in their minds, of reliable rotary phones in cyberspace. Lacey pretty much kept her Facebook account active just so that her aunts could keep in touch. But whenever she mentioned a photo she’d posted on Instagram or Snapchat, their eyes would glaze over.

  When she reached the bar, Lacey could see that the countertop was aglow with tiny blue and green lights. It reminded her of a trail of phosphorescent plankton, which somehow seemed appropriate given the setting. Lee ordered their drinks while Lacey watched the reggae band try to warm up the crowd: “Are you ready for more muuusic?” Cheers went up around the deck.