Alice on Board by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
“Actually, it’s a submarine,” said Mitch, waving a printout from Stephanie.
“Some other time,” I told them as we went on by. “There are nine more Norfolks to go. See you guys later.”
It was when we were rummaging through the dresser for clean clothes that Gwen dropped the bombshell: “Just thought I ought to mention that Austin and I aren’t a couple any longer.”
The bra I’d picked up fell out of my hands, and I turned to stare at her. Austin—the big, thoughtful guy we’d met at a soup kitchen one summer when we volunteered, the person we’d all felt was so right for Gwen, maybe on and on into the future—was out?
“You broke up?” I couldn’t believe it. “When did that happen?”
Gwen knew how we felt about Austin, about them as a couple, and that’s probably why she didn’t look at me when she answered. “I simply thought we should. I’ve got a lot of school ahead of me. You know that.”
Liz came in just then, all gung ho to go see Norfolk in the little time we had. She reacted the same way I did to the news.
“Why?”
“You want us to get engaged? Is that it?” Gwen was beginning to lose patience with us both. She flung a clean shirt over her arm. “Liz, I’m not the same person I was eight years ago when I was going out with Legs. I may not be the same person in eight years that I am now.”
Liz looked at her wide-eyed. “Who would you be?”
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll go through six years of med school and then decide to dump it all and raise chickens! Maybe I’ll want to make up for lost time and see the world. How can I ask someone to wait for me when I don’t even know what I’ll want?”
We picked up our towels and followed her to the showers.
“So … breaking up was your idea?” I asked.
“I suggested it, yes, and finally he agreed. I said I couldn’t stand the thought of him waiting for me all those years—didn’t want that hanging over my head, going through an internship and residency.”
We went in the shower room and put the OCCUPIED sign on the door.
“Well, it wouldn’t be like he was just cooling his heels,” I reminded her. “He has plans for his life, too.”
“Yeah, but before he waits that long for me, or is insane enough to think we could get married when I’m up to my ears in books, he’d better be sure.” Gwen took one of the showers, her voice rising above the sound of the spray. “We need to go out with other people, Alice. How else will we ever know?”
I guess I didn’t want to hear that because I was thinking of Patrick and me.
When I was dressed, I looked around for Pamela to see if she wanted to go ashore with us. Josh said he’d seen her on the observation deck, so I went up there. She’d finished cleaning before we had, so she was probably ready.
I found her sitting on the side of a lounge chair, arms resting on her knees, holding her cell phone.
“What are you doing?” I said. “I thought you wanted to walk into town with us.”
She sighed but didn’t move. “I do.”
I walked over to stand in her line of vision. “Problems?”
“Only one. My mother. What else?”
“I thought things had been going okay for her, Pamela. What’s wrong?”
“Her love life.”
“That really nice management guy from Nordstrom—the one you liked?”
“Yeah. I thought maybe that was going somewhere, and so did she. But he’s pulling back. He’s not as serious as she’d hoped.”
“And she’s dumping on you?” I sat down across from her but leaned forward to show that time was short, we needed to leave. What was this, anyway? Breakup Summer?
“Actually, she’s told me very little about that, but she fell recently at her apartment,” Pamela said.
“Oh no. Was she hurt?”
“Nothing major—her ankle. But you know what this probably means—she’s drinking again.” Pamela covered her face with both hands.
“You think so?”
“As sure as I can be without a blood test,” she said through her fingers.
“What does she expect you to do? She knows you’re on a ship all summer. Why is she telling you this?”
Pamela dropped her hands and gave me a resigned look. “Because I made the mistake of returning her calls. Besides, who else has she got to tell? They’re all little asides, actually. She talks about her apartment and the shoes she’s trying to find and how things are going at work, and then a sort of P.S., that George hasn’t come around much lately, and did she mention she’d somehow missed a step leaving her complex, and even if she’d found the shoes, she couldn’t try them on now because her ankle’s so swollen? ‘Nothing serious,’ she adds.”
I stood up and gave her shoulder a little tug. “Well, if she says it’s nothing serious, then take her at her word and don’t worry too much about it,” I said. “If you have to worry, concentrate on Gwen. She broke up with Austin.”
“What?”
“She doesn’t want him to spend eight years waiting for her since she might change her mind by then.”
Pamela’s reaction was not what I’d expected. “Well, better now than later,” she said. “Let’s go see Norfolk.”
The Captain’s Dinner was held that night, beginning with a reception in the lounge. This and the farewell dinner at the end of each cruise were the two occasions when passengers dressed up.
The captain, Joseph Haggerty, and Ken McCoy, in their dress whites, stood at the entrance to the lounge. Frank, the engineer, stood next to Ken, then Quinton and Dianne and Stephanie. Guests came through the door and were greeted by Stephanie first, who introduced them to the next person as the passengers moved up the line toward the captain. The rest of us, in our starched white dress shirts and bow ties, hustled back and forth, seeing that champagne glasses were returned to the galley.
When the miniature crab cakes and quiches were almost gone, we were instructed to fill the gaps with cherry tomatoes and stuffed mushrooms. When we ran out of these, we took the trays off the table and brought out the celery and carrots. I quickly learned that all the effort went into first presentations, and after that, we filled in with cheaper fare. But after the champagne, few of the guests seemed to notice.
Dianne was in a royal blue cocktail dress with a neckline that plunged just enough to be daring, while Stephanie wore a short black sheath that showed off her tanned arms and legs.
“Wow!” I murmured to Rachel. “The Seascape must have been lucky to get her for the cruise.”
“It’s the other way around,” Rachel whispered back. “She comes with a history. Had an affair with a customer on another line and has been out of work for the past two years. All us career sailors know about it.”
Hmmm, I thought. This maiden voyage was starting out with both a second-choice captain and cruise director? No wonder Quinton and Dianne were a little upset. I gave Captain Haggerty a good look. It was the first time I’d seen him up close. He was about five foot ten or so, late forties, had a somewhat cocky manner, and looked as neatly pressed himself—perhaps more so—as his uniform. His smile never left his face—just stretched and retracted a little with each handshake.
Ken McCoy made up for it with his toothy grin and infectious laugh, and his eyes searched each name tag as he introduced the guests to the Captain. Frank, bald and bespectacled, did his part patiently, fixing his eyes on each guest and welcoming them to the Seascape without overdoing it. Stephanie was too effusive by half, but Quinton and Dianne, a bit more reserved, were a nice counterpart to the others, their faces relaxed and friendly.
If there was any tension among the officers and crew, it didn’t show. But those of us helping out at the reception didn’t miss the fact that when the last of the guests had passed through the receiving line, the VIPs didn’t stand around chatting with each other. Quinton and Dianne moved off immediately to mingle with passengers on the port side of the lounge, and Frank disappeared entirely. Only Ken
When Dianne gave the signal for us to head to the dining room ahead of the guests, we worked our way to the exit and went down a flight.
The menu for dinner each day was placed in the glass case next to the dining room. When I read the menu for that evening, I wished I’d eaten something before I’d reported for work: shrimp bisque with tomato and goat cheese crostini; rack of lamb with fingerling potatoes and asparagus; sea bass with truffles; chocolate lava cake with fresh raspberry sauce.
The bell chimed for dinner. I smiled at a bejeweled woman who was being escorted to her table by a slender man with a thin mustache, and I folded my arms over my stomach to stop the rumblings.
After the main course had been served and eaten and the dishes taken away, Captain Haggerty took the microphone and gave a brief welcome: “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I want to extend an especially warm welcome to all you wonderful people aboard the maiden voyage of the Spellbound.” I paused at the galley door with a tray full of dishes as a low murmur ran through the crowd, and then the captain added hurriedly, “Well, that got your attention!” and he laughed a little. “The Seascape, of course.”
“Doesn’t know his ass from his elbow,” Barry whispered as he came in after me, carrying a pot of coffee.
We could still hear the captain through the sound system in the galley: “I’m jumping the gun because the Spellbound, too, will be taking her maiden voyage in September, and I’ll be piloting that ship as well, so you know how eager I am to get her in the water. But I have the privilege of taking this fine ship out on the bay this summer, and I know we are going to have a terrific cruise.”
He went on to introduce the others, who had been standing in the receiving line with him before dinner, and then, on signal, all of the crew—servers, deckhands, and chefs, all in our dress uniforms—came filing in, smiling, to introduce ourselves and tell where we were from. From all over, I discovered—mostly Maryland and Virginia, but New York was represented as well as Delaware, Pennsylvania, and even Hawaii—and after receiving an ovation from the passengers, who were eager for their dessert, we disbanded and went back to our assigned jobs.
This was finals week at the University of Chicago, I knew. Between his tests and my schedule, there was little time for Patrick and me to talk with each other. We couldn’t have cell phones with us when we were on duty. No cell phones in our cleaning buckets, in our jeans, no walking along the deck holding cell phones to our ears. We could only use them during our breaks and after we’d finished for the day, but even then, it was sometimes hard—almost impossible—to get a connection down in crew quarters, and no matter where I was calling from, there was no guarantee I’d reach him.
This time, though, late at night with only a few people milling around the observation deck, I tried my luck and Patrick answered.
“You’re there!” I said. “Hope you weren’t studying.”
“Hey! Nope. One more exam tomorrow and I’m done. Just finished a bruiser on international policy and global change.”
“Arggghhh! Now, that’s a winner,” I said. “How are things going?”
“Totally hectic,” he said. “Between exams, I’m trying to pack. Figure out what I can leave behind. We fly out on Friday, and I’ve got to send everything else home.”
“Must be crazy.”
“It is. But I’m pretty psyched.”
“I don’t know whether I’m more happy for you or sorry you’re leaving,” I said honestly.
“Be happy. We waste too much time when we’re sad,” he told me.
“I know, but Gwen told us this afternoon that she and Austin broke up. I still can’t believe it.” I realized that Patrick hardly knew the guy. “They just seemed so right for each other.”
“She upset?” Patrick asked.
“It was her idea.”
“Oh. Any idea why?”
“She’s got eight years of medical school ahead of her, and she didn’t want him just waiting around for her.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t.”
“She may have worried about that, too,” I said.
There were several seconds of silence. I did not want this to start a conversation about us and was relieved when Patrick said, “So where are you calling from?”
“I’m sitting here on the top deck, and there’s a great breeze. Reception’s good up here too, by the way. I can see the lights of a ship way out on the water.”
“But where is the ship?”
“Norfolk. We just finished the Captain’s Dinner. A lot of sailors here. Some are down on the dock right now, talking to the crew.”
“Yeah? And how are the guys on the Seascape?”
“Big, bronzed, brawny,” I teased.
“Should I worry?”
“Didn’t you just say we should be happy?”
“Yeah, but not necessarily about that,” said Patrick.
We were docked at Yorktown the following morning for our Yorktown/Williamsburg port of call. I had mixed feelings about going ashore. I remembered my visit to the College of William & Mary in the spring and wondered if I would always think of Williamsburg as the place that turned me down.
A lot of the stewards had been on class visits to Williamsburg back in middle school, but my class had never gone, so I decided to at least take the trolley around Yorktown. But after the Captain’s Dinner the night before, passengers had been invited to the lounge for a slide show on Colonial Williamsburg and the Jamestown Settlement. And now a few of those passengers, having stayed up too late or drunk too much at the reception, hadn’t come out of their staterooms yet, and those of us on housekeeping detail couldn’t go off duty until all of the rooms were done.
“Darn!” said Natalie. “I’ve never seen Williamsburg or Yorktown or Jamestown, and if it always follows the Captain’s Dinner and people sleep in, I’ll never get there.”
Gwen saved the day. “I went to Williamsburg back in sixth grade, so tell me the room numbers and I’ll clean your staterooms for you.”
“Really?” said Natalie. “We’ll owe you one.”
“Big time too!” said Gwen. “But go now while you have the chance.”
Natalie, Liz, and I studied the little map of the town and set out along Water Street, looking for an ATM machine and, after that, Ben & Jerry’s Green Mountain Coffee Café. When we recognized Mitch sauntering along solo, hands in his pockets, we invited him to come along.
“It’s all so different from Silver Spring,” Liz said, the York River on one side of us, side streets full of history on the other.
Mitch, with one of those Greek sailor caps perched on his head to shield his eyes, looked down a tree-lined side street and said, “Well, the streets are about as narrow as where I live, and almost as quiet.”
“Where’s that?” asked Natalie.
“Vienna, Maryland,” he said. “You never heard of it. No one ever has. Over in Dorchester County, eastern shore.”
“Then this is practically home to you,” I said.
He grinned this time. “Well, we’ve got a couple of historic houses, but not like this.”
Mitch was twenty or so, I figured. Large calloused hands. One of those blonds who tans easily. Looked pretty cute the other night in his white dress shirt and black pants, but seemed far more natural now in a T-shirt and khaki shorts.
We found the café and each ordered a different flavor of ice cream so we could share—a spoonful of Chunky Monkey for Cake Batter, a spoonful of Chubby Hubby for Dublin Mudslide. Sitting at a little table for four, we studied the printout we got on the ship. I pointed to the Watermen’s Museum. “‘The lore, legends, and equipment used by crabbers and oystermen over the past century,’” I read.
“I was there earlier,” Mitch told us. “Wanted to see if they had anything about muskrat trapping, but they didn’
“People trap muskrats? For what?” I asked.
“Their pelts. Women’s coats,” Mitch said.
“Are you a trapper?” Liz asked.
“Me and my dad and brothers. We trap and do oysters in winter, crab in the summer.”
“How come you’re not crabbing now?” asked Natalie.
“Just wanted something different for a change. I’ve watched the cruise ships going around the bay and heard there was a new line looking for deckhands. Dad said he figured he could spare me for a couple of months—at least it would be sure money. Can’t count on much of anything from crabbing these days.”
“You like it? Working on a ship?” Liz asked.
“Well, I applied for deckhand, but sometimes I’m a steward, too. I like the deckhand part. Hardly got my feet wet so far,” Mitch said.
“But isn’t it hard, jumping from deck to dock when we’re coming in or going out?” I asked.
“Only the experienced guys do that,” Mitch said. “Suppose I’ll catch on to it before the summer’s over.” He stretched his legs out alongside the table. The hair on his thighs looked almost white in the sunlight.
“Yeah, but what would happen if a guy fell in that space between ship and dock when we’re tying up? He’d be crushed,” said Liz.
He shrugged. “So life’s risky. You can die trapping muskrats too. My uncle died last year—drowned in the marsh.”
“My God!” I said. “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. We were all sorry to lose him. I think that’s what made my dad say he could spare me this summer, though. Give me a chance to try something else.”
We talked a little about families then, but Liz looked at her watch and saw we had only an hour before we had to be back on the ship.
Natalie grabbed the printout again, her fingers following along a street on the map, her French braid dangling over one shoulder.
“Reenergized!” she declared. “I’m off to look for earrings. I’m going to buy a pair in each port of call—mementos of my cruising summer.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Liz.
But I wanted to see more of Yorktown while I had a chance, and so did Mitch, so we located a trolley stop on the printout and went outside to wait.