The Shippers(76)

“Well,” my dad said, “your sister’s in tears. So she’s in the middle of something, too.”

That got my attention.

Ashley was never in tears. Tears were not Ashley’s thing.

This was serious—whatever it was.

“What’s going on?” I asked, regaining my breath.

My dad pulled me off to the side like he had something truly top secret. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper I could barely hear, and he said, “There’s an issue with the bridal gown.”

An “issue”? Had she forgotten to bring it? Spilled coffee on it? Ripped the train?

“What’s the issue?” I asked.

“You know she got it a year ago on sale at that bridal expo.”

“Yes,” I said. It had been half off—which, in the world of wedding expenses, was practically making money.

“Well, apparently, it’s been a while since she tried it on…” my dad said.

“And?”

He looked around like we were spies. “And it no longer fits.”

“That can’t be right,” I said, shaking my head. “She must’ve checked before we left.”

“She didn’t.”

“This is Ashley,” I kept protesting. “She would never have left her bridal gown to chance.”

“Do not say that to her,” my dad cautioned. “She will tear you limb from limb.”

“But…”

“Look, she and Mom already went over this. It’s been a busy year. It fit perfectly when she bought it. She meant to double-check, but she wasn’t worried. And then, with everything else she was doing, much of it for you, apparently, she just—never got around to trying it on.”

I sighed. “And now?”

“Now she’s having a little trouble squeezing in.”

“How much trouble?” I asked.

At that, my dad looked torn—like he couldn’t decide between being kind and being accurate. Finally, he said, “She looks like somebody stuffed a Honey Baked Ham into a tube sock.”

“Dad!” I scolded.

But he just shrugged. “Hence, the emergency.”

“So—what’s the plan?”

“Your mom worked it all out,” he said, crooking his arm behind me to start leading me toward their cabin. “We’re docked at Bishop’s Cay today.”

“Yeah?”

“And, lucky for us, there’s a tailor on the island who can let the dress out before we set sail again this afternoon—if we can get it there by ten in the morning.”

“Wow,” I said, checking the time. “That’s tight.”

“Yes, it is,” my dad agreed. “And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?” I glanced again at the Cooper-less gangway.

I really don’t want to sound like I wasn’t a team player—but given the whole urgency of the Cooper situation, I was just about to ask my dad if he could take the dress to the tailor … when he put his arm around my shoulder and started walking us back toward the elevators.

As soon as the doors closed, my dad lowered his voice and said, “She took me back.”

My brain was still a little addled. “Who?”

My dad looked at me, like Who the hell else? “Your mother.”

Wait—this was huge! “She did?”

He nodded. “On a trial basis.”

I held out my hand for a high five. “Did you go full Odysseus on her?”

“Does ‘going full Odysseus’ mean bursting into drunken tears and begging? Because that’s what I did.”

We stepped out onto my parents’ floor. “Hey,” I said. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“It worked. For now. As long as I, and I’m quoting here, ‘prove to her that I can change.’”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, for one thing, it means you have to take the dress to town, and I have to stay here and tape up wedding decorations.”

Nothing about that was right. “But you don’t have any manual dexterity,” I said.

“She needs to see me trying,” my dad said.

“You’ve been trying this whole time.”

“But now she’s looking. And I have to make sure she likes what she sees.”

I gave my dad an appreciative nod. “Dad! That’s very emotionally astute!”

“I was quoting your mother.”

Ah.

As we reached my mom’s cabin, I got it. My dad going ashore—and being gone again, as usual—wouldn’t help his rebrand at all.

My dad knocked, and my mom threw open the door. “Oh, thank god!” she burst out. “You found her.”

“Caught her escaping,” my dad said, like he was the world’s best bounty hunter.

Ever frugal, my mother had assigned herself to a Harmony-like cabin: also below the waterline with no window. But she’d zhuzhed it up with some paper flowers and a pi?a colada–scented room spritz.

“Were you headed somewhere, JoJo?” my mom asked.

In the background, Grandma Dodie and Ashley sat on the foot of the bed. Ashley was slumped and defeated, her post-sobbing face still puffy, while Grandma Dodie patted her knee.