He walks over and sticks out a hand. “I’m Ben, by the way. Ben Wilder. As in Laura Ingalls.”
In spite of herself, Greta laughs. “You must have sisters.”
“Daughters,” he says with a grin, and her eyes automatically flick to his hand. He’s not wearing a wedding ring. “And you are?”
“Greta.” She pauses, debating about the last name, then decides it doesn’t matter. He won’t know her. She can tell just by looking at him that he listens mostly to Dave Matthews and Bob Dylan. Maybe a little Phish in college. “James,” she says finally.
“As in Bond,” he says with a knowing nod.
“As in Bond,” she agrees.
The lights above them flicker on as the sky settles into an approximation of darkness, and in the distance, they can hear the rise and fall of voices from one of the ship’s many bars.
“You know,” Ben says, “sailors in the British Royal Navy used to get a ration of rum for every day they were at sea. It was safer than the water. And good for morale.”
“I bet.”
“I think I’m gonna go for one. You’re welcome to join.”
She hesitates. But only for a second. “I should probably get back.”
“Okay,” he says with a smile. “Then I’ll see you around, Bond.”
“Have a good night, Laura Ingalls.”
Chapter Six
Greta wakes in the dark, the only light coming from the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock, which reads 3:08 a.m. She’s used to this moment of confusion, the first few seconds after sleep when she has to think hard to remember where she is, which hotel room in what time zone. But the absence of windows and the rolling of the ship beneath her makes this all the more disorienting. It’s been twelve hours now, and this is the first time she’s truly felt like she’s at sea.
She reaches for her phone, squinting as the screen brightens, and sees she has a text from Luke: Got my jacket. Left the key.
That’s it. No goodbye. No sign-off. Just: the end.
She doesn’t really blame him. It had taken her weeks to even respond to his request for his favorite leather jacket, which he’d forgotten the day he came to pack up his things and which she’d been secretly hoping he might let her keep. For a while, she’d taken to wearing it around the apartment. It still smelled like his cigarettes.
Now she stares at his name on her screen, debating whether to simply delete the whole contact. But she doesn’t. Instead, she toggles back and lets her finger hover over the entry for Jason Foster.
She hasn’t heard from him since the day of the funeral, when she’d fled the reception downstairs and found him in her old bedroom, running a hand along her first guitar, the one her dad had bought all those years ago. They hadn’t seen each other in a long time, almost two years, and it had never occurred to her that he’d come home for the service. As she watched his dark hands trace the curve of the instrument, moving slowly across the swirling mahogany, she felt goosebumps rise on her forearms. It was almost like he was touching her instead.
Greta’s mom had died exactly twenty-four minutes before her plane hit the tarmac. After listening to the voicemail from Asher, she’d sat with her head pressed against the cool of the window, her heart clenching like a fist inside her chest, until a flight attendant laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she’d realized she was the last one on the plane.
At the moment, Luke was still in Germany. He’d tried to get a flight back when she told him, but a bad storm had swept in just after she left, grounding most transatlantic travel, and everything had been booked for days. Already, he’d missed the funeral, which her father had insisted on scheduling as quickly as possible, and it was becoming obvious that he was going to miss being there at all. It didn’t matter that he’d sounded devastated when he called to break the news to her. She wasn’t even really upset about this. There were other things, too many to count. Even so, she knew this would be the one she’d never forgive.
And now Jason was in her room. Jason Foster: the first boy she’d ever loved, and the man she returned to after every failed relationship.
They had rules about this sort of thing. They never officially dated, and they never used each other to cheat. There were no strings attached and no expectations. This was fun and satisfying, nothing more. And it worked for both of them: Greta, who was always traveling and could never seem to commit to anyone for the long haul, and Jason, who was always working and had never wanted anything permanent.