Do Not Become Alarmed(6)

“It’s a low bar,” she said. “Everyone else is eighty.”

“So you admit that it’s true.”

“No,” she said. “There’s Nora.”

He put down the remote. “Nora is a lovely person who doesn’t do it for me.”

“Also the dancers.”

“There’s a reason they don’t have jobs on land.”

“And the Argentinian girl.”

“Let’s reopen that discussion in ten years.”

Liv laughed again. “Oh, I’ve seen the old dudes look at her.”

“Hey, are Penny and Sebastian in the Kids’ Club?”

“They are.”

He turned off the TV. “How much time do you think we have?”

“An hour maybe? I’ll need to check on Sebastian.”

“Come up here.”

“I have to shower.”

“Don’t.”

She made a face, but she scooted up the bed. He lifted her shirt and kissed her stomach. Then she put her hand on top of his and said, “Did those interviews make you feel like your dreams are thwarted?”

“No,” he said. “All my dreams have come true.”

She crossed her legs. “Seriously?”

He sighed at the barrier of her thighs and lay back on the bed, and hoped they weren’t going to have to talk about studio politics. “Yes.”

“And that doesn’t make you think we don’t deserve our luck, that it’ll all be taken away?”

“No.”

She stared at the ceiling. “It does me.”

“Do you think worrying helps?”

“Yes,” she said. “Because the disaster will be the thing you don’t expect. So you just have to expect everything.”

He could feel the child-free time ticking away. “You know, at some point the kids will come back here.”

“I know.”

He reached for her. “So—can we table the disaster thoughts for now?”





3.



PENNY WAS ABOUT to win a game of Crazy Eights on the bright patterned carpet of the Kids’ Club. Part of the game was luck, but Penny knew how to strategize. Her father had taught her to play the suit if she had more of it. If she didn’t have more, she played the number. Marcus was better at geography and directions, but she was better at cards. She put down a two of diamonds.

Marcus drew a card and put down a seven.

Penny played the queen. “Last card.”

Marcus drew and drew, and finally came up with an eight and laid it down, triumphant. “Clubs!”

Penny played the four of clubs and won. Marcus groaned.

“We can play again,” Penny offered.

“No. You always win.”

“Not always.”

Marcus sat back and looked around. “Where’s June?”

He was protective of his sister, who was only six. Penny’s mother said Sebastian was sensitive and they had to be careful with him, too, but she didn’t see it, really. Sebastian had almost died when he was little, and now he had an insulin pump in his back pocket with a line into a port in his skin. Her parents had to stick a new port in every couple of days, and it hurt. And he had to make his finger bleed all the time to check his blood. Penny thought it made him tougher than other kids, not more sensitive.

Marcus got up and checked the playhouse, which was empty. He asked Deb, the counselor from New Zealand, if she had seen his sister and Penny’s brother. Deb said those two hadn’t checked in after lunch.

“They were with us,” Penny said.

“I don’t think so,” Deb said, and she got out her clipboard. “Look.”

Penny saw check marks next to her name and Marcus’s, but not next to Sebastian’s and June’s. “Can we be excused to go look for them?” she asked.

“I’d better call your parents.”

“No!” Penny said. “I know where they are. It’s okay.”

Deb hesitated.

“We’ll be right back, I promise.”

Adults usually let Penny do what she wanted, because they thought she was responsible. They also expected more of her, but it was worth it.

Sebastian and June were not at the buffet. The lunch rush was over and only a few old people sat at the tables.

The elevators were slow, because old people in wheelchairs and on power scooters were always getting in and out. So they ran down the carpeted stairs to their own deck, dodging old people, and raced along the corridor. They didn’t have their key cards, so they knocked at Marcus’s door, out of breath, but no one answered. Then they knocked at Penny’s door.

After a moment’s pause, her father’s muffled voice called, “Who is it?”

“It’s me!”

There was another pause. Her mother opened the door a crack, in a bathrobe. Her hair was messier than usual. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the Kids’ Club?”

“Were you napping?”

“Yes,” her mother said.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Is everything all right?” her mother asked.

“Is it just you and Dad in there?”

“Yes.”