The Unsinkable Greta James(76)

“I really hope your daughter’s okay,” Greta says, and to her surprise, he reaches for her hand. There’s something automatic about it, the way they fit, and she thinks how strange it is that they woke up together this morning, and how empty it will feel without him tomorrow.

“Thank you,” he says, and then—just like that—he turns and walks off toward the ship.

Later, sitting on the cold sand, Greta does a search on her phone: there’s a flight from the nearby town of Hoonah straight to Juneau, and from there, a red-eye to New York. All afternoon, as the sun slides across the sky, and the tourists move in and out like the tide all around her, she tries to picture where he might be at that moment, imagines him sitting in a taxi, then waiting at an airport, then flying across the barren landscape, doing everything he can to get home.





Chapter Thirty


The last day at sea is cold and gray. The wind has fallen flat, making everything eerily still, and a low-hanging fog sits atop the water so that it almost feels like they’re sailing straight into a cloud. Looking out the rain-specked window from a reclining chair in the Crow’s Nest lounge, Greta thinks of ghost ships, of pirate ships, of all the ships that have come before, sailing these waters when they were still uncharted. She wonders if Jack London might’ve been on one of them, or if he made it up here some other way. She wishes she’d asked Ben.

Tomorrow, they’ll be back in Vancouver before dawn. But today, there’s only this: water and mountains and sky. Gray on gray on gray.

She has no idea how long she’s been there when her dad walks up, glass in hand, and sits down in the chair beside her. He’s wearing a fleece vest with the logo of the cruise ship on it, and his cheeks are a little ruddy.

“Let me guess,” he says. “You’re here for the Macarena.”

“What?” Greta asks wearily, and he nods over his shoulder, where a group of people have started to gather for a lesson on the small dance floor in front of the bar.

“It’s your big chance to learn all the moves.”

She glances over at him. “Please tell me that’s not why you’re here.”

“No, I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason? It’s our last day. I thought we should spend some time together.”

Greta gives him a skeptical look.

“Fine,” he says. “It was Asher’s idea.”

It’s almost enough to make her laugh. But not quite. “I’m probably not the best company right now,” she tells him.

He gives her a once-over, taking in the leggings and sweatshirt and lack of makeup, the messy knot of her hair and the way her knees are drawn up to her chest. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” she says, returning her gaze to the window.

“How was whale watching?”

There’s a hitch in her chest as yesterday comes back to her: the sound of the wind and the taste of the salt, the sheer size of the whales as they broke the surface of the water, and the splash as they came down again. And, of course, Ben: his arms around her, his beard rough against her cheek, the sound of his delighted laughter as that giant tail disappeared into the water.

“It was amazing,” she says truthfully.

“You saw some?”

“A few,” she says. “How about you?”

“We went bear watching. Only spotted one, but it was worth it. He was huge.”

“Almost as big as Davis,” says a voice behind them, and Greta feels two hands on her shoulders. Mary leans over and gives her a feather-light kiss on the top of her head. “Hi, sweetie.”

For some reason, this makes her feel like crying. “Hi.”

“Where’s your fella?” Mary asks, walking around the chairs to face them, silhouetted against the window.

“Good question,” Conrad says. “Shouldn’t you be at his lecture?”

Greta had forgotten that Ben was due to give another talk today. She wonders if the cruise director replaced him with someone, or whether the auditorium is empty right now. Thinking about him onstage in that tweed jacket sends a zip of nervous electricity through her, and she glances down at her phone almost involuntarily.

All night, she’d wanted to text him, but she hadn’t. Because what was there to say, really?

Even so, she’d been disappointed to wake up this morning and find no message from him. Not even a simple update. She debated reaching out to ask how Hannah was doing, only she wasn’t sure about the etiquette in a situation like this. Would it be intrusive to check in? Was it rude not to? She even considered calling the local hospital in the hope of getting an answer without having to be in touch with Ben at all, then decided that was veering alarmingly close to stalker territory. Probably they couldn’t tell her anyway. So she’d done nothing. And now it’s been twenty-four hours since he left, and not a word.

She turns the phone over in her lap.

“He had to leave,” she tells them. “Family emergency.”

“What do you mean, leave?” Conrad asks. “We’re at sea.”

“He went from port yesterday.”

“But how—”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he figured it out.”