out of his carry-on, smiled at Tess, and said, “I was saving this for the ship, but I guess now’s the time. Back in a sec.”
He went back to the senator’s seat.
Tess heard him tell Dr. Sutton he wanted him to look over a PDF on the iPad, something about rural issues in health-care reform. He said he needed a doctor’s take on it. Then he handed the manila folder to the senator.
“What’s this?” Senator Sutton asked.
“Notes on your speech to the National Urban League next month.”
A moment later, he dropped down in the seat next to Tess. The arguing from the Suttons had stopped. She glanced back at them. Both were reading, absorbed.
“They’re like children sometimes,” he said. “You just got to keep them busy.”
She studied him, and was genuinely surprised by how deftly he managed the older couple.
“You care about them a great deal, don’t you? Her especially.”
His smile wavered for just a second, as though he suddenly realized how much of his hand he’d shown her.
But then he recovered his grin. “Hey,” he said, “it’s what I do.”
Tess got her first look at the Gulf Queen from the gangway. The sun was piercingly bright. Even with her sunglasses on, the sky was a washed-out blue. The breeze was hot and smelled like the ocean and oil. Against the late summer sky, the ship looked as tall as a building. It was impossibly huge.
“Oh, cool!” a boy shouted as he sprinted by her.
The boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten, climbed the railing and pointed toward the bow.
“Look, Mom! Look at that!”
The boy’s mother, a beleaguered looking woman in a red top and brown gypsy skirt, shouted for him to get down. She charged ahead and took him by the hand with a death grip that made him cry out. But it didn’t seem to deter the boy any.
Tess was almost even with them when the woman finally pulled him down. She smiled tiredly at Tess, who smiled back. Tess liked kids, even though she’d begun to suspect, much to her mother’s frequently voiced disapproval, that she would never have any of her own. Looking up at the ship, then letting her gaze wander down the vastness of its lines, she certainly understood the kid’s sense of awe. It was an impressive ship.
But then they stepped off the gangway and Tess’s mind clicked into a different mode. Gone was the tiredness, the sense of childlike glee at the size of the ship. There was a crowd here, and her charge was wading into it. That meant she was back on the clock.
They entered the reception deck, which reminded Tess an awful lot of the nicer ballrooms in the capital’s best hotels. The ceiling and the columns and the balcony along the far wall were white and gold and trimmed in highly polished hardwood. The floor was marble, with mosaic waves drawing the eye inward, toward a large central room featuring a larger mosaic of two dolphins chasing each other around a golden crown, the symbol of the Caribbean Royalty Cruise Line. Crew members in crisp white coats and black pants formed a reception line on either side of the entryway, all of them smiling and offering help with questions and directions. And at the far end of the receiving line stood two men, the captain and his first officer.
Tess had done research on both of them before leaving D.C. The captain was Mark Rollins, a Brit. He was tall, slender, white haired, dignified looking. He had done ten years in the Royal Navy followed by a good, if undistinguished career with Caribbean Royalty.
The man next to him was Anthony Amato, the first officer. He was an Italian out of Bensonhurst, dark haired, short, stocky, probably fifteen years younger than his captain. In his late thirties, Tess reminded herself. No military service in his background, but he had graduated from the Merchant Marine Academy and had a sterling service record during the six years he’d served in the Disney Cruise Lines and the ten he’d served with Caribbean Royalty.
But the fact that the
He went back to the senator’s seat.
Tess heard him tell Dr. Sutton he wanted him to look over a PDF on the iPad, something about rural issues in health-care reform. He said he needed a doctor’s take on it. Then he handed the manila folder to the senator.
“What’s this?” Senator Sutton asked.
“Notes on your speech to the National Urban League next month.”
A moment later, he dropped down in the seat next to Tess. The arguing from the Suttons had stopped. She glanced back at them. Both were reading, absorbed.
“They’re like children sometimes,” he said. “You just got to keep them busy.”
She studied him, and was genuinely surprised by how deftly he managed the older couple.
“You care about them a great deal, don’t you? Her especially.”
His smile wavered for just a second, as though he suddenly realized how much of his hand he’d shown her.
But then he recovered his grin. “Hey,” he said, “it’s what I do.”
Tess got her first look at the Gulf Queen from the gangway. The sun was piercingly bright. Even with her sunglasses on, the sky was a washed-out blue. The breeze was hot and smelled like the ocean and oil. Against the late summer sky, the ship looked as tall as a building. It was impossibly huge.
“Oh, cool!” a boy shouted as he sprinted by her.
The boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten, climbed the railing and pointed toward the bow.
“Look, Mom! Look at that!”
The boy’s mother, a beleaguered looking woman in a red top and brown gypsy skirt, shouted for him to get down. She charged ahead and took him by the hand with a death grip that made him cry out. But it didn’t seem to deter the boy any.
Tess was almost even with them when the woman finally pulled him down. She smiled tiredly at Tess, who smiled back. Tess liked kids, even though she’d begun to suspect, much to her mother’s frequently voiced disapproval, that she would never have any of her own. Looking up at the ship, then letting her gaze wander down the vastness of its lines, she certainly understood the kid’s sense of awe. It was an impressive ship.
But then they stepped off the gangway and Tess’s mind clicked into a different mode. Gone was the tiredness, the sense of childlike glee at the size of the ship. There was a crowd here, and her charge was wading into it. That meant she was back on the clock.
They entered the reception deck, which reminded Tess an awful lot of the nicer ballrooms in the capital’s best hotels. The ceiling and the columns and the balcony along the far wall were white and gold and trimmed in highly polished hardwood. The floor was marble, with mosaic waves drawing the eye inward, toward a large central room featuring a larger mosaic of two dolphins chasing each other around a golden crown, the symbol of the Caribbean Royalty Cruise Line. Crew members in crisp white coats and black pants formed a reception line on either side of the entryway, all of them smiling and offering help with questions and directions. And at the far end of the receiving line stood two men, the captain and his first officer.
Tess had done research on both of them before leaving D.C. The captain was Mark Rollins, a Brit. He was tall, slender, white haired, dignified looking. He had done ten years in the Royal Navy followed by a good, if undistinguished career with Caribbean Royalty.
The man next to him was Anthony Amato, the first officer. He was an Italian out of Bensonhurst, dark haired, short, stocky, probably fifteen years younger than his captain. In his late thirties, Tess reminded herself. No military service in his background, but he had graduated from the Merchant Marine Academy and had a sterling service record during the six years he’d served in the Disney Cruise Lines and the ten he’d served with Caribbean Royalty.
But the fact that the
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