Summer at Sea: The Summer Series Book 1 Page 4

  “Of course it’s going to be different!” I protest. I grab him by the arm and drag him over behind a pillar, out of Mom and Dad’s earshot. “It’s just going to be me and—” I jerk my head in their direction.

  “No, it’s going to be you, and—” Graham jerks his head in the direction of my parents, “and me.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “One big happy family, huh?”

  He shrugs. “Hey, why not?”

  “Why not? Maybe because the second we step onboard you’re going to ditch us in search of cocktail waitresses and showgirls. And then what? Then it’s just me trapped for eight days with—” I jerk my head in their direction again.

  “You think I would ditch you for a cocktail waitress?”

  I have to bite my tongue to keep from replying to that one. I take a deep breath, although my lungs suddenly feel two sizes too small, and answer his question with a question.

  “You’re going to just hang out with me and my parents, for a week, on a cruise ship? This is your idea of a good time?”

  Graham looks at me as if the TARDIS is growing out of my forehead.

  “Well, it’s not exactly Mardi Gras, but yeah. I think it could be fun.”

  “I’m having a nervous breakdown!” Mom cries.

  “It’s your funeral,” I mutter, throwing my hands up into the air. I walk out from behind the pillar and over to my parents. If Mom doesn’t stop screaming we’re going to end up back in the interrogation chamber.

  “Joan, Richard,” says Graham, calmly rejoining us. “Everything is fine. We’re going to go on a lovely cruise, and we’re going to have a lovely time, and the only one who’s going to have any regrets, is Eric. Can I get a one-two-three, Bermuda?”

  He’s got to be kidding. He sticks one arm out in front of my parents who look extremely confused.

  “Come on, everybody puts their hands in the middle. You too, Sum.”

  I arrange my face into the most unenthusiastic expression possible, before piling my hand on top of Mom’s. Graham doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Come on Rich, right there on top of mine. That’s it. On three. One...two...three...”

  “Bermuda!”

  “Bermuda,” says Dad.

  5

  I’ve retired to a bench to await the boarding call. There’s not much else to do. I mean, we’ve already shouted one, two, three, Bermuda! We’re kind of required to head out now. And if we don’t take the trip, Eric will lose a whole lot of money. In my opinion, it would serve him right, but Mom and Dad won’t hear of it. They haven’t said a word about what an inconsiderate jerk he is for ditching us, only that it would be a shame for all of his hard earned money to go to waste. Oh please. Eric’s fart app will have earned back the cost of this cruise in an hour, with absolutely no effort on his part.

  But still, it’s a free cruise to Bermuda and we’re already packed and here at the terminal. So we’re going, and that’s that.

  Since we’re going, I may as well start checking out the situation in regard to fulfillment of The Prophecy. I glance to my right at a guy my age making out with his girlfriend. Strike one. I glance behind me at a group of senior citizens. Strike two. Although, there are three old men and two old ladies, so one of them might be available. I shake my head and glance to my left. Graham is sitting a few seats away smiling at me.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  “Nope. Just watching you.”

  “Did you pop a Viagra this morning? You’re acting even creepier than usual.”

  “I’m just excited to be on vacation. And I’ve been looking forward to spending some time with you.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Now I know for sure that you’re on some kind of drug.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why would you be looking forward to spending time with me?”

  Graham looks all around the terminal. “Do you see anyone else here for me to hang out with?”

  “Ah, so that’s why. I’m flattered.”

  “Now you’re insulted? You confuse me.”

  “We’re just different people, Blenderman. I thrive in solitude. You’re a people person. I don’t really see it working out.”

  “I didn’t ask you to marry me. We’re just going to be on the same boat for a week. It might be fun to hang out.” He stands up and heads in the direction of the restroom. Then he looks back at me with a crooked smile and a wink. “I really do like the outfit.”

  Black yoga pants from Target. Who knew they’d be such a sensation? I watch Graham walk away before I resume checking out my surroundings. There is a group of young people milling around a few aisles over. They’re all carrying garment bags and seem to have already started drinking. A wedding party. Ugh. Good for them. Embarking on their new life together must be so joyous. Why do they have to celebrate so publicly? There’s a lot to be said for a private ceremony at city hall.

  On the other hand, wedding parties are good because they tend to include a variety of single groomsmen. I take my cell phone out of my purse, shield it between my legs, and open up the notepad.

  Prospects:

  1. Groomsmen

  2. Widowers

  3. Graham

  No, stop it. This is humiliating. What kind of a loser makes a list of men she intends to hit on? Never mind that the man I’m basing my second entry on is probably on furlough from an assisted living facility. And the third one is just out of the question; I don’t even know why I put him on there. I get one compliment on my yoga pants and suddenly I’m making lists with Graham on them. No. The list is a bad idea anyway. I’ll just keep everything safely in my head so there is no hard evidence of my ridiculous plan. As I’ve said before, I am well aware that it is a ridiculous plan. But everything about my current living situation is ridiculous, so why shouldn’t my exit plan follow suit? I’m not ashamed. I would just prefer that nobody ever find out about it.

  “Looking for somebody?” asks Graham, his head appearing over my shoulder.

  I jump about a foot and shove my phone back into my purse. I can’t believe I almost blew it already. I hope he didn’t see anything.

  “No, who would I be looking for?”

  “I don’t know. You just looked like you were looking around and taking notes.” He climbs over the back of the seats and plops down next to me. The smell of freshly applied Axe body spray hits me like a brick.

  “I wasn’t taking notes,” I lie. “I was just updating Facebook.”

  To my horror, Graham whips out his phone and opens up the Facebook app.

  “Nope, no updates from you since yesterday. Nice Doctor Who quote, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I say, staring at him for a few seconds. “They don’t always show up right away, you know.”

  “Oh really?” He reloads the page. “Still nothing.”

  “Maybe you don’t have any service in here.”

  “No, I have service.” He holds his phone up so I can see all the bars.

  “Maybe you should stop being a creep.”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds before Graham bursts out laughing.

  “Okay fine. I’ll drop it for now, Sum. But I do believe you’re up to something. And before this week is out, I’m going to find out what it is.”

  Fat chance, Blenderman.

  Before I can make my sentiments known, a voice comes over the loudspeaker announcing that group number twenty-seven may board the ship. Graham stands up and holds out his elbow.

  “Shall we?”

  Ugh. This is it. I want to say no. I want to just abandon all of my bags and jump through a plate glass window; yet I still have the rebellious desire to look calm and collected in the face of my parents’ unbridled panic. And so I paste a smile on my face and reluctantly hook my arm through his.

  “Okay fine,” I say. “Let’s get this fucking trip over with.”

  Let’s get this fucking trip over with is probably not the most jovial phrase to mutter as one steps onto a luxury ocean liner—though I like to imagine it was muttered by some upon boarding the Titanic. And they were right, were they not? They had a feeling that their trip was going to be bad news, and so do I.

  Well, whatever. If we go down, we go down. There’s not much I can do about it.

  As we make our way up the gangway, smiling crewmembers dance to Calypso music and spray everybody’s hands with sanitizer. Dad should be in his glory. Mom clutches the handrail as if we’re extras in the Poseidon Adventure.

  “Is the ship moving? It feels like we’re moving!” she yells to nobody in particular.

  “We’re not moving until four o’clock, Mom.” I’m actually surprised that my mother doesn’t claim motion sickness from the Earth’s orbit around the sun.

  “I can still feel it moving. I hope it doesn’t get any worse than this or I’m going to have to leave.”

  “Of course it’s going to get worse than this, we’re still docked. And what do you mean you’re going to leave? You do know that you can’t go anywhere until we reach Bermuda, right?”

  “I can leave if they take me away in a helicopter,” says Mom. She has a disturbing sort of triumphant gleam in her eye.

  “A helicopter?” I whack Graham on the arm. “Are you listening to this?”

  “Listening to what?” He peels his eyes away from the back of the blonde walking in front of us.

  I knew it. I knew that as soon as we set foot on this ship he would stop being our attentive little tour guide and start ogling all of the female passengers.

  “Nothing. Forget it. You know, I knew that as soon—”

  “Hold that thought,” says Graham. He jogs forward a few steps and taps the blonde woman on the shoulder. “Excuse me? You dropped this.” He hands her a twenty-dollar bill.
br />   Oh. Right.

  “Sorry,” says Graham, falling into step beside me. “I saw her drop that a little ways back. What is it that you were saying?”

  “I was saying that my mother thinks they’re going to airlift her out of here just because she’s seasick!”

  “And dizzy!” Mom staggers, panic-stricken, toward the wall with one hand on her chest, and slumps against the handrail. “And having heart palpitations!”

  About forty people begin piling up behind the luggage that she abandoned in the middle of the walkway. Some of them glance at Mom, mildly concerned. Most just look inconvenienced.

  “Joan,” says Graham, putting his arm around her shoulders and gently guiding her back onto the walkway. “I want you to let go of all your negative thoughts about seasickness and heart palpitations.”

  “And nervous breakdowns,” I chime in.

  “And nervous breakdowns,” adds Graham. “You’re going to be so busy having fun this week that you won’t even have time to notice the extremely slight rocking motion of the ship.” He gives Mom a wink.

  Mom exhales dramatically and smiles up at him. For a split second I see a flash of a rational, sane person.

  “You’re such a comfort,” she says. “Richard, isn’t Graham such a comfort?”

  Dad doesn’t answer as he’s having his hands sanitized for the umpteenth time. I roll my eyes and quicken my pace. How does Graham get labeled a comfort, when all I manage to do is send her careening into the walls with heart palpitations? It’s not fair.

  When we finally emerge into the ship’s atrium, I waste no time pulling out my boarding pass and searching for my cabin number.

  “If you guys don’t need me, I’m going to find my room. I’ll catch up with you later, probably at the...” I mumble something unintelligible and head for the elevators. I feel a bit bad about leaving Graham behind with my parents, but not bad enough to actually go back. I’ve managed to survive the morning and am now officially on the ship—it’s time for a break.

  The corridor leading to my cabin is endless. I’m not even using hyperbole. I honestly feel like if I walk much further I may pop out of a manhole cover in Piccadilly Circus. I finally arrive outside my door and mentally prepare myself for the telephone booth-sized room that awaits me. I swing open the door.

  Oh. My. God.

  My cabin is gorgeous.

  No, let me rephrase that. My suite is gorgeous.

  I have a suite!

  A couch, chairs, and coffee table sit across from a large flat panel television. Straight ahead is a sliding glass door that leads onto a balcony. I immediately check outside and find two deck chairs and a hot tub.

  A hot tub!

  I head back inside and walk into the bedroom. I can’t believe that I have a bedroom separate from the living room. I mean, I thought there was a chance I’d have to pull my bed down out of the wall.

  The bed is loaded with pillows and faces a wall of curved windows. In front of the windows, another flat panel television is perched on a pedestal. On the other side of the bedroom is the door to the bathroom. I drop my bags onto the bed and wander back out to the living area. A door on the far side of the suite catches my eye. Curious, I walk over and push it open. It’s another bedroom. I have a two-bedroom suite? Eric is not that generous.

  And then it hits me. Somehow, someway, my worst fear has come true. Even though I checked and double-checked those boarding passes, it’s still managed to happen. How could it be? I suppose it doesn’t matter how it could be, it just is.

  I will be sharing this unbelievable suite with my parents.

  I jump at the sound of somebody unlocking the cabin door. Here they come. I take a deep breath, roll my eyes upward toward the heavens, and—

  “Hey there, roomie,” says Graham, dropping his bags onto the floor and letting out a long whistle. “Sweet suite, eh?”

  6

  Wait. What?

  Any relief I felt at not seeing my parents step through that door is negated by the sight of that blindingly blue polo shirt.

  I was supposed to have freedom on this vacation. Even with my parents here, I was supposed to have my own cabin. Part of my plan to fulfill The Prophecy involves having the freedom to come and go as I please. I don’t care what The Eagles say; freedom is more than just some people talking. Freedom is having your own private cruise cabin, without your brother’s hyperactive best friend nosing around in it.

  He’ll probably have a karaoke machine set up in our living room before I even have my suitcase unpacked. Then there will be loud-mouthed strangers tromping in and out of here all week singing “Hotel California” and “Free Bird.” Maybe even women. No, not maybe. There will definitely be women. My stomach turns. I may be averse to shacking up with a guy while Graham sleeps in the next room, but he may not be as concerned about my feelings.

  Not to mention that this is where I’m going to be walking around in my pajamas, and where I’m going to be waking up every morning with my hair all over the place and my contact lenses not even in yet. I do a quick mental inventory of the pajamas I packed.

  Bad. Worse. Terrible.

  I think I’m having a nervous breakdown. Is this how Mom feels all the time?

  “I had no idea we were sharing!” I squawk, my voice coming out much louder than intended. I clear my throat before continuing at a normal volume. “I mean, I just kind of assumed that you and I had separate cabins.”

  “Eric splurged on three deluxe suites so he could get a bunch of onboard credits.” Graham opens up the refrigerator and grabs a beer. “Then the only question became, does Summer want to stay with her parents, or does Summer want to stay with her brother’s handsome, yet totally approachable best friend? The choice was simple.”

  “Simple, right.” I say. “Although, don’t you think maybe you guys should have consulted me first?”

  “So you’d rather have stayed with your Mom and Dad?” asks Graham, squinting one eye at me. “Because we can still arrange for that.” He picks up the room phone and starts punching in numbers.

  “I will kill you.” I wrench the receiver out of his hand.

  “So you want me to stay?”

  “It’s not so much that I want you to stay, as that I don’t want my parents to arrive. Big difference.” I firmly hang up the phone and head into my bedroom. Graham follows me.

  “Why can’t you just stay in Eric’s empty suite?” I ask, the idea suddenly dawning on me.

  “Eric canceled, remember? They’ve probably already given his suite to someone else.”

  “Oh, right.” I let out a disappointed sigh.

  “So, we’re roomies?” Graham jumps onto the bed and bounces up and down, clapping his hands.

  “You’re so weird. But yes. Fine. We’re roomies. Now don’t ever call me that again.” I flip open my suitcase, then immediately shut it. Apparently security decided to relocate all of my underwear to the top of the pile.

  “I’m just teasing you,” says Graham. “You’d better get used to it if we’re going to be roomies. Sweet bejesus, this bed is comfortable.” He leans back into a mound of pillows, stretching his arms over his head. The bottom of his shirt rises up to reveal an inch or so of tanned stomach and a portion of his canary yellow boxers. They’re covered with little hot dogs wearing sunglasses.

  “Nice undies,” I say as I grab my bag of toiletries and step into the bathroom to avoid staring. Why should an inch of exposed skin suddenly be a big deal? His arms have been sticking out of his sleeves all day and I barely even noticed. I mean, of course I noticed. I am a living, breathing female. It’s just that arms are arms, and stomachs are nearer to other regions. Graham’s other region.

  I should not be having these thoughts.

  “You like them? I’ve got more.”

  “I should hope so. We’re here for eight days.”

  The phone rings before Graham can reply, and I hear him jump off of my bed to answer it.

  “It’s your Mom!” he calls from the other room.

  Great. Not that I was expecting anything less than constant phone calls and sweater monitoring. I was just hoping to at least be able to unpack first.

  “Hello?”

  “Summer, it’s Mom. Why is there a man answering your phone?”

  “That wasn’t a man, that was Graham.”