Deadshifted (7 page)

Asher returned to his seat, disrupting my reverie. “I know who to talk to now. I’ll go out after this and move things along.”

I smiled at him and snorted. “Wow, if you’re fast enough, this may be our only breakfast as fiancés.”

“I hope so, because that word sounds weird.”

“How shotgun is our wedding going to be? Am I going to have to find a white dress somewhere on board?”

He laughed, and just like the man he’d been conversing with, I found myself wanting to laugh with him. “Only as shotgun as you want.” He beamed at me. “I don’t care what you wear, as long as you show up.”

This week might be the last week I fit into the red dress I’d brought along for formal nights for a while. “I’m going to wear red then. I’ve already got that outfit, and it’s easier this way. Especially seeing as it’s just for us, and whatever witnesses we have to rope in for it to be legal.”

He grinned, then gave me a sober look. “You should get your hair done, though. And your nails. Whatever other fun things women do. I don’t want you to miss out on all of that just because I’m rushing you.”

I inspected my nails. My manicure might hold well enough for a few more days, seeing as there wouldn’t be any dishes for me to do, if I could avoid my natural inclination to use All the Sanitizer. But getting it redone just because I could was tempting, too. Wasn’t that how vacations worked? “You’re not rushing me, honest. I wouldn’t want the hassle of planning everything anyhow. This is saving me a ton of stress.” Avoiding sending out invitations, check. Avoiding endless discussions with my mother about colors, flowers, or dresses, double check. Not having to wonder if my brother’s going to show up or not, high or not, or being the worst-sister-ever again if I didn’t invite him to avoid that entirely, super-check.

Our breakfast arrived, and Asher waited until the waiter left to speak again. “Well, I’d still like it to be romantic. Even if it is practical.”

“It will be. It’s with you.” I grinned at him over my pancakes. They smelled so good—my stomach flipped a coin, and hungry won. I ate a few bites, and things held. I sank back into my chair, relieved. “What about rings? I’m not really a ring wearer—” Work gave me the opportunity to touch too many gross things.

He quickly shook his head. “Rings are too complicated.”

I blinked, as I realized he was right. People at work didn’t know I was with Hector—they’d only ever met me dating some blond guy named Asher, who just happened to never be around when Hector was. Same with my brother and folks. There would be no way to explain things at work, and the second either of us showed up wearing a ring—people there might not put us with each other, but there’d be questions to answer for sure. It would be easier without them, less chances to screw up.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s okay, I understand.” I set my fork down and held up my ring-free hands for illustration. “I don’t like them anyway, and besides, I’d be worried about it falling into an abscess all the time.”

Asher’s eyebrows rose in mock horror. “Please tell me you wear gloves when you change dressings.”

“I do, but—” I mimed taking off a glove and then a ring flying off and over, to land into Asher’s scrambled eggs. He made a face and then laughed.

“That’s disgusting.”

“My ability to be disgusting and still eat is kind of why you love me.” I leaned over and forked a bite off his plate by way of demonstration.

He grinned at me. “There are more reasons than that, but that is definitely one of them.”

I snickered and then leaned forward to kiss him across the table—something I realized I might not be able to do in a few months when I’d gotten a belly—and he leaned forward to kiss me back, and that’s when I heard it. The sound of someone choking.

CHAPTER EIGHT

You don’t actually hear the sound of someone choking. The hallmark of choking is that the chokee can’t actually make any sounds. If they can talk, they can breathe, and they just need to cough things out.

What you do hear are the screams of other people’s panic as their tablemate turns blue.

“Someone help! He can’t breathe!” shouted someone with an Indian accent.

Asher and I both looked over. The woman was standing and her son was facedown in his eggs. Her daughter watched her brother, openmouthed and terrified.

Asher leaped up and raced over, and introduced himself by his occupation, not his name. “I’m a doctor.”

I was close behind him. He circled the boy, braced his hand around his waist, and popped his fists up underneath the boy’s sternum. The mom was still shouting for help, but she was wise enough to stay out of the way.

A plug of eggs popped out of the boy’s mouth on the third blow, and he started coughing violently.

“There you go—” Asher set the boy down on the chair beside his mother, and he promptly threw up. I reached over to the next unoccupied set table and grabbed all the napkins fast to put over the mess.

By then, the ship’s doctor had arrived, the same one I’d gotten the pregnancy test from this morning. He started looking over the boy as Asher and I faded back. He seemed competent from afar; maybe this morning I’d just caught him off guard.

The rest of the crew brought in a wheelchair and took the boy away for observation. His mother looked back at us on her way out the door. “Thank you so much, Doctor,” she said, still breathless from her ordeal.

Asher took it in stride and waved like a prom king.

We sat back down at our table. “Oh, Doctor,” I said to Asher, quietly, mimicking her intonation.

He snorted as our waiter returned and thanked us, his hands clasped nervously in front of his chest. “You were so fast! We have protocols, practices, but we don’t use them very often. Is there anything I can get you extra? For your help?” He looked from Asher to me.

My nurse’s stomach had withstood the onslaught of someone else’s emesis, but the pregnant portion of me was now rethinking everything else. I pushed my half-eaten plate of pancakes away. “I think I’m good. Thank you, though.”

“Oh, no, no, thank you. So many people sick on board,” he said, shaking his head. And then he blanched as though he’d said too much. “But it’s not us, it’s the waves. We’re racing a storm. All the waves’ fault.”

“I believe you,” Asher said, with just the right tone to calm the man.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said again, waiting for an extra second in case we changed our minds, and then backing hurriedly away.

“Are you okay?” Asher asked me, looking worried.

I smiled at him, trying not to look at the table or smell anything. “Yeah. I’m fine. You should eat, though.”

“Maybe later.” He smiled, pushed his plate away, and stood to offer me his arm. “Let’s go on a walk. After all, my job here is done.”

*   *   *

I made it until we were outside the restaurant, and out of earshot of everyone. “Oh, Doctor—” I teased again, in fair imitation of the boy’s mother. “Save me, Doctor!” I pretended to faint against him.

“You realize you’re not too pregnant yet for me to spank?” he chided.

I stood a little straighter and took a step away. “I just like how you get to be the one to save people’s lives, and even on vacation I’m the one that gets to deal with the biowaste.”

He gave me a thoughtful look, then shrugged. “Well, now that you put it like that, being a doctor does sound sexy.”

We walked past a cruise employee furiously wiping down handrails with cleaner. I felt for the man. He, at least, understood how germy people could be.

There were saloon doors in front of us, and someone pushed through them, letting fresh air in from outside. “Oh, that’s nice.”

Asher stopped and propelled me forward. “You go out—I’ll catch up with you. I have someone I need to meet.”

I was about to protest when I realized he meant Operation Shotgun was under way. “By meet, you mean bribe?”

He broke into a wolfish grin. “If that’s what it takes.”

“That’s my fiancé.”

He raised my hand to kiss it without the least hint of irony.

*   *   *

Outside, it was brisk and turning gray as the clouds caught up. I’d brought precisely one sweater for this trip, and luckily I was wearing it now. I’d packed with our destination in mind—Hawaii, lush and green, all short sleeves and sunblock—and hadn’t planned for this. This
was
better than Port Cavell, though, where it snowed all winter long. There was something to be said for being outdoors without a thick coat.

Besides, this weather was nice in its own way. The air tasted like salt and storm, wild. I walked to the end of the deck and stared over the edge with my hands on the railing, and I found myself a lot less fearful of it than I’d been at the dock. The sea here wasn’t pretending to be calm, and I liked it better for its honesty.

I leaned over and watched the bow of the ship cut through the waves, spray shooting up like a running horse’s mane. A side gust caught me, the kind of wind that made you feel like you could grow wings and fly. It took my breath away—and my nausea. When I couldn’t feel my nose anymore, I turned and walked the perimeter of the deck.

There were fewer people out here than there’d been the night before, what with the weather. But even if there’d been more, the person in the wheelchair up ahead still would have been recognizable. Claire’s paisley blanket was higher now, shielding her from her shoulders down. She turned and caught me looking at her, then waved me over, her hand peeking out from underneath her cover.

“How are you doing?” she asked as I arrived.

“I’m slightly more convinced about this mode of transportation than I was yesterday.”

She nodded, like I had just learned a valuable lesson. “I love it out here. You’ll need a thicker coat, though, especially for the Alaskan cruises.”

“I’ll get one.” I hugged myself, standing still.

“Would a walk help keep you warm?” she asked.

“Sure, uh—” I looked at the brakes on her wheelchair. To wheel, or not to wheel, was the question.

“You look pretty strong. Plus, I’m warmer this way,” she prompted, shrugging her blanket.

“Ha. Okay.” I leaned over and undid the brakes. “Hey, you know how Hal asked us if we were newlyweds yesterday?” She nodded as I pushed her. She was heavier than she looked, but her wheelchair made an excellent windblock. “Well, Asher proposed this morning. So we almost are.” I ought to get to share my second piece of good news with someone. My mom would be fine with an out-of-wedlock baby, having long since given up on my timeliness, but she might never forgive me if she didn’t get a chance to host a wedding shower.

Claire turned to look back at me. “Oh, congratulations!”

“Thanks.” I beamed. It felt good to tell someone.

She tilted her head and pierced me with one bird-like eye. “What about the baby? Does he know?”

I stopped abruptly, and the ship rolled, sending her wheelchair back to run up against my foot before I caught it. “What? How did you—”

“I’m an old woman,” she said, as though that were answer enough.

Well. Since I’d already outed myself anyway. “Um, yes. He found out about the baby before he proposed. Not that he wouldn’t have anyway, eventually—he was just really excited about everything.”

She smiled and nodded. “He’s a stand-up man.”

“I like to think so.” And despite the fact that I’d asked for it, I felt a little overexposed and desperate to change the conversation. “Do you have kids of your own?” If she did, they’d be my age—or my mother’s.

Claire shook her head sorrowfully. “Oh, no, that was never in the cards for Hal and me. I do like children, though.”

“Me too. I think.” I waited a bit. “I hope.”

She laughed melodiously. “I’m sure you’ll catch on,” she said, and leaned out of the wheelchair to point. “Can we go over there? That’s where I was supposed to be, before I started wandering.” I started to push her across the deck, impressed she’d been able to roll herself that far. Her upper body was probably stronger than mine.

“So where are you going next, after this?” she asked me.

“Back to the room?” I guessed, like it might be the wrong answer.

She shook her head. “No, no. I mean after this cruise.” She braced herself on the wheelchair’s arms underneath her blanket and craned back at me, seemingly oblivious to the rocking of the waves. “You shouldn’t finish one trip without having another one in mind. It’s the secret to staying young—always having something to look forward to.” She gave me a conspiratorial smile. “You’ve got to see the world while you can, preferably while you still have your original knees.”

I grinned at her. “How old are you? If I can ask, that is.”

“Well, I’d tell you that bullshit line about ladies never revealing their age, but let’s just say I’m pushing eighty-nine. Or you are, since you’re back there.”

I snorted. We’d almost made a full circle of the deck—on this side, we were protected by structures on the deck from the wind. We passed by a few people determined to be tropical, huddling shoulder-high in the hot tub, and a few kids racing around the kiddie pool under shivering parental supervision.

“It’s like they don’t have any nerves,” Claire said from the warmth of her blanket.

“Or they’re a different species,” I agreed. It was hard not to stare at them and think too hard. Would that be me out there in a year?
What will she look like?
I thought, half a second before I realized I desperately hoped we’d be having a girl. I’d never thought about that before. Ever.

Claire looked back up at me, expectantly. I’d stopped without warning. “Sorry,” I apologized, and started walking again.

Please please please, may it be a girl,
I prayed fervently, to anyone who could be listening, with a smile.

“We have to go now, Thomas.” The wind carried a voice I recognized over to me, and I looked back to see Liz scooping her arms toward her child, who began crying.

He was fighting her, reaching back for the water she was pulling him away from. “Stop that, honey. Come on, it’s time for lunch.”

He went into full-on tantrum mode, and she was having none of it, folding in limbs as fast as he could free them while he fought her to stay.