On the Observation Deck above, joggers were tramping around the balcony of the sun dome, pushed open to provide sunshine and fresh air to The Lido. As Rachel waited in the buffet line for her coffee she looked to see if Gard happened to be among the joggers. Not all of them had made a full circle before the people in line ahead of her moved and she followed.
She bypassed the fruit tray of freshly cut pineapples, melon, and papaya and the warming tray of sweet rolls, made fresh daily at the ship’s bakery. It all looked tempting, but she intended to breakfast in the dining room, so she kept to her decision to have only coffee.
There was an older couple directly in front of her. When she noticed that they were having difficulty trying to balance their plates and each carry a glass of juice and a cup of coffee as well, Rachel volunteered to carry some of it for them. She was instantly overwhelmed by their rush of gratitude.
“Isn’t that thoughtful of her, Poppa,” the woman kept exclaiming to her husband as she carefully followed her mate to a table on the sheltered deck by the swimming pool.
“You are a good woman to do this,” he insisted to Rachel. “Momma and I don’t get around so good—but we still get around. Sometimes it’s nice to have help, though.”
“Please sit with us,” his wife urged as Rachel set their glasses of juice on the table for them. “We appreciate so much how you helped us. If you hadn’t, I would have spilled something for sure, then Poppa would have been upset and—” She waved a wrinkled hand in a gesture that indicated she could have gone on about the troubles that might have occurred. “How can we thank you?” she asked instead.
“It was nothing, honestly,” Rachel insisted, a little embarrassed at the fuss they were making over her. Both hands were holding her coffee cup as she backed away from the table. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
“Thank you. You are so kind.” The elderly man beamed gratefully at her.
As Rachel turned to seek a quiet place to sit and drink her coffee, she spied Gard just coming off the ladder to the Observation Deck. His sweatshirt was clinging damply to him, a triangular patch of wetness at the chest, and his skin glistened with perspiration. He was walking directly toward her. Rachel stood her ground, determined not to spend her entire cruise trying to avoid him. Even though he looked physically tired, there was a vital, fresh air about him, as if all the fast-running blood in his veins had pumped the cobwebs out of his system. She envied that tired but very alive look.
He slowed to a stop when he reached her, his hands moving up to rest on his hips. “Good morning, Mrs. MacKinley.” Amusement laced his warm greeting as he smiled down at her, his eyes skimming over her ebony hair framed by the lavender hood.
“Good
morning, Mr. MacKinley,” she returned the greeting.
His gaze drifted to her lips, as if seeking traces of the imprint his mouth had made on them. There was something almost physical about his look. Rachel imagined that she could feel the pressure of his kiss again.
“I see you have your morning coffee,” Gard observed.
“Yes, I do.” She braced herself for his next remark, expecting it to be some reference to his invitation.
“I’ll see you later.” He started forward, changing his angle slightly to walk by her. “I have to shower and change before breakfast.”
For a stunned second she turned to watch him leave. Behind her she heard the elderly couple at the table speaking about them.
“Did you hear that, Poppa?” the woman was saying. “They call each other Mister and Missus.”
“The way we used to, eh, Momma.”
“He called her Mrs. MacKinley,” the woman said again.
“And she called him Mr. MacKinley,” the man inserted.
“That’s so nice and old-fashioned, isn’t it?” the woman prompted.
Suppressing the impulse to walk to their table, Rachel moved in the opposite direction. It hardly mattered that they had the mistaken impression she was married to him. Correcting it might involve a long, detailed explanation and she didn’t want to go into it. Besides, what they had overheard had brought back some fond memories of their early married life. They were happy, so why should she spoil it with a lot of explanations that didn’t really matter to them.
Shortly after late-sitting breakfast was announced, Rachel entered the dining room and was shown to her assigned table. It was located in a far corner of the room, quiet and away from the flow of traffic to the kitchen and the waiter service areas. Two couples were already sitting at the table for eight when Rachel arrived.
An exchange of good mornings was followed by introductions. She was immediately confused as to which woman was Helen and which one was Nanette, and their husbands were named something like John or Frank. Rachel didn’t even make an attempt to remember their last names. Since they would be sharing every meal together from now on, she knew she would eventually get the right names with the right faces.
While the waiter poured a cup of coffee for her, Rachel glanced over the breakfast menu. A third couple arrived, a young pair in their twenties, compared to what Rachel judged to be the average age of forty for the other four. After they were seated, there was only one vacant chair—the one beside Rachel.
“I’m Jenny and this is my husband, Don,” the girl said. There was a bright-eyed, playful quality about her that seemed to immediately lighten the atmosphere at the table.
Her introduction started the roll call around the table again, ending with Rachel. “I’m Rachel MacKinley.” Although the others hadn’t, she tacked on her surname. She supposed it was probably a business habit.
The waiter hovered by her chair to take her order. “Orange juice, please,” she began. “Some papaya, two basted eggs, and Canadian bacon.”
When she partially turned in her chair to pass the menu to the waiter, Rachel saw Gard approaching their table. All the ones close to them were filled, so his destination could be none other than the empty chair next to her.