Separate Cabins

There was very little she could piece together from his side of the conversation, but it was his body language she studied. His head was bent low in an attitude of intense interest. He kept rubbing his forehead and raking his fingers through his hair as if he didn’t like what he was hearing. There was a tautness in every line.

That odd feeling began to come back, growing stronger. She poured coffee from the tall pot into a cup and sipped at it. It seemed tasteless. She folded both hands around the cup, as if needing to absorb its warmth to ward off some chill.

The phone was hung up, but his hand stayed on the receiver, gripping it tightly until his knuckles showed white. He seemed to have forgotten she was in the room.

“What is it, Gard?” Rachel asked quietly.

He stirred, seeming to rouse himself out of the dark reverie of his thoughts, and threw her a cold glance. “An emergency.” He clipped out the answer and pulled his hand from the phone to comb it through his hair again.

“Is it serious?” she asked when he didn’t volunteer more.

“Yes.” Again his response was grudgingly given, but this time there was more forthcoming. “Bud—one of the partners in my law firm—was killed in a car accident on the freeway last night.”

Even as he spoke the words, Rachel could see that he was trying to reject the truth of them. Quickly she crossed the room and gathered him into her arms. She understood that combination of shock and pain and hurt anger. His arms circled her in a crushing vise as he buried his face in the blackness of her hair.

“Damnit, he had three kids and a wife,” he muttered hoarsely.

For long minutes she simply held on to him, knowing that there was no more comfort than that to give. Finally she felt the hard shudder that went through his body, and the accompanying struggle for control as he pulled his arms from around her and gripped her shoulders.

“Look ...” His gaze remained downcast as he searched to pull his thoughts together. “I’m going to have to see if I can’t catch a flight out of Manzanillo back to Los Angeles. Would you mind throwing my things into the suitcases?”

“I’ll do it.” She nodded with an outward show of calm, but inside there was a clawing panic. Last night she had worried about losing him. Today he was leaving her. They wouldn’t have those two more days on the ship as he had talked about. It couldn’t be over—not so quickly—not like this.

“Thanks.” Gard flashed her a relieved glance and turned to pick up the phone.

Rachel bit at the inside of her lip, then boldly suggested, “Would you like me to fly back with you?”

“No.” As if realizing that his rejection was slightly abrupt, Gard softened it with an explanation. “There’s nothing you can do, but I appreciate the offer. It’s going to be chaotic for a few days, both personally and professionally.” He dialed a number and waited while it rang. “Did you say you were staying in Acapulco for a few days?”

“I was, but—I think I’ll fly straight back on Saturday.” She didn’t look forward to those idle days in the Mexican resort city now that she knew Gard would be in Los Angeles.

“Write down your address and

phone number so I can call you later next week,” he said, then turned away as the party answered the phone on the other end.

While he was busy making inquiries about airline schedules and reservations, Rachel took a pen and notepad from a desk drawer and printed out her name, address, and the telephone numbers at both her home and the office. She slipped it onto the table in front of Gard. He glanced at it and nodded an acknowledgment to her, continuing his conversation without a break.

A feeling of helplessness welled inside her, but there were still his suitcases to be packed. She went into the bedroom they had shared for only one night and took his suitcases from the closet and began to fill them with his clothes.

Half an hour later she was shutting and locking the last suitcase when Gard walked into the bedroom. The troubled, preoccupied expression on his features was briefly replaced with a glance of surprise at the packed suitcases on the bed.

“Are they ready to go?” he asked.

“Everything’s all packed,” she assured him.

“The steward’s on his way.” He looked at his watch. “There’s an opening on a flight leaving Manzanillo in an hour and a half. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to make it and my connecting flight to Los Angeles.”

As she noticed the slip of paper in his hand with her address and phone numbers marked on it, Gard folded it and slipped it into his shirt pocket. There was a knock, followed by the steward entering the cabin.

There were no more moments of privacy left to them as Gard called the steward in to take the luggage. Then they were all trooping out of the cabin and down to the lower deck to take the tender ashore.

As the collection of white block buildings tumbling down the steep sides of the mountain to the bay came closer, Rachel was conscious of the sparkling white beauty of the place, contrasted with the dark red tile roofs. Flowering bushes spilled over the sides of white balconies in scarlet profusion. But she couldn’t bring herself to appreciate its aesthetic beauty. She was too conscious of Gard’s thigh pressed along hers as they rode on the tender to the yacht harbor.

There was no conversation between them when they reached shore. Rachel offered to help carry one of his suitcases, but Gard refused and signaled to a hotel employee when they reached the large, landscaped pool area with its bars and dining terraces.

At the hotel lobby Gard finally stopped his hurried pace and turned to her. “I’ll catch a cab to the airport from here. There’s no need for you to make that ride.”

“I don’t mind,” she insisted, because it was just that many more minutes to spend with him.