A magician had just finished his routine and thankfully did a disappearing act himself. The band struck up and couples took to the floor as the female singer crooned, “Ohhhhh, did you tell her you lovvvveeee her? . . . andddd that you miss her so badlyyyyyyy ...” Time to go down to the disco, Regan thought, and locate all the “younger folks.” I may as well check out what the bar scene is like in the middle of the Atlantic.

Grabbing the railing of the back staircase as the ship took a sudden dip to one side, Regan felt oddly relaxed. She enjoyed having a little time to herself to think. Dinner had been long and she didn’t feel like any more conversation for conversation’s sake.

Regan took a place at one of the tables set back from the dance floor. Strobe lights revolved around and around, making colored circles and dots on the ceiling, floor and walls. As if there isn’t enough movement on this ship to make you seasick, she thought. The music was blasting as it only could at a disco. “So many men, so little time ...” Not the problem here, Regan thought, surveying the room. So few men, so much time. On land she would have hated going into a place like this alone, but there was something about life on board ship that changed all the rules. “We’re all on this journey together, making new friends who we’ll send Christmas cards to for the rest of our lives,” the Captain had said in one of his fireside chats over the public address system. Clearly, the Captain loved the sound of his own voice. They had already been subject to several of his monologues and it was only the second day out. Any excuse and he would grab his microphone. He got on to tell them exactly where they were, how many nautical miles they had traveled, how far away was the closest land, et cetera. When Regan looked out the window, it always looked the same, no matter what information the Captain had shared. What was that saying? . . . “Water, water everywhere, and not a drop—”

“A drink, ma’am?”

Regan looked up. Ma’am. I’ll kill him. She ordered a vodka and tonic from the young waiter who sported a crew cut and a handlebar mustache. Opening her purse, she reached for her notebook. Jotting down thoughts that were fresh in her mind had become second nature to her. Now she wrote “Livingston/sympathy note.” Tomorrow she’d ask Livingston for the address of Athena’s parents. She wanted to write to them.

“Hello.”

Regan looked up and smiled at Lloyd, the bingo aide-de-camp. He was standing over her, looking tall and boyishly handsome in his whites. Nothing like a man in uniform, Regan thought.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Regan replied as she slipped her notebook back into her purse.