Bo grabs my arm. “Remember the woman on E-Deck who dropped her suitcase? There must be many clothes around.”

I didn’t lock Mrs. Sloane’s room, and the Cabbage Patch is loads closer than hiking back to E-Deck. “Follow me.”

We dash down the tidal-wave staircase. On the carved wall of the first landing, the golden clock reads 12:25. Somehow we’ve slipped into the next day. Our show on the rails feels like a distant dream whose edges have frayed, unraveling thread by thread.

Stragglers move about, most headed up the stairs. A few haven’t made up their minds. A man in a tuxedo comforts a woman clinging to the golden cherub.

“Saint Christopher,” she wails. “Please, Saint Christopher!”

We reach the spacious Entrance Hall on B-Deck, where another cherub offers empty consolation. I’m surprised to see people resting on the embroidered settees.

“Get yourself into a lifeboat,” I urge. “There’s not much time.”

They throw reproachful glances our way. It occurs to me that, for the first time, my looking more like Ba than Mum may hurt them more than me.

The lights flick off, and people cry out. I grasp Bo closer. We halt in our tracks, with only the burnt-in images in our eyes to guide us. After a clutch of heartbeats, the lights turn back on.

With no time to waste, I hasten to the felted doors behind the lifts. “Follow this hallway to the end, and you’ll find the crew stairs that lead to the forward decks.” If I hadn’t seen April being led up those stairs on my first day, I wouldn’t have known about them.

“I do not want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine. We’re running out of time.” I return his coat and cap.

The lights flicker again, but this time stay on.

Bo nods. “I will meet you back at the ‘newlywed’ boat.”

Then he brushes his lips against mine, giving me a kiss as sweet as I imagined. And I imagined it quite a bit.

And then he’s gone, leaving the sure-footed Valora Luck trying to remember how to work her feet.

Before setting off in the other direction, I knock on April’s door, in case she’s still around. No one answers, and the door is locked. I hope she and her mother made it to the lifeboats.

Then I make for the Cabbage Patch, glancing around more out of habit than actual concern that anyone cares about Mrs. Sloane anymore. The alligators here have more important things to do than worry about minnows like me.