He glances at me. “So where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“You must have skipped the first class.”

“You didn’t.”

“Why not? The room was empty, and it’s already paid for. Plus, I discovered an ally.”

“A what?”

I give him a brief account of my meeting with April Hart, ignoring his groans as I try to put a more confident spin on it.

He blows out a breath that sounds as heavy as a rain barrel.

I sniff. “I’ve sacrificed a lot to be here.” I spent every penny I had for the ticket from London to Southampton.

“I know, Val.”

“Why didn’t you tell your mates about me?”

“They ask too many questions. Bo and Drummer knew about you.”

That rubs a bit of salve on the wound. I haven’t met this Drummer yet, but expect I may soon.

A whiff of pine mingles with the scent of fresh paint. We might be the first people ever to occupy this vessel. “It’s cozy, if a tad bare. Where are the oars?”

“Dunno. Seems crackers to keep them separate from the boats, but no one asked me.”

Or any women, as April Hart might say.

“This is top of the line. Clinker-built, elm rudder. But there are only sixteen lifeboats—plus they store a few ‘collapsibles’ up front. That’s only enough for about half of the two thousand–something passengers. Yet they say it meets regulation.”

I whistle. “Good thing Ba taught us how to swim.”

The only sound is the shushing of the waves against the Titanic’s hull and the rhythmic creaking of wood. Jamie sighs. “What did you do with the books?”

“Sold them off.”

One of Ba’s schemes involved collecting books from estate sales and peddling them off a cart, like Astronomy Through the Ages and the infamous Bee-Keeping for Beginners. That didn’t work out so well, though. If there’s one thing you can count on in London, it’s rain, and books and rain are natural enemies. But on the bright side, Astronomy Through the Ages introduced Jamie to the stars.

“I wish you hadn’t had to take care of things by yourself.”

The stars seem to shrink back, as if giving me space. The memory of that dark morning blows a ghostly whisper through my mind. I found Ba in an alleyway a block from our house, dead from a drunken run-in with a lamppost. His top hat rolled haphazardly in the breeze, like a troubled animal.

I pick out the emotions knitting in me like loose threads: anger at his carelessness, guilt that I wasn’t there, and sadness for the things he will never see, like elephants. And all of these seasoned with relief that he will no longer have to suffer.