adjust.” She exhaled a long-suffering sigh.
“Aww, I knew you would.” I circled my arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug.
“Do you still want me to hand out the coordinates, or have you decided to trash that step in favor of having teams run around in circles in a random field someplace?”
“I’d like you to do everything you were doing before, Mom—the coordinates, the time charts, the graphs. I just don’t want you to let on to the teams that you’re still doing them. Creating the charts and graphs—that’s the fun stuff, right?”
“Well, it is for me.”
“So there’s no reason why I need to spoil your fun. Keep doing what you’re doing. The only thing you need to do differently is keep the results to yourself.”
She lifted her brows. “I suppose it’s possible.” I could see her brain kicking into gear behind her eyes. “I could even add another graph that plots time as affected by weather and temperature changes.”
“Go for it.”
“Maybe I could compile all the documents into a book.” She grabbed my arm in excitement. “And assign it a Dewey Decimal number!”
“Mom?” I bobbed my head at the person who’d queued up behind her. “Lucille is waiting in line to speak to me.”
“Sorry, Lucille,” Mom apologized. “I don’t mean to hog my little girl.”
Oh, God.
Mom gave me a wink and mouthed, “Our secret,” before hurrying away.
With a clanking roar from the engine, the ferry nosed away from the pier. I caught Lucille’s arm as the sudden movement sent her lunging for the nearest seat back.
“Whoa!” I cautioned. “How about I escort you to your seat?”
“I’ll be fine. I just thought I should tell you that I’m not in the least upset that you eliminated all the skill elements from the contest.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope. I’m not even upset that you’ve turned the whole thing into a sham by offering prizes to practically everyone—like we’re all first graders who can’t handle losing.”
I swallowed slowly. “About that, Lucille, I thought if—”
“And the really odd thing is, I don’t even know why I’m not upset.” She laughed with the delight of a schoolgirl who’d just received multiple invitations to the prom. “I’ve done a lot of reassessing about the important things in life since my Dick died, Emily. In the scheme of things, this is just a minor blip, so I’m giving you a pass.”
“That’s very kind of you.” If Bernice hung out with Lucille more, maybe we could get an osmosis thing going there.
She shrugged. “Just thought you should know.”
“Okay then. Thanks for the heads-up.”
Giddy with relief, I watched her return to her seat. Was I on a roll, or what? Three with one blow. Dick, Mom, and Lucille. Problems solved. Crises averted. Order restored. I squared my shoulders and straightened my spine. Emily Andrew Miceli. Tour escort extraordinaire. Like my updated Tour Escorts Manual said in glossy black and white—Every guest’s concerns should be confronted head-on and resolved as quickly as possible by exercising logic, compassion, and restraint.
With the manual’s directive fresh in my mind, and my success rate boosting my confidence, when I saw Bernice elbow her way through the line at the snack bar and head in my direction, I realized there was only one responsible thing I could do.
Spinning on my heels, I ducked out the cabin door into the cold wind of the afterdeck.
Okay, I was being a coward, but if the guy who’d added that nonsense about meeting every concern head-on had been in my shoes, I bet he’d do the same thing.
Scrambling around a large metal pod riveted to the deck, I read the sign that indicated “Ladies” on the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside the two-staller, hoping that Bernice wouldn’t follow me. But just in case she did—
I locked myself inside one of the stalls and held my breath. If she barged in, would she know it was me behind the door? I stared down at my feet. Would my shoes give me away? I mean, was there anyone else wearing ridiculously impractical platform wedges with ankle straps?
The wind whistled. Anchor chains rattled. Waves smashed and shook the bulkhead, causing me to stiffen my knees and brace my back against the stall for support. I heard a door bang shut close by, on the “Gents” side of the pod, and then I heard a man speak so clearly, it was as if his voice were being transmitted by speaker phone rather than drifting through the air vent above my head.
“How much