I am surprised—and a little disappointed—to wake up alone. My first conscious thoughts are of a thick, sweaty, silver-haired dancing machine, and I reach for him before I open my eyes.
Of course he’s not here. His ship will have gone on about its holiday business. They’ll probably spend Christmas Eve plying the Canal, Christmas tomorrow at port in Panama City. I have no plans of my own for Christmas, which is part of the reason I came here. Oh sure, I mailed presents to my nieces, my nephews, my parents. I sent out cards with light-strung palm trees to all my friends, not so much to crow about my winter getaway as to help establish the expectation that this year I should be counted out. I’m not making any fruitcake, not eating any fudge. Jobless, I’m not going to any office parties. Singl
