The Sickness

Chapter 1

Roger

Eleven days earlier

I clench my daughter"s hand with a death-like grip as we enter the terminal. The weight of dread sits like a boulder on my chest, an ever-present reminder of my raging hatred of the ocean. And boats, I’m not a fan of those either, even though Abby has warned me about referring to it as such.

“It’s a ship!” she hisses. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

I shrug. “Semantics.”

“Please,” she says. “For once, just be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“Well, you don’t look it.”

I force a wide grin, baring my teeth. “There. How’s that?”

“God! You’re impossible.”

I can’t argue with that, so I vow to try harder. My daughter"s dream is about to be fulfilled, and the only thing I can think of is that if I don’t tamper my anxiety, I am going to break her heart. Again. I have done all I can to prepare, but I still feel overcome with the feeling that this trip is a terrible idea. And now that we’re here, I am reminded why. Our lives demand order and calm. Schedules and routine. This place is a zoo.

Not only that, but we couldn’t be more out of place. These people do not look like us. They don’t speak like us. They are not what you would consider even remotely near our income bracket. I don’t want to be a charity case. I do not want my daughter to be a charity case. And yet, I realize this trip is bigger than that. It means a lot to Abby, probably more than anything ever has. I tried to convince her she should choose somewhere else—anywhere else, but no dice. My sister says beggars can’t be choosers, but I don’t see it that way.

anywhere“Is it me or is it stuffy in here?”

Abby gives me a sideways glance. “It’s you.”

I have the sudden urge to step out of line, to say thanks, but no thanks. I’ve seen enough. I have zero interest in pretending I’m someone or something I’m not. Not for a week, not for a day, not even for as long as it takes to get through this line. But then Abby looks up at me with a hopeful smile, and I forget the logic in my thoughts.

something“Come on, Roger. At least try to pretend like you want to be here…”

tryIt has never been more obvious that my daughter and I come from different generations. “Just because they can afford this,” I say, “doesn’t make them better than us. And what did I tell you about calling me Roger?”

“No one said anything about anyone being better than anyone else, Father.”

FatherI point out the length of the line. I guess even rich people have to wait occasionally. “Why don’t we go grab a bite to eat? We can come back when the crowd thins out.”

“It’s not that long,” Abby counters. “You go. I’ll hold our place.”

My daughter knows better. She knows I won’t leave her, and she knows the point was to get her away from the crowd. “Never mind,” I grumble. “But just so you know, this isn’t my idea of fun.”

her“Believe me, I know.”

“What do you say we stay here in Miami? We could hang out on the beach—”

“No.”

“Fine.” I hadn’t thought she’d change her mind in the five minutes since I’d last posed the question, but it was worth a shot. “Did I mention I hate boats?”

Clearly, I am the only one who feels this way. Passengers everywhere chatter with excitement, except for the group of people kneeling in a tight circle, their hands clasped, murmuring words in unison.

"What are they doing?" Abby asks, her voice low with curiosity.

"No idea," I say. "Praying, it looks like."

She raises an eyebrow. "Weird."

“Yeah,” I reply. “Hey, as soon as we get through this line, let"s go check out the cabin.”

My daughter narrows her eyes at me. “I want to look around first.”

“Cabin first, then we look around,” I say firmly.

She rolls her eyes, and I"m glad there’s still a bit of the sixteen-year-old left in my daughter yet. "If you say so," she huffs.

"I say so."

“You worry too much.”

“For good reason,” I tell her. “Who else is going to?”

But she’s right. Despite all the reassurances I’ve been given, I’m terrified our bags won"t make it to the cabin. I need to see for myself that they have. Before we disembark.

My daughter needs the medical supplies in that luggage. Her life depends on it, and regardless of my pleas, the crew would only allow one carry-on. They didn’t come right out and say it, but it wouldn’t be a good look, me handling my own bags, considering the demographic they cater to.

“We take care of everything,” they said. “Every last detail—you leave it to us.”

The line snakes around, and as we edge closer to the ship, my mouth drops. Talk about detail. Its grand hull is decorated with a vibrant mural, and its dark windows glimmer in the late afternoon sun. A refreshing breeze carries salty air, and streamers dance playfully like ribbons in a parade.

With a brow c****d, Abby motions toward the upper deck. The crew is abuzz with activity, hustling to make sure everything is ready for our voyage. Many of them are literally running back and forth across the ship. With a nudge, she points out that I should feel bad for thinking them inept.

“About the worrying,” she says, “I wish you’d give it a rest. Otherwise we might as well have stayed at home.”

I stand frozen in the security line, my gaze locked with my daughter"s. We both know the risks that come with this trip, yet there"s a steely determination in her eyes. I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her petite frame. She wriggles in protest, but I refuse to let go. She"s my only child, and I"m never going to let anything bad happen to her. “You’re right,” I say. “The worrying, it stops now.”

“Doubt it.”

“You’ll see,” I tell her and leave it at that. I’m glad Abby is feeling more herself today, but one can only take so much teenage banter. We move through security and then onward to the window where our cruise cards will be issued. The line is long, and I’m concerned she needs to sit down. She’s been well these past few weeks, but things can change on a dime.

“I’m fine,” she says, reading my mind.

“I know.”

We inch forward, and there’s some sort of commotion ahead. People press together and crane their necks to see what"s happening. The crowd parts as everyone looks to see what all the yelling is about. I move to the center and can"t believe my eyes.