The Cruise
As an unexpected wave of dizziness washed over her, Wendy Galway steadied herself with her outstretched hand and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was momentarily disoriented. Once she regained her equilibrium, however, she realized she was standing on the sidewalk in front of an unfamiliar storefront.
The young woman peered through the plate glass window and saw an old metal desk, a few filing cabinets that had seen better days, an outdated photocopier, a pair of lopsided revolving wire book racks, a scattering of end tables that looked like they came from a Good Will store and a dozen or so mismatched visitors' chairs.
On first observation, Wendy couldn't tell what type of business the building housed. It could be the office of a real estate broker, an insurance salesman, a tax preparer or even a not-very-successful lawyer. After closer examination, though, the purpose of the business became obvious. The metal racks held pamphlets and brochures for such places as Las Vegas, Miami and the Bahamas.
I never knew there was a travel agent on Essex Street.
In fact, given the ease and competitive pricing of making travel arrangements on the Internet, she was surprised that a person could make a living as a travel agent these days.
Wendy was about to turn and continue on to—where was she going?—when suddenly the owner of the shop walked up behind her.
"I hope you haven't been waiting too long," he apologized, taking a key ring out of his pocket and unlocking the front door. "I went to The Quill and Dagger for coffee, and the place was more crowded than usual."
"I was just window shopping," Wendy said, not wanting to admit that she had no idea what she was doing in front of the travel agent's office. "I'm not really interested in going on a vacation now."
"Oh? Well, maybe in a few months ...."
Wendy looked at the man: he was short and stocky and had a full head of tightly curling black hair. She assumed from his inexpensive, crumpled suit and his stained tie that business was not good, either that or he just wasn't the least bit concerned with the image he projected.
The unkempt travel agent reached into his jacket pocket, took out a business card and said, "If you ever come down with a case of wanderlust, just give me a call."
The card was simple enough: only a phone number and a name, Omar Applebee.
Wendy smiled and put the card in her purse, knowing she would never require Mr. Applebee's services since she didn't go on vacations and rarely took time off from work. She was a woman married to her job. She had no family, no friends, no pets, no hobbies.
"Thank you. Now, I won't take up any more of your time, Mr. Applebee," she said sweetly and continued walking along Essex Street.
Shortly after Wendy arrived at her office, she sorted through her mail. When she opened the latest Worthington House catalog, she proudly noticed that her three-piece suit was featured on page twenty-two. While she was no Vera Wang, Wendy was a moderately successful fashion designer who sold her reasonably priced creations to department stores such as JCPenney, the Bon-Ton and Sears as well as a number of catalog companies that catered to young career women.
After a quick cup of coffee, she sat at her drawing table and began to sketch. By noon, however, she had made no progress on the blazer she was designing, so she decided to take a walk, hoping the warm, spring sunshine would clear her head. She strolled down Essex Street toward the ocean but made it no farther than the travel agent's office. Once again she felt a wave of dizziness descend upon her, followed by the sense of disorientation.
"Are you all right?" a voice seemed to call from far away.
When the man's face came into focus, Wendy realized the voice belonged to the disheveled Omar Applebee.
"Y-yes," she stammered. "I'm just feeling a little faint."
"Please come inside and sit down. I'll get you a drink of water."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I'm really fine. I just ...."
She suffered yet another dizzy spell, and Mr. Applebee took her arm and led her inside.
"Would you like me to call a doctor?"
"No."
"Your husband?"
"I'm not married."
It was as though the lights in the travel agent's office momentarily dimmed, and for the first time Wendy began to worry about her health.
"I'm sure it's just a simple matter of my being overworked," she said, more to herself than to the travel agent.
"That seems to be the case with most people these days," Applebee concurred. "That's why it's so important for people to get away from time to time and leave the stress of their lives behind them. Travel is therapeutic."
"I never thought about it that way."
"Well, you should. I'll bet a week in the sun would do wonders for you."
Before Wendy realized what he was doing, the travel agent placed several brochures in front of her. She randomly picked one up.
"Mexico!" Applebee exclaimed. "Puerto Vallarta, Cancún, Acapulco ... excellent choice!"
"I have no desire to go to Mexico," Wendy said, trying to make it clear to Mr. Applebee that she had no intentions of traveling.
"No?" he said, picking up a folder and handing it to her. "How about Hawaii? Aruba? St. Lucia? Or, if you prefer something closer to home, there are the Florida Keys."
Wendy shook her head.
"I'm really far too busy to take the time off from work."
Applebee's piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into her soft brown ones.
"Europe? You seem like a fashionable woman. I'll bet you would love Paris."
Wendy was momentarily tempted. She had always wanted to see the City of Lights, what she considered to be the fashion capital of the world.
Don't be silly! she chastised herself. I can't just fly off to Europe on a whim!
"Wait!" Applebee suddenly exclaimed. "I know just the vacation for you."
He opened his desk drawer—the contents of which were as messy as his attire—and pulled out a folder that contained more brochures.
"Where is it?" he mumbled, thumbing through the sloppily filed stack. "Ah, here it is."
He laid the glossy pamphlet on his desk and pushed it toward Wendy.
"A cruise?"
Her heart fluttered.
"That's odd. We always swore that someday we'd take a cruise."
"We?" Applebee echoed.
"Did I saw we? I meant I. I always wanted to take a cruise."
"You're in luck then. There are literally hundreds of cruises to choose from. Where would you like to go? Bermuda? Jamaica? Martinique?"
"Slow down, Mr. Applebee! I never said I was going to take a cruise."
The stocky travel agent seemed not to hear her objection.
"There are a number of cruise lines to choose from: Royal Caribbean, Carnival, Celebrity Cruises, Norwegian ...."
Wendy suddenly put her hands to her head as she felt the room start to spin.
"I can't take it anymore!" she cried.
Before she blacked out, she heard Omar Applebee's voice softly whisper, "I know. That's why you need to go on this cruise."
* * *
The first sensation Wendy had when she regained consciousness was the feeling of a warm breeze on her cheek, followed rapidly by the smell of salt water and the sound of seagulls.
Where am I? she thought, trying to fight against the veil that clouded her memory.
A man rudely pushed by her.
"Excuse me," he apologized.
"Best hurry aboard, Miss," a commanding voice from above called to her. "We're about to weigh anchor."
She looked up and saw a gangplank leading to an immense cruise ship.
What am I doing here?
The man behind the voice took a ticket from her hand.
"Cabin 216. That would be on deck C, starboard side."
Wendy walked forward, like an automaton with no will of her own. Her mind was full of questions, and she took no notice of the people around her. The recent past was a blur, the most dominant image being that of a short, stocky man with a full head of tightly curling black hair.
Somehow she found her cabin. She opened the door and stumbled inside, making it as far as the bed before sinking into oblivion.
Wendy had no idea how long she slept. It might have been a few hours or even a few days. It was the growling of her empty stomach that eventually woke her. Knowing that a cruise ship was like a floating smörgåsbord, she assumed she would be able to find something to eat regardless of the hour. It proved easier than she had imagined. All she had to do was open her cabin door and follow the aroma of the international buffet.
I'm not dressed for dinner.
But it didn't matter. When she entered the Parisian dining room, there were only a dozen or so other passengers present, none of whom had bothered to dress up.
As Wendy passed the other diners, no one smiled, no one laughed.
Isn't anyone here having a good time? Why does everyone look like a shell-shocked soldier?
There were no answers, but thankfully there was food.
* * *
Once she had eaten, Wendy decided to explore the ship. While it had all the luxurious accommodations and amenities as those she had seen in the movies and in travel brochures, there was a marked absence of people.
It must be the ailing economy, she theorized. Apparently, people can't afford to take expensive vacations nowadays.
Gradually, she made her way to the pool. There were a handful of sunbathers in swimsuits, lying in deckchairs, enjoying the last of the daylight hours and one little girl, about ten years old, wading in the shallow end.
"How's the water?" Wendy called.
"A little cold, but once you're in it a while, you get used to it."
The little girl's words, although spoken in perfect English, were laced with a heavy French accent.
Wendy sat down on a deckchair, and soon the child dried herself off and sat down beside her.
"Are you enjoying the trip?" the girl asked.
"Honestly? It's too soon to tell."
Wendy looked at the girl's angelic face and wide, innocent blue eyes, and felt an inexplicable wave of sadness come over her.
I've seen this face before! But where? And when?
"You recognize me, don't you?" the child asked.
"You do look familiar, but I don't know why. I honestly don't recall ever having met you before."
"Don't worry," the girl assured her. "It will come to you. It's that way with everyone at first."
"What do you mean?"
"Sorry, mademoiselle, but I must go now. It will be dark soon."
Wendy was about to return to her cabin when she looked up and saw a handsome young man heading in her direction. Handsome wasn't exactly the right word, however. Gorgeous would have been a much more appropriate one, but the phrase drop-dead gorgeous would have described him best.
For some strange, unknown reason—everything about the cruise was strange—the man seemed angry at her.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded to know.
"Excuse me? You must have me confused with someone else."
"You don't know me?" he asked, his manner suddenly contrite.
"I would have remembered your face if I'd seen it before."
The words slipped out before she realized it.
He smiled, and Wendy instinctively reached out her hand and brushed a lock of stray hair from his face.
Why did I do that? Why such an intimate gesture toward a complete stranger?
The questions that began to plague her when she first found herself standing in front of Omar Applebee's office just kept piling up. Unfortunately, there were no answers to balance the scales.
* * *
After leaving the pool area, Wendy Galway and Derek Crandall, the drop-dead gorgeous young man, strolled along the promenade deck, talking and watching the sunset. Eventually, Wendy noticed that the conversation was mostly one-sided. She had given her companion a fairly detailed account of her life, yet she learned very little about him.
"It seems I've been doing all the talking," she apologized.
"It's okay," her good-looking companion assured her with a deep, masculine laugh. "I'm an excellent listener."
"Still, it's very rude of me to monopolize the conversation. Why don't you tell me something about yourself?"
"There's not much to tell actually."
Is Derek shy or is he being deliberately evasive?
Wendy supposed she should be wary of the man; after all, trust was never her strong point. Yet she felt completely at ease with Derek Crandall.
Why?
Another question, which, in turn, led to an even bigger question: why am I not terrified that I'm on a ship in the middle of an ocean, and yet I have no idea how I got here or where I'm going? This isn't like me at all. Why am I not demanding answers from one of the crew?
"There's no need to fret," Derek said, placing his arm protectively around her shoulder. "It will come to you. It's that way with everyone at first."
"That's what the little girl told me. Those were her exact words."
"What little girl?"
"A little French or possibly Canadian girl I met by the pool. She apparently knew me, but I didn't know her."
"You must mean the girl who was sitting next to you on the ...."
"Good evening, Ms. Galway, Mr. Crandall," a feminine voice called through the darkness. "I hope you two are enjoying yourselves."
"Who are you?" Wendy inquired when a tall, athletic looking blonde emerged from the shadows.
"I'm Grace Noble. I'm here to make your voyage a pleasant one," the blonde replied.
"You're the cruise director?"
"Yes. And while I hate to put a damper on your evening, I want to remind you that it's getting late and that the ship will be pulling into port early in the morning."
"So soon?" Wendy protested. "It seems like I just came aboard."
"Not everyone will be getting off at this stop," Grace explained.
Wendy felt Derek's body stiffen beside her.
"I'll be ready to disembark," he assured the blonde solemnly.
"Enjoy what's left of your time together. I'll see you in the morning," the cruise director said and vanished into the darkness from which she'd come.
"What was that all about?" Wendy demanded to know.
"It's like Ms. Noble said. Some of us are getting off the ship tomorrow."
Before Wendy could say any more, Derek silenced her with a kiss, and all her questions were forgotten in the passion of the moment.
* * *
The two young lovers watched the sun rise through the portal of Wendy's stateroom. Neither of them spoke.
This is what it's all about! Wendy thought with contentment. This is what has been missing in my life.
Derek finally moved.
"I have to go," he announced.
"I'm coming with you," she said impulsively.
He laughed softly.
"You don't even know where I'm going."
"I don't care."
"What about your career?"
"It doesn't seem to matter anymore. In fact, I don't care if I ever design another outfit again. As long as I'm with you, I'll be happy."
"As much as I love you, I can't take you with me. The captain will never allow it."
"The captain? What does he have to do with anything? He can't hold me prisoner aboard this ship. If I want to get off, he can't stop me."
"You don't understand, darling ...."
Derek fell silent when he heard a knock on the cabin door.
"It's time, Mr. Crandall."
Derek rose from the bed and, without bothering to get dressed, headed toward the main deck. Wendy quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and followed him. The first person she encountered when she stepped out on deck was the little girl with the French accent.
"Are you ready to disembark, mademoiselle?" she asked excitedly. "I can't wait to see my grandmother again."
"Excuse me, but I have to find someone."
"Is it your husband?" the girl asked.
"I'm not married."
"Oh, you still don't remember."
When Wendy saw Derek standing on deck wearing only his boxer shorts, an inkling of a memory announced the imminent arrival of the elusive answers to all her questions. Dozens of images flashed through her brain: a wedding, a honeymoon in Paris, she and Derek kissing atop the Eiffel Tower.
"He's my husband!" she exclaimed as she felt the ship's engines come to a grinding halt.
"We're here," the little girl cried and ran toward her mother.
"Derek! Wait for me, darling!"
A hand reached out and grabbed her arm.
"Not you," Grace Noble said firmly.
"Let me go! I'm getting off this ship with my husband."
"I'm afraid not. This is a voyage he'll have to make alone."
"No! Derek, wait for me!" Wendy screamed and managed to break away from the cruise director.
She didn't get far, though. A large, middle-aged man with steely gray hair and piercing blue eyes blocked her path.
"You're not getting off yet, Mrs. Crandall," he insisted.
"Yes, I am. I want to go with my husband."
"Your husband is dead."
The captain's words hit her with the force of a physical blow.
"He's not dead. He's standing right over there."
She turned in the direction of the crowd and noticed that nearly half the people who were on deck moments earlier had vanished into thin air. As she watched, people, one after another, began fading into a blinding bluish white light.
"What's happening?"
"These souls are taking the final step of their journey. Ever since the days of Charon, boats have been used to ferry people across the River Styx. These days the journey from the mortal world to the hereafter is much more luxurious than a simple wooden raft."
"The hereafter? Oh, no! Derek!"
Wendy wanted to run to her husband, if not to stop him from entering the light then to accompany him into its beam.
"You can't go," the captain shouted. "It's not your time. You have to complete your journey."
The captain had to restrain her with the help of Ms. Noble, the cruise director. Wendy fought against them, but when she saw Derek disappear into the blinding blue light, she collapsed against the captain's chest in tears.
"Pull yourself together, Mrs. Crandall. You have to go on. It's not your time. Do you hear me? Am I making myself clear?"
* * *
Clear.
The word echoed through the room and through Wendy's brain as a massive electric charge made her back arch upward.
"We've got a pulse."
It was a familiar female voice.
Where have I heard it before?
With difficulty, Wendy forced her eyes open, but a blindingly bright white light prevented her from seeing anything.
"Mrs. Crandall? Can you hear me?"
Another familiar voice, this one male.
The blinding light was dimmed, and Wendy saw a face above hers.
"Are we sailing again?" she asked. "Why is the water so calm?"
"You're not on a boat," the woman replied. "You're in the emergency room."
"Why? What happened to me?"
"You were involved in a plane crash."
Wendy looked up and saw the steely gray hair and piercing blue eyes of the cruise ship captain above a green surgical mask.
"Where is Derek? Has he crossed over?"
The doctor instructed Nurse Grace Noble to give the patient a mild sedative. He did not want Wendy to become agitated when she learned that every other person aboard the plane from Paris, including her newlywed husband, was dead.
* * *
Wendy sat at the coffee bar of The Quill and Dagger. It was her first day home after being released from the hospital. She finished her latte and left a sizeable tip for the boy behind the counter. Then she grabbed her cane, and with only a dull ache in her right hip, she made her way out the door and onto Essex Street.
Since her physical therapist urged her to do more walking, Wendy decided to stroll down the street toward the ocean. She passed the Bell, Book and Candle and stopped in front of a vintage clothing store called the Second Time Around. A puzzled look crossed her face.
She went inside the clothing store and asked the woman behind the counter, "Excuse me, but I'm confused. Where is the travel agency? I thought it was in this building."
"I'm sorry," the clerk replied. "I've lived here all my life, and I've never seen a travel agency in Puritan Falls."
I must have dreamed it all, Wendy concluded. I was imagining all sorts of crazy things right after the crash.
She thanked the woman and walked back out to Essex Street. When she saw the sun shining on the blue Atlantic, she brushed a tear from her eye. She did not look forward to the long, lonely years ahead of her, years she had hoped to share with Derek.
Unbeknownst to Wendy, a man watched her from the doorway of the Bell, Book and Candle.
Don't worry, Mrs. Crandall. Your life will not lack happiness. Enjoy your journey, and rest assured that someday fate will put you on that ship again. And then you will be allowed to disembark and join your beloved Derek in the light.
With a faint smile on his face, the stocky, disheveled man with the curly black hair bid a silent farewell to Wendy Crandall before continuing on with his next order of mysterious business.
Salem loves walking on a sandy beach. It reminds him of a giant litter box.
