EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Thirty-Nine

"All settled in?" Harry asked me, knocking on the open door taking a step through it, into my room. I’m as settled in as I could be. Granted, I have barely left Harry’s side since we came into the Plaza Hotel, out of fear that the thunder would start again. I suppose he had been right: he hadn’t been broke. He had enough money in his pockets alone to get a room—but he didn’t get just one, he got two rooms. One for each of us. He must think I’m sick of him already. How could I be?

"Oh, Harry, this is absolutely fantastic!" I laughed. And it really is fantastic. I am not in the least bit exaggerating. The carpets—yes, there are carpets, are plush and actually make my feet sink into them when I stand too long in one spot. The bed is enormous, with soft sheets and too many pillow to count. The bathing area is made of marble, and crystal white. I’m going to make the whole room, or may I even call it a suite, look horrible once I leave. But, if I leave, where am I to go? I really have nowhere to go and going home seems so frivolous—what would I do if Harry stayed behind? No, I’m not going to think about that now. I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "This is wonderful."

"I’m so happy you like it," he said, sighing a breath of relief. "Only so many hotels in New York, you know." I smiled. It’s practically the hotel capital of the world, New York. But…this is still bothering me. I bit down on my lower lip. I feel like I’m using him. He shouldn’t be paying for this, it’s too much! I have money, my mother has money, I certainly can afford a hotel room for myself.

"You know," I began, "you didn’t have to pay for me. I could’ve wired for money and—"

"Ann, Ann, really," he laughed, "don’t worry about it. You keep telling me the same thing. Can’t I treat you to something? I want to give you something luxurious." I sighed. I don’t want luxury; I just want him.

"Harry, it’s not that! I don’t want you to—"

"I’m not doing anything I don’t want to."

"I feel like I’m using you," I admitted.

"Antoinette." He touched his nose to mine. "You are not using me. Can’t I do something for you without repercussions from it? I’m not dirt-poor, you know." He smiled.

"I didn’t say that! I can certainly afford a hotel—"

"Unless it was all a ploy so I could get you to stay around longer than you would’ve," he joked. Is he kidding? He sounds pretty serious to me. "…Guilt-trip you about bringing me to the bank because you had to have such a fancy residence, for such a short period of time, so then you’d have to stay, out of pure guilt…" His voice trailed off as he smiled, wider than before.

"I would’ve slept in the street," I argued.

"Not with the thunder." Okay, that’s true.

"Touché, touché." I bit my lower lip again, in thought. "I’ll pay you back," I promised suddenly.

"Ann, don’t!" he said, with a laugh. "Please, don’t!"

"But—" He put a finger to my lips, shaking his head at me.

"No buts. I’m going to pay for this little adventure and that’s that." I sighed. It’s no use.

"I’m not going to win this, am I?"

"No," he smiled, "you’re not." He kissed me on the cheek, before dropping his hands from my waist and we parted. "Now, room service, my Love!" He scooped up a menu on one of the two bedside tables, beside the telephone. "Starving?" he asked. "I am." He sat down on the bed, staring at the menu. He has a look of confusion on his face.

"What?" I asked, trying to read the menu backwards with no success.

"This is all in French!"

"You’re kidding." He handed me the menu and sure enough, all of it is in French. "Are we or aren’t we in the United States?" I asked him, giving him back the menu.

"Can you read French?" he asked me hopefully. I shook my head.

"I can speak it alright, but reading is a whole another story. Let’s not go down that road."

"I’ll just request everything on the menu, then," Harry said nonchalantly, picking up the telephone. I ripped the phone out of his hand, hanging it back up on the receiver.

"Are you crazy?"

"Well—" He smiled as I shook my head at him.

"Do you know how expensive the food is in a hotel, especially a hotel like the Plaza? It’s all extravagant!"

"You only have on life to live, Antoinette." As if that explains everything! It doesn’t. I sighed, putting my hands on my hips. Yet another argument I’m not going to win. I might as well just let him do what he wants. He’s going to, anyway—no matter what I say. He took up the phone and dialed a few numbers, copying them from the menu. I didn’t listen as he spoke into the phone, I went for the window and leaned against it. Looking down, the world hasn’t stopped. Cars are going about, there’s screeching, beeping of car horns and I hear other people cursing the living daylights out of each other—all under New York City’s lights. What a lively city.

I’ve only been here one other time, but I was only a child. I was so excited to go into a toy store with my father—and he sort of went overboard on the toys. He bought me so many things that day, one being this enormous teddy bear. I named him Snuggles and if I remember correctly, he’s up in my attic at home, collecting dust. I want him. I glanced over my shoulder to see my father’s coat laid out on the front of the bed, behind Harry—who still seems to be talking away. I put a hand on my stomach, trying to take in a deep breath. I’m so tired. I don’t know why. I feel like all I did was sleep when I was on the Carpathia—but I know I didn’t sleep soundly. I was so freaked out by the thunder and even though now the rain has dissipated, it’s hard to tell what tomorrow’s weather will bring. I hope it’s sunny. I could use a sunny day.

"Well, they said it could take a little while," Harry said, hanging up the phone. I turned to face him, leaning against the wall beside the window, "But I was able to get the manager or whoever’s in charge to tell me what was on the menu in English. They haven’t made English menus yet."

"Go figure," I said, with a shrug, taking a step towards him as he stood up, trying to straighten his officer’s uniform. "Oh, you’re hopeless!" I laughed, fixing a crooked button on his jacket. "I think this is ruined, maybe beyond fixable."

"I hope it’s fixable! The White Star Line makes you pay if you need a new uniform." He sighed at that.

"Bruce Ismay," I muttered, fixing his collar to the best of my ability. "This is trashed," I decided, with a nod, gesturing to the uniform.

"I’ll let him know you thought so," he joked. "Your opinion is very important to him."

"Well, I’m sure it is—Until or unless he finds out about the china incident."

"Do you still think he’s going to harp about it, Love?" Harry asked me skeptically, trying to fix his cuff links.

"This is Bruce Ismay we’re talking about. He doesn’t forget anything."

"I wonder if he even got off the Carpathia." I stared at him, shocked that he even said that. Of course he got off!

"I would bet any amount of money that he was one of the first to get off."

"Or one of the last." He shrugged. "The press can be brutal, you know." I smiled.

"Oh, we both know that firsthand," I laughed, taking off his hat.

"Hey!" he laughed, trying to take it back. I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck, throwing the hat onto the bed.

"You don’t need it," I said, with a shrug. "I like you without the hat, anyway."

"I like my hat. It keeps my ears warm." I laughed.

"It’s as warm as summer in here and you and I both know that. There." I put my arms to my sides, looking him over. "I think that’s as good as it’s going to get." He shrugged.

"That’s alright. I suppose I can always get a new one in England, if this one isn’t acceptable to the company."

"England?" He wants to go back already? We just got here!

"They make them in a factory somewhere near the White Star Line office, I think." He shrugged. "Really, I have no idea. All I know is that I’m going to have to pay for it." And then we were quiet—until the door was knocked on. The food. Already? It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, but it has to have been. I was really struggling to fix that uniform.

I backed away from Harry as he went for the door. The food came rolling in on multiple carts and he sat me down at one of the many tables in the suite, this one in the middle of the room—as even more trays of food were brought in. He really did buy everything on the menu! I can’t even believe it!

I’m not sure how long we talked for, but Harry and I just talked, ate, talked some more, laughed—there was a lot of laughing until the food disappeared. It was nice to have a hot meal. Sitting now at the table with him, our plates scraped from both the meal, well, multiple meals and the desserts, I leaned back into my chair. I’m trying not to fall asleep! I’m exhausted, but the last thing I want to do is sleep. I just woke up.

"What are you going to do?" Harry’s voice pulled me out of my state of semi-consciousness and I sat up straighter in my chair. He had acted all night as if something had been bothering him, something straining his mind, but I never asked what seemed to be the trouble. I was too busy, inevitably stuffing my face.

"What?" I asked, confused. What does he even mean? He smiled.

"What are you going to do, now that you’re in New York?" I shrugged. I have no idea. I placed my napkin onto my plate slowly, from my lap, folding it, not looking him in the eye.

"There was a plan," I explained slowly. "I was to go back to England with my father after this voyage, on Titanic—and reunite with my mother." I looked up at him. "I suppose that’s not going to happen now."

"What? You going back to England on Titanic or you going back to England at all?"

"I don’t know. I don’t think I could get on another ship again."

"I don’t blame you there," he agreed.

"You’re a seaman, getting on a ship is part of your job description!" I joked. He smiled, before shaking his head.

"You really have nothing holding you here," he sighed. "I know I don’t. I suppose I’ll be staying here for a little while, anyway."

"Until something better comes along," I concluded. Where to go, though—that’s the big question of the night. "My mother would want me back for the funeral," I managed to choke out, trying not to allow my tears to form. Oh, my father. "I don’t even want to go. Is that wrong?" He shook his head. "I just…" I sighed, shaking my head. "I don’t know." It’s not a question of love on my part. I loved, love my father. "I do love him, Harry, I just don’t know if I can handle my mother." I forced a chuckle. "She’s a handful."

"She sounds it." There was silence as I took a sip of my water.

"What about you?" I asked him suddenly. "What are you going to do?"

"Stay with you for as long as humanly possible." He said it so seriously and I didn’t know what to make of it, until he burst into a smile. "I don’t know!" he exclaimed. "I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow!"

"See, neither do I, yet you ask me—expecting this wonderful answer!" I laughed, clearing my throat. "Oh, I’m going to be painting my version of the Eiffel Tower tomorrow at noon, and then I’m going to Rome…" Harry began to laugh.

"And why are you going to Rome, my dear?" he asked sarcastically.

"None of your business!" I said in this elegant, pompous voice.

"But—" I gasped, in shock.

"How dare a ship officer question someone like me! How dare you!" I laughed, rolling my eyes. "And that is my mother, in a nutshell."

"She sounds wonderful."

"Oh, she is," I replied sarcastically. "I’m sure you’d love her."

"I don’t think she’d like me," he said, with a laugh.

"Well…" This is my mother I’m talking about. He’s right, she wouldn’t like him. But, not for the reasons others may think. He’s not society, he’s not a gentleman, he’s everything that she wouldn’t want for me. Plus, he’s a seaman—my mother assumes every man who works on the water is scum to the Earth. But, not Harold Lowe, not him. He breaks the stereotype, he’s not scum. Titanic’s officers broke that stereotype, which I knew never existed in the first place. Men who have money and are in society can be more vicious than any of those officers combined. Look at Bruce Ismay, he’s a prime example. I looked up from my plate to Harry, who was just sitting there, waiting for me to finish what I had started. "You’re right!" I said, with a nod.

"See?" he asked, with a smirk, "She sounds like the nicest woman to ever be put on this Earth—"

"I don’t know how either of us ever put up with her," I admitted.

"Us?" he asked, confused.

"My father and I." I forced a laugh. "I’m not sure how we did it, because my mother is foreign." I smiled, even though Harry has such a skeptical look on his face. "She is!"

"Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I believe you. I really do." His smile didn’t fade as he sighed dreamily. I sighed myself as I leaned back into my chair, resting my head in my palm, fighting to keep my eyes from closing. When there’s no talking, the silence lulls me into this false sense of security. "…Tired, there, Love?" Harry’s voice sounded as if he was so far away, but he’s just right across from me. I know it. I was just in that realm between sleep and being awake, where every sound seems to echo in your ears and you seem to be in a parallel universe. I looked up at him.

"Not really," I lied.

"Even sleepy, you lie." He stood up before making his way towards me. "Come on," he laughed, "let’s move you before you fall asleep in the chair."

"I’m enjoying myself," I argued as he took my hand, forcing me to stand up.

"Well, I’m enjoying myself, too. But…it’s past your bedtime," he joked.

"Bedtimes have been out of the picture since I was nine," I said, pushing the chair in.

"Now, you see that bed right there?" he asked, pointing to the bed merely feet away. I nodded. "Doesn’t it look comfortable?" I sighed, nodding.

"Really, it does." I’m not going to argue.

"All of those fluffy pillows and soft bed sheets…"

"Oh, Harry, stop it!" He smiled, realizing he annoyed me.

"Come, then." He led me towards the bed, turning the blankets over before taking my hand again. "There." He sat me down by my shoulders. "Just lay down," he instructed. I did as I was told, too tired to even think of anything else. He covered me up just as my head fell onto the soft pillows. "How’s that?" he asked softly.

"Nice," I yawned.

"Just to let you know, I’m saving that chocolate cake for tomorrow." The chocolate cake neither of us had touched tonight. That cake.

"Good to know."

"Why don’t you just sleep and I’ll see you in the morning."

"Wait." I took his hand. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"In my room—Where I belong." He smiled, kneeling down to face me. "I’ll come by in the morning. We’ll go out, how’s that?"

"What can we do?"

"I’ll think of something," he promised, kissing my hand before kissing me.

"Can’t you stay here?" I suddenly asked him.

"You need to sleep. Me being here will keep you awake." Not at this rate. "Besides, you need a break from me."

"Oh, do I?" I weakly laughed.

"You do. Even though you’re just so beautiful, I can barely stay away—" He smiled. "…And maybe we both can get some sleep. That way, we can enjoy each other’s company even more tomorrow. How’s that?" He kissed my hand again. "I love you, Antoinette. Very much." Even though I may have heard it so many times from him before, I still don’t get sick of Harry telling me how much he loves me.

"I love you, too, Harry."

"I’ll see you in the morning," he promised. With that, he let go of my hand and left me, shutting the door behind him. I turned onto my side, bringing the blankets closer to me. Tomorrow will be my first day in New York, but it won’t be the first day without my father.

Chapter Forty
Stories