A Man Overboard (3 page)

Like cancer.

Stacey sat down next to him, her gaze also locked on the rolling mystery they were floating on. “She has the money, and she just wants us—”

“You.”

“—
me
,” she corrected herself, “to enjoy myself before everything slips down the crapper.”

He positioned himself up on an elbow and stroked her long hair. “It’s gonna be okay.”

She turned her eyes from the expanse and set them down on him, smiling sadly. Without a word, she reached down and grabbed his other hand, holding it tight.

It was true. According to the doctors, cancer had been detected in the aftermath of her last mammogram. Jack was half-convinced that it came from the mammograms themselves, as studies have shown that radiating your breasts every year can actually cause tumors to grow. It was a conversation they’d had a bit too late. But it didn’t matter because they were going to beat it. The question was
how
? They were both highly skeptical of all the traditional treatments, as many of them had been proven to cause the very cancer they’re supposed to treat. And there was no way she was going to spend the last four years of her life begging for death, looking like some sixty-pound extra from the set of
The Walking Dead.
There were other options available, and they were going to investigate them all before starting down that gauntlet of misery. As far as they were concerned, much of western medicine was designed to make a profit off the sick and dying anyway. When insurance companies were footing the bill for “the cure,” why market prevention? It was a trillion-dollar industry where the top ten pharmaceutical companies in the US make more money than the remaining four hundred and ninety Fortune 500 companies. And as always, everything came down to money. From inoculations to epidurals, the propaganda practiced by the Society was shameless. Like CDC researchers advising mothers to stop breastfeeding in order to make vaccines more effective (vaccines that increase the number of diseases a child was likely to get by 500%). That the Supreme Court protects vaccine makers from lawsuits and that there is even a federally funded National Vaccine Injury Compensation Program that has paid out over a billion dollars since 1986 added no solace when it came to trusting the medical community with the health and wellbeing of their son. But this wasn’t even about Joseph or autism or mercury. This was about cancer and its accepted treatment, a treatment that could turn their foreseeable future into a horror film. So, a gift from mother-in-law, this two-week cruise was their calm before the storm, and though it was never put into words, perhaps their last chance to be happy together.

Leaning over, Stacey kissed him on the cheek while sliding her hand up his leg. Then she got up and began undressing as she left the room.

Jack watched her leave and had to fight hard and quick to reinforce the dam that was keeping all his worry at bay. There was plenty of time to be concerned later. For now, they were going to forget about cancer and enjoy themselves in ways they hadn’t since before Joseph was born—a period of time that now seemed to have been incredibly too short.

He reached over for the television remote and turned on the big flat screen that hung on the wall beside the bed. The channel showed the ship’s progress, a red dot moving slowly against a map. The tip of Florida was still in view, as were the approaching Bahamas. They were about sixty miles away from Miami now.

Stacey entered the room again, now wearing some kind of transparent robe thingy. As she opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, Jack stared in amazement at his wife’s beauty. Over the last four years, she had managed to regain all she’d lost in childbearing, her body a finer piece of sensuous art than it had ever been before. She stood with her back to him, the wind blowing her sexy veil open and back like she was a superhero, her cape flapping behind her. There was no one but him to see her nakedness, the balcony privately set apart from the rest of the staterooms. Only Neptune could see her…or a sailor at his periscope.

He stared at her for another five minutes before she turned and walked back in.

“Want to take a shower before dinner?”

He was out of the bed faster than a startled frog off a lily pad.

4

The sun was setting behind Stacey’s head, highlighting her golden hair and casting a radiant halo. The black dress she was wearing was form fitting and revealed enough to attract even the purest of eyes. Jack didn’t need to worry about that, though. Everything he saw was his. He recalled a verse from somewhere in Proverbs—a verse he and his junior high friends had no trouble committing to memory back in Father Jacob’s class.
Let thy fountain be blessed: and rejoice with the wife of thy youth. Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant roe; let her breasts satisfy thee at all times: and be thou ravished always with her love.
He was satisfied all right. And though his eyes might wander from time to time, it was only because he was a curious human being, not because he wished for something more than he already had.

“What are you smirking at?” Stacey asked.

He didn’t realize his thoughts had made it to his face. “I was just reciting some scripture.”

She rolled her eyes in mock disgust.

“Communist,” he quipped.

“From Russia with love, baby.” She winked at him, leaning forward on the table and giving him more to take in.

“‘Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.’”

She smiled. “Really?”

“‘This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.’”

“Tell me more.” She slid the menu over, ignoring a group of people squeezing past her chair and sitting at a table beside them.

“‘I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples.’”

“Apples, huh?”

He shrugged. “Wisest guy to ever live. Had a thousand wives.”

“That’s a lot of breasts.”

“Two thousand, I believe.”

She leaned back and brought the menu up, blocking his view of her clusters. “A theologian… I had no idea. Shall we debate over dinner?”

“About the smell of your nose?”

“The existence of God.”

He moved his gaze to the waters resting just over her shoulder. “I’d rather not. You know what they said about the
Titanic
.”

“You think God sunk the boat because some idiot said that God
couldn’t
sink it?”

“Idiot? I would think you’d agree.”

“That God couldn’t sink a boat? That implies that there is a God who can’t sink a boat. So he’s an idiot. Secondly, if there was a God, then He could certainly sink anything He wanted. So he’s an idiot twice over.”

“Wow.” He leaned back and studied her. “You’re my theology. Beauty, love… How can I behold you and not believe in a Creator?”

She smiled. “I love it when you’re naive. It’s so sweet.”

Jack loved the quipping and did his part to ensure that it was exercised often; their differing views on spiritual matters a source of mock-contention that they found entertaining. When Jack’s parents died, his grandmother had taken him in, determined to see him raised right. A religious woman if there ever was one, it was only natural that Jack ended up with a Christian education (rather than, as Grandmom said, “the propaganda the State’s shoveling into the youth these days”—though Jack had found its own propaganda within his Christian education, too). Good old Grandmom, how he missed her. She died the day after he turned nineteen, and even though her faith hadn’t managed to make a convert out of him, he’d seen and heard enough to know that there had to be
something
out there. He just didn’t know what. But, boy oh boy, would Grandmom be filled with righteous indignation if she knew he’d married a Russian atheist!
Sorry, Granny.

The restaurant they were in was magnificent, and if it weren’t for the view behind them, they could easily forget they were actually floating in the middle of the ocean. The waiter came over to their table.

“Are you lovely people ready to order?” he asked with an accent Jack didn’t recognize.

“Give us a few more seconds,” he answered.

“Certainly, sir.” And he glided away.

Jack reached his hands out across the table and took Stacey’s hands in his, looking her straight in the eye. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” She leaned forward across the table and kissed him passionately, gliding her tongue over his lips as she withdrew. “Order me something strong.”

* * * *

After dinner, dancing, and bowling, they were both relatively drunk and couldn’t keep from laughing as they walked to the elevator en route to the night’s top performance on the main stage. Descending, the glass walls of the elevator gave them a bird’s-eye view of the ship’s atrium area. It resembled a shopping mall with its kiosks, escalators, and fountains. There was even a grand piano being played.

“I haven’t gotten this drunk since Joseph was conceived,” Stacey exclaimed, leaning on Jack and finding his back pocket.

“What are you talking about?” he laughed. “You were as sober as a judge…” He cracked up at the old saying.

“That must’ve been the other guy, then!” She hit him in the chest, laughing louder.

The elevator reached the floor, and they stumbled out. “Which way to the stage, please?” Jack called out, feigning seriousness while crossing his arms and pointing in opposite directions.

A woman standing behind a semi-circular counter that was actually a fish tank pointed them toward the front of the ship.

Jack waved his thanks and then looked to Stacey, horrified. “Hey,” he whispered, “you see that?”

“What?”

“That lady’s standing in the fish tank.”

“I think she’s standing behind it, babe.”

He stood back and pondered this revelation. “Oh. Well, should we throw her a life preserver just in case?”

“She’ll be fine! Now, go!” She shoved him in the back.

“Okay, okay…”

They sat at a round table in the back of the room so that they could continue frequenting the bar. It wasn’t like they needed to be in the front row throwing their undergarments at the feet of this Bob Marley cover band anyway—though had they been closer, anything would’ve be possible.

“Another drink?” she asked him once the music started pumping and the lights started strobing.

He nodded, and as she walked to the bar, he studied her. The dress didn’t cover her back, and the giant disco ball hanging over the stage sent the laser show that accompanied the act dancing across her bare skin. He couldn’t wait to get back to their room.

Then the alcohol pierced a hole through his defense system, and those forbidden thoughts began leaking through one drop at a time. He thought of what life would be like without her. Of what Joseph’s life would be like without her.

A tear slid down his face.

No
. It wouldn’t happen. They wouldn’t let it. They would beat this damn disease if it cost them every cent they would ever make. He shook the thought from his head, plugging the hole and refortifying his resolve to forget, for two weeks, that this thing called cancer even existed.

Stacey came walking back to him like a fantasy walking through a dream, the music playing her soundtrack, the rays of light glorifying her essence. She sat in his lap. After taking a sip of whatever she’d ordered, she grabbed the back of his head and pressed her mouth against his.

He moved his hands across her back, cherishing the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips.

5

He practically tore her dress off once they got back to the suite, and what started in the doorway ended out on the balcony, neither one of them in their drunken state conscious of how loud they’d been.

Jack stepped out of the shower, which he’d taken to wash some of the stupor away, and stepped into the bedroom. Lying on her side across the bed was Stacey in a black lace piece of lingerie he’d never seen before. She gave him a daring smile as he let the towel slip away. This was going to be the best two weeks ever.

* * * *

Exhausted, Jack collapsed onto the bed.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” Stacey responded. She didn’t seem as drunk all of a sudden. She got up from the bed and slipped out of what had somehow managed to stay on during the last half hour. “I’m going to walk down to the internet café.”

He rolled onto his back. “Why?”

“I want to see how Joseph is doing.”

Jack chuckled. “Your mom probably has him halfway to Russia by now.” When she didn’t respond, he rolled to his side and found her standing there in the shadows, naked and staring at him. There was a strange expression on her face, one that he couldn’t place, but that seemed to embody a general sadness…regret, even. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She pulled on a pair of jeans. Walking to the door, she said, “I’ll be right back.”

“First of all, you’re topless. Second of all, why don’t you just call on your cell?” She looked down at her breasts as if examining them, or consulting them. The thought of her possibly having to lose them was an unpleasant one, and he wondered if the mutilating of her perfect beauty would affect his theology.

She finally looked up and smiled. “That would have turned some heads.” She went for a shirt. “The phone doesn’t have a signal. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back. It’s only two decks down.”

“Okay, but be careful. Remember that
60 Minutes
episode.”

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll be back.”

He tried not thinking of Arnold Schwarzenegger making the statement as the door closed. Instead, he wanted to play back the night a few times. But then his mind went crazy and scenes from Arnold’s
Red Heat
began playing through his head—the movie in which he played a Russian cop. It’s not what he wanted to be thinking about. But then he noticed Stacey’s phone lighting up on the bedside table.
That figures
, he thought. Flipping the phone open, he saw a text message from a number that wasn’t in her address book—no name, profile, or prior history accompanying it. The message didn’t make any sense, though, just random numbers.
Wrong number…
and he slid off into a cloud of pleasant dreams.