The Living

by Matt De La Peña

When Shy finally turned back around, he found a man standing out on the deck in the rain, dressed in a yellow Paradise slicker, watching him.

  Shy knew right away he wasn’t part of the crew.

  15

  A Few Questions

  “You can’t be out here!” Shy shouted over the storm.

  The man didn’t move or say a word, just kept watching Shy.

  Rain flooded the deck as Shy started breaking down the two remaining umbrellas. He pretended to be so occupied with his task he didn’t have time to worry about the man. Secretly, though, his heart was beating in his throat. He wanted to get this over and be done with it, but not now. Not during a storm, after he’d just gotten sick.

  A streak of lightning stabbed into the sea not far from the ship. Thunder roared.

  Shy hurried the poles across the deck, addressing the man again: “You have to go inside, sir!”

  The man nodded.

  Inside the supply room, Shy stacked the umbrella poles on the storage racks, then fumbled for his keys and started back toward the door, thinking only about getting inside the ship, everything would be fine once he got inside the ship.

  When the man stepped into the doorway of the supply room, Shy stopped cold, said: “Sir, nobody’s supposed to be out here. I need to lock up.”

  The man stepped aside, and Shy hurried out of the supply room, pulled the door closed and locked it. The man followed Shy into the vacant Luxury Lounge, where he started unzipping his wet slicker and said: “It’s Shy, am I right?”

  Shy tried to hide the fact that he was so nervous he was having trouble catching his breath. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Bill,” the man said, pulling off his slicker. Sure enough, he was wearing a black suit.

  They both stumbled a little as the ship pitched more dramatically, Shy holding his hand out against the wall for balance.

  “I want you to understand right up front,” the man said, “there’s no trouble here. At least there doesn’t have to be. I just need to ask you a few questions.” He had curly black hair. A mole on the right side of his nose. He smiled like this was an everyday kind of conversation for him.

  All Shy could think about was how this was the man Kevin had warned him about. The man who’d been watching him. But this wasn’t the time for questions. Didn’t the man understand the ship was getting pummeled by a storm?

  Shy watched him calmly pull a small pad of paper and a pen from his pocket. “Now, it’s my understanding that on the previous voyage, you witnessed a man jump overboard. Right out there, in fact.” He pointed through the glass doors, toward the Honeymoon Deck. “Is this correct, Shy?”

  “Yeah…,” Shy said, hesitating. He didn’t understand why the man wanted to have this conversation now. Couldn’t he wait until morning? Shy glanced over his shoulder, saw that the hall door was open.

  “Tell me about it,” the man said.

  “Like I explained to everyone else,” Shy answered, pulling off his wet hood. “I gave him a bottle of water, then I helped these two older ladies. A few minutes later I saw him climbing over the railing and ran over and grabbed his arm, tried to pull him back up. But he was too heavy. That’s it, I swear.”

  The man looked up from his pad. “We have no doubt this was a suicide. I’m not here to ask questions that have already been answered.”

  Shy wondered what “we” the guy was referring to. Had to be the company Franco had mentioned, LasoTech.

  “All I need to know,” the man went on, “is what was said in those last few minutes. Because we have, in fact, spoken to the two women you referenced in your official police statement. They both claim that when they walked outside, you and Mr. Williamson were engaged in a conversation.”

  Fear shot through Shy’s body.

  Throughout the many hours of questioning that followed the suicide, Shy had never mentioned speaking to Mr. Williamson. It had never occurred to him that the two old ladies might have said something about it. So, what now? Did he add new information to his story? Wouldn’t that make people even more suspicious?

  “What were you and Mr. Williamson discussing, Shy? What was he sharing with you?”

  Shy stared at the floor in front of him, the ship moving as erratically as his thoughts. Why was he so worried, though? It’s not like he had anything to hide. “He wasn’t making any sense,” Shy finally answered. “That’s why I never brought it up.”

  The man nodded. “Maybe it will make sense to me. Try to remember his words.”

  “He called himself a coward,” Shy said. “I remember that. And he asked me where I was from.”

  The man wrote all this down. “And where did you tell him you were from, Shy?”

  Shy shrugged. “I don’t get why any of this matters, sir.”

  “Please,” the man said. “Call me Bill. And it matters because my client needs to know everything that was said, no matter how irrelevant it may seem to you. Now, where did you tell him you were from?”

  “Otay Mesa. In San Diego.”

  The man nodded and wrote this down. “And how did Mr. Williamson respond to this?”

  “He said he knew it was by the border.”

  “And after that?”

  Shy knew he was explaining things out of order, but his conversation with the comb-over man didn’t make any sense no matter how he told it. “He said he had a bunch of vacation homes. And when I congratulated him, he got mad. I’m pretty sure he’d had a lot to drink.”

  The man nodded, still writing.

  “And that’s it,” Shy said. “Then those two ladies came outside.”

  The man looked up from his pad of paper. “There’s nothing else, Shy? You’re sure?”

  “There’s nothing else,” Shy lied. He glanced over his shoulder again, at the open door to the hall.

  The man put away his pad of paper and his pen and walked over to the window. It was raining so hard you could barely even see the water now. “Rough storm,” he said. “I understand it will be over by morning, though. And we’ll be on our way to Hawaii.” He turned back around, said: “You ever been to Hawaii, Shy?”

  Shy shook his head, feeling overwhelmed by everything. The storm. The questioning. The memory of the comb-over man falling. Addison crying and asking who he was. He looked over his shoulder at the door again.

  “One of my favorite places on earth,” the man continued. “My wife and I go every year. We like to walk the beach early in the morning.” Bill turned to Shy. “You’d like to enjoy Hawaii, too, wouldn’t you?”

  Shy stared at the guy, trying to figure out if he was being threatened.

  “I still have a few more interviews to conduct,” Bill continued. “And if your story doesn’t check out, I’ll be forced to find you. Do you understand what I’m saying, Shy?”

  “I gotta go,” Shy said, backing away. “I gotta get back to work.”

  The man’s face grew cold and he pointed at Shy. “Don’t walk away from me, Shy.”

  Shy shrugged, then spun around and hurried out the door, into the hall. Before ducking down a flight of stairs he looked over his shoulder, saw that the man was still pointing at him.

  16

  International News

  First thing Shy did when he got back to his cabin was lock the door and log on to Rodney’s computer.

  Still no email from his mom about Miguel.

  He wondered if the lack of communication was a good thing or a bad thing as he pulled off his wet shoes and socks, his shirt. He collapsed onto his cot and closed his eyes, the backs of his lids stinging hot with exhaustion, the storm shifting everything around in his room.

  If he could just fall asleep.

  Then everything would be okay.

  He’d wake up rested and the storm would be over and his thoughts would be clear again. He’d Skype with his mom, and she’d tell him the good news about Miguel. The medicine was already working. He was going to make a complete recovery. And then Shy would go meet with Franco about the man in the
black suit. Bill. And he’d find out who exactly he was and what he wanted.

  Everything would be okay if he could just fall asleep.

  But Shy couldn’t shut off his stupid mind.

  There was too much to worry about: the surging storm and the questions about the comb-over man and Miguel lying in the quarantine unit and even the look on Addison’s face when she asked who he was. He tossed and turned for almost an hour before finally sitting up and deciding he needed to go find Carmen.

  He slipped his feet into fresh socks and a backup pair of shell tops, pulled on a new shirt. He left the cabin hoping Carmen would forgive him, at least for tonight. She could go right back to being mad in the morning if she wanted, but right now he seriously needed her.

  The ship was lurching so violently now it was impossible to walk straight. Shy found himself stumbling up the stairs like a drunk, holding on to the railing and the walls. As he staggered down the hall, though, he realized he was no longer nauseous. He cracked up a little in his head, amazed that Shoeshine’s wristband was actually keeping him from feeling sick. It was the one positive in the entire night.

  Shy popped his head into the Normandie Theater. An older-looking comedian was telling bad Titanic jokes to a small, scattered crowd. The Grand Casino was nearly empty, too. The colorful strobe lights still flashed and dealers manned their tables. Cocktail waitresses were huddled near the bar. But only a dozen or so passengers were playing in the poker tournament.

  Shy kept looking over his shoulder as he moved through the ship. He was sure he’d spot the suit guy following him at some point, but there was never anyone there.

  He ducked his head into a few of the clubs. House music or hip-hop still blaring, but the dance floors all deserted. He found Kevin in Blue Water Disco pouring drinks for two women sitting at the bar. Kevin looked up and they waved to each other; then Shy continued toward the front of the ship.

  It was eerie seeing all the hot spots empty this early in the night. Usually passengers were everywhere, drinking and gambling and eating, dancing in the clubs, soaking in the Lido Deck Jacuzzi. But tonight even the main promenade was quiet. Everyone apparently waiting out the storm in the comfort of their own cabins.

  Eventually Shy made his way to the Karaoke Room, where Carmen, still wearing her fancy dress and heels, was standing on the stage, watching a news report on TV.

  She was the only person in the room.

  “What, nobody showed up?” Shy called to her from the door.

  Carmen shut off the TV and spun around. “Hey,” she said. Even though she was smiling she seemed upset—because of the storm, he assumed.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Of course I’m okay.” She kneeled down, started packing up her things. Over her shoulder she told him: “A few people wandered in earlier, looked around, then wandered back out.”

  Shy leaned against the wall for balance. “What were you just watching?”

  Carmen ignored his question.

  She stood up, locked her equipment in a trunk on the right side of the stage, picked up her bag and moved cautiously down the stage stairs, toward Shy. “This storm’s tossing us all over the place. Doesn’t exactly make people feel like singing.”

  “Doesn’t make ’em feel like doing anything,” Shy said. “You seen it out there? There’s nobody.”

  The ship jerked violently as if on cue, and Carmen grabbed Shy’s arm to keep her balance. “I’m not gonna lie,” she said, “it’s messing with me a little, too. And I never get seasick.”

  “Try this,” Shy told her, pulling off his wristband. “That guy Shoeshine made it.”

  Carmen stared at it, frowning. “Shoeshine? Nah, I think I’m good.”

  He smiled. “It really works, I promise. You just line the button up with the inside of your wrist.”

  She looked at Shy, her glassy eyes creating a tiny ache in his chest. She’d definitely been crying.

  “Fine,” she said, taking the wristband and slipping it on. “But if I get scabies or some shit…”

  Shy watched her position the button.

  She looked at him again, but all squinty-eyed this time, like she was trying to figure something out. “What’s going on with you, Shy?”

  He shook his head. “Just this storm, man.”

  “Nah, it’s more than that,” she said. “I maybe haven’t known you that long, but I can tell when something’s up.”

  Shy shook his head. But the fact that she could read his mind made the chest ache grow heavier. It felt like things were normal between them again, like before they messed around.

  “Spill it,” Carmen said.

  Shy could feel everything bubbling up inside him, like a shook-up soda. He knew the second he opened his mouth it would all come spewing out. He stared at her heels for a few seconds, concentrating on the movement of the floorboards and trying to think how to put it. He looked back at Carmen, said: “Me and my mom finally did that Skype call. The one I told you about.”

  Her face grew serious. “And?”

  He shook his head.

  “Shy? Is she okay?”

  Seeing Carmen look so worried about him made Shy feel overwhelmed with emotion, to the point that he couldn’t speak.

  “Oh my God,” Carmen said. “She’s sick, isn’t she?”

  He shook his head. “My nephew.”

  Carmen dropped her bag and covered her mouth. “What’s happening, Shy? For real.”

  “I don’t even know.” Shy’s throat felt so tight his words came out flimsy.

  “When you came in I was watching an international news channel,” she said. “The guy said this Romero shit has spread all the way up to Oakland now. They even did a profile on some Beverly Hills CEO’s wife who got sick.”

  So this was why she was upset. It was more than just the storm.

  “But here’s what pisses me off,” Carmen said. “Why isn’t it international news when it hits where we live? Why isn’t there a profile about my dad? Or your grandma?”

  Shy shook his head. “They got Miguel on that new medicine, at least. But I swear, Carm. It’s messing with my head.”

  They were both quiet for a few seconds, looking at different parts of the floor. Then Carmen picked up her bag and grabbed Shy by his forearm. “Come on,” she said. “We’re going to my room.”

  Shy looked at her, surprised. “Your room?”

  She nodded. “You heard me. This is an emergency.”

  They left the Karaoke Room together, Carmen walking slowly and cautiously in her heels, Shy trying not to overthink where they were going, or what it meant.

  17

  A Sliver of Carmen

  Carmen bought them each a slice of pizza at the crew cafeteria; then she led him back to her cabin, where she cued up more Brazilian music on her laptop and kicked off her heels. “First off,” she said, “you remember how I made up rules for us, right?”

  He did.

  She pulled out the desk chair and pointed for Shy to sit. “Well, the second one is this: no more of your cheesy hand-holding tests.” She sat on the side of her cot, as far away from Shy’s chair as possible. “Especially in my room. The only reason you’re in here right now is so we can talk about your nephew. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Shy said, taking a bite of his slice. He felt guilty, though, like she might think he was using Miguel’s condition to get close to her. But that’s not how it was.

  He pointed at her laptop, said: “Mind if I check my email real quick?”

  “Go ’head.”

  Shy logged on. His in-box was still empty, though, so he logged right back off.

  “Nothing?” Carmen said.

  Shy shook his head and sat back in the chair, picked up what was left of his slice. As they ate, Shy noticed that the ship was a little calmer now. “You think we’re past the bad part of the storm?”

  Carmen shrugged. “It’s definitely not thrashing around as much.” She wadded up her paper plate, adding: “You were rig
ht about this wristband, by the way. I can’t believe I was able to eat something.”

  “Maybe Shoeshine’s a genius,” Shy said.

  Carmen laughed a little. “I don’t know about that. But he’s definitely mysterious. One time I saw him shooting a damn bow and arrow off the back of the ship. Middle of the night.”

  Shy decided “mysterious” was the right word. “I saw a bunch of books in his bag earlier. I think one of them had to do with science or something. Where’s he even from, anyway?”

  Carmen shrugged. “Vlad from security said he spent half his life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. This girl Jessica who works in the spa said he was never in jail, he worked on a cattle ranch. Someone else told me he used to be homeless.” Carmen shook her head. “Who knows, right? You can’t trust none of these fools.”

  She got up and lowered the music some. “Anyways, I want you to back up and tell me everything about your nephew.”

  Shy threw away his plate, too, and sat back down.

  He told her how his mom and sis had taken Miguel in as soon as the whites of his eyes turned pink, and how the doctors diagnosed him with Romero Disease on the spot and got him on meds. He told her how expensive everything was going to be because his sister didn’t have insurance, how he told his mom to cash the bond he won at a halftime shooting contest and how there was a selfish part of him that was actually stressed about losing the money, and he hated that part of himself.

  Carmen shook her head and said how sorry she was, and then she told him more about the news program she’d been watching when he walked in. “I guess they’re doing all this research now and coming up with treatments. Did you know they found out it can spread through water? Or how about that you have to get on those meds within twenty-four hours or you’re done.”

  “That’s what my mom told me.”

  “When it was just in our neighborhoods they didn’t research shit.”

  Shy shook his head. He was starting to understand that some people’s lives mattered more than others. Back home, that thought never would’ve crossed his mind. But working on a cruise ship made him notice things.