Page 21 of Without a Clue

“It’s just starting. I’ve already seen a few meteors,” he says.

We skip the upright chairs and move out under the direct sky, popping our beach chairs down almost as low as they’ll go, and gaze upward.

We watch for a few minutes.

Somebody slips around a corner, sees us, and slips back.

“We’re going to get in trouble,” I hiss, watching the server glide away.

“Turning off the lights. Terrible offense,” Nash says, tucking his hands beneath his head. “I hear they have prisons on these ships.”

“Or you walk the plank.”

“Or they ration our pistachio pudding servings. Oh. There’s one.”

We both watch as a star streaks long across the sky.

He continues, “No, I think you and Jackie have successfully secured us one of those luxury cruise liners that’ll let anything slide, so long as you’ve paid for your ticket. If you request they fill the pool with Jell-O tomorrow, their next question will be ‘What flavor, miss?’”

“Benefit of being famous authors, I suppose.”

“Benefit of paying a ridiculous sum for this excursion.”

I smile to myself. That was the one fun thing about planning this work trip.

If I had to go, I might as well enjoy going somewhere insanely nice for free.

“After everything that’s happened, I’m giving myself this one,” I say. “I’m fully intending to eat all the pistachio pudding here and do all the paint classes. How do you feel about orange for the Jell-O pool?”

“I’m a cherry man myself.”

“Alright. Cherry it is.”

“So what happened?” Nash asks.

“When?” I say. And then remember. Shoot.

“You just said you’re giving yourself a break this trip given what’s happened. What’s happened?”

But then I cry out and swing my finger toward the perfect diversion. Three stars burst simultaneously onto the sky stage and race with fiery competition to the other end of the world.

He turns.

Mission success.

The meteor shower goes on for another hour at least, and together we watch in quiet, taking it all in. Nash no doubt sees this stuff all the time, but for me it’s breathtaking, a once-in-a-lifetime view, and for an hour at least I’m wholly satisfied. My breath slows, my eyes begin to droop, and somewhere in there a fluffy pool towel ends up covering me. I lie there for who knows how long, in peace.

I fall asleep, and I tell ya what. My sound machine by my bed has nothing on the real thing.

Nash doesn’t break my moment, but somewhere along the way I hear the quiet clacking of his laptop, a calming rhythm to the stillness of the world around me.

The first thing I see when I wake up is the stars, brilliant but unmoving.

The show is over.

I look around.

Nash has moved himself quietly over to the table. His laptop is open. The glow of the screen lights up his face, and he looks up mid-typing, catching my eyes. I begin pulling up the back of my pool chair and sitting up again, and he shuts the computer.