Page 50 of Without a Clue

A small smile slips up my lips.

“What about your workshops?”

“I don’t care about my workshops.”

“I care about your workshops.”

“Why do you care about my workshops?”

“Well, the people came to hear your workshops.”

“So?”

“And the ship is expecting you to carry on your workshops.”

“So?”

“And I’ll deal with potentially a four-million-dollar demand for refunds and a thousand angry messages and be harassed by both the ship and the guests here with no way out if you don’t do your silly little two-hour workshops.”

“Fine. But for the record, aside from all that, I just care about survival. That’s all I’ve got in mind. Survival. How to get us out of here. For that to happen in the room we were in . . .” Nash shakes his head.

It’s clearly gotten to him.

“That’s fair. Survival it is.” I load up another piece of bread with butter.

Nash tilts his head, watching me. “Hey, who’s this calm, composed Penelope right now? You’re steadier than I am in all this.”

I shrug. “I guess . . . I feel like you can do all the worrying for me. It’s oddly comforting.”

“My fears are oddly comforting?”

“Grounding, I’d say.”

“My fears are oddly grounding,” he repeats, more to himself than me.

“Yup. You’re shouldering the worry. I appreciate that.”

Nash takes a minute, and then a smile cracks on one side of his face. He rubs his chin and lips with his hand. “Shouldering the worry. Smooth wording, Pip. I might have to put that in my book. Hey . . . so why didn’t you tell me about Michael?”

My knife slips.

He’s shifted his weight forward in the pearl-rimmed upholstered cream chair, all flannel and boots in a seat made for a tea party.

“You got the whole story?”

“Uh-huh.”

I look back to my bread and knife. “Who told you?”

“Neena. Sometime after the delirious crying spells and before she went to Candyland.”

Neena’s making her way round the room now, squatting at a table of readers, chatting her heart out without a care in the world.

She’s wearing a purple feather boa.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not sorry.” Nash is looking back at me now.

I tilt my head.