Chapter 19
Beatrice woke up with a headache. Had she overdone it with the bourbon last night?
The scent of frying bacon let her know that Jon was up and fixing breakfast. That man. He was a good one.
She sat up slowly—her bones weren’t happy with her this morning. Was a storm going to blow in? She made a mental note to check the local weather, not only the Caribbean weather. From what she could tell last night, the little boat on their Web site was moving again, which meant that it had been rerouted because of the storm. That was a good thing.
She reached for her robe and slipped it on and padded downstairs to the kitchen. She stood a moment to marvel at her man frying bacon and eggs. She glanced at the coffeepot, full and fresh. He was a winner.
“Good morning,” she said, coming up behind him, wrapping her arms around him.
“Good morning, mon amie,” he said. “There is your aspirin.” He pointed to the counter where a glass of water and an aspirin sat ready for her.
“Well, now. How’d you know?” she said.
“You left the bottle out. You always get a headache from it,” he said. “No matter what your daddy told you, I do not think it is good for what ails you.”
She smiled, then took her aspirin. “The good news is the Jezebel is moving again. Of course, it’s not heading for the Mexican coast anymore. Thank heaven for that. I was worried because it doesn’t seem like the cruise is being run professionally.”
Jon sighed and fiddled with the sizzling bacon. “The Mexican coast is getting hit hard. It’s devastating to these small coastal communities.”
“It’s a shame,” Beatrice said, and reached into the cupboard to get a cup. Lawd, she needed some coffee. She had too busy a day ahead to let a headache get the best of her.
After pouring herself the coffee, she sat down at the table and drank it silently. Jon piled plates high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits, and brought them to the table.
“Thanks for making breakfast this morning. I’ll clean up,” she said.
“No thanks needed, Bea,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
After a mostly silent breakfast, Jon informed her that snow was expected, which didn’t surprise Beatrice, given the way her bones ached. They always seem to know, unfortunately.
“It’s supposed to start tonight,” Jon said.
“Tonight? Maybe I’ll try to move the meeting up to this afternoon.” She had one more official meeting planned for the Christmas bazaar.
Lizzie came bounding her way down the stairs and climbed up on Beatrice’s lap.
“Good morning, sugar. You hungry?” Beatrice said.
Lizzie nodded and Jon set a plate in front of her. She dug her head into Beatrice’s chest and sobbed. “I miss Mama.”
“Aww, baby,” Beatrice said, as she slipped her arms around her. “I miss her, too. She’ll be home soon.”
“In the meantime, your daddy is going to come and get you today and he’s going to take you to see Santa. Isn’t that exciting?” Jon said.
She sniffed and nodded.
Beatrice’s heart ached. That child loved her mama, of course. They’d been through a lot together, perhaps making them closer than most. Bill’s odd relationship with one of his law students was something both Vera and Elizabeth had suffered through. Some people should never have children. Bill was one of them. Beatrice hated sending her granddaughter off with him this morning, but the man had proven he was a fit parent according to the court’s definition. It struck Beatrice, then, as it did from time to time, that half the world’s problems would be solved if people were tested before they were allowed to become parents.
Oh, she could hear the crazies calling her fascist and inbred now. But, Lawd, some people should not breed. For years, she thought she might be one of them. After all, if she were to be honest with herself, physics was her first love. But then there was Ed, and when she met him she had grappled with the desire to bear his child. They got one in right under the wire. And she was a doozie.
“I had a dream about Mommy last night,” Elizabeth said. “I dreamed she was fighting an octopus!”
“Did she win? Did she kill that ol’ octopus?” Beatrice said.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I woke up before the ending. But his arms were around her and she was crying.”
“Dreams are funny things,” Beatrice said.
“You’ve been watching too much Jacques Cousteau,” Jon said, setting a plate of biscuits on the table.
“But he’s neat,” she said. “I like the way he talks. He talks like you, Grandpa.”
Beatrice loved to hear her call him Grandpa. So sweet.
Jon’s eyes caught hers. He loved it, too. “He’s just another crazy French guy,” he said, and smiled.
“Yep,” she said, and nodded her head. Then she turned her attention to her food.
After breakfast, Bill showed up for his weekend with Lizzie. Beatrice had to admit that he was good with her. It was the rest of his life he was not so good at—but bad decisions affected parenting, too.
As soon as she was gone, Bea sauntered over to her computer and clicked it on. She checked the ship’s Web site to make certain the ship was moving away from the Mexican coast. She needed the certainty of knowing.
It was there that she read the news that another death had occurred on the ship. Harold Tuft, who had been a friend of Allie Monroe. Cause of death: unknown.
Unknown? Did that mean he was killed, too? Hmmm. Beatrice searched for him and Allie online. Sure enough, she found rumors about them dating and so on. Lawd, there were a lot of things online about this woman. Some kind of scrapbooking star. Hmph. Scrapbooking star or not, someone didn’t like her or her boyfriend.