Promptly at four P.M., the Royal Mermaid began her Santa Cruise out of the Port of Miami. By then, a thoroughly frazzled Commodore felt a little relief after grilling Dudley about how so many things could go wrong before they had even shoved off. Not getting a satisfactory answer from an equally frazzled Dudley, he headed for the bridge. He stood beside Captain Horatio Smith as the captain fired up the engines. It was reassuring to be in Smith’s presence. After a mandatory retirement from a small but excellent cruise line, the seventy-five-year-old Smith had happily accepted the offer to be at the helm of the Royal Mermaid.
“All aboard, Commodore?” Smith asked.
“Minus one,” the Commodore said grimly, not knowing he was actually plus one. “I just hope I won’t have to pitch in and wait tables myself.” Standing with Smith, who hadn’t done anything stupid yet, the Commodore felt his good humor begin to return. Every maiden voyage has its ups and downs, he realized. The Commodore had been disappointed by the anguished expression on Eric’s face when he was told he had to give up his room and move in with his uncle. He seemed so anxious to share this time together when we visited last night, the Commodore thought. One would think that he’d be happy to be even closer to me. We’d have more time to share. Oh well.
The Commodore turned to see how many people might be standing at the Peek-a-Boo window, which allowed passengers to watch the captain as he steered the ship. Another disappointment. There was only one observer, Harry Crater, a sickly looking fellow. In fact, he looks like he’s about to keel over, the Commodore thought. When I chatted with him at the cocktail party, it was a relief to hear that he owned a helicopter, and if he had a medical emergency, he would send for it immediately. I wouldn’t wish him hard luck, but perhaps a passing medical problem requiring the helicopter would be a newsworthy item. It would highlight our ability to respond to emergencies by having our own landing pad. He made a mental note to point that out to Dudley.
The Commodore waved and saluted.
At the Peek-a-Boo window, Harry Crater waved back. It was the feeble movement of a powerful arm that was being concealed by a jacket two sizes too large. He didn’t care about anything except the heliport, and that was obviously satisfactory for his plan.
Remembering to lean on the cane, he shuffled away.
The Commodore watched him depart. His health may be failing, but clearly his spirit has not been broken. I just hope this cruise is of benefit to him. I wonder how much good he did for the rest of the human race this year. I must ask Dudley, he told himself.
“Would you like to push the button?” the captain asked, a twinkle in his eye.
“Indeed!” the Commodore replied. Like a baby with a toy steering wheel, he slapped his hand down on the toot button.
Tooooooooot! Tooooooooot!!
“We’re on our way!” the Commodore cried joyfully. “And there’s no turning back!”