Free Playing for Keeps by Joan Lowery Nixon Page A

baseball.
    During dinner, with the wonderful food and the golden staircase and the glittering chandeliers, I felt guilty about Mom. Mom loved shrimp cocktail. Mom’s favorite show tunes were included in a piano medley. Why hadn’t I made peace with her before I left on the trip?
    Right after dinner I went to the ship’s library, where a sign on the desk listed the e-mail rate as fifty cents a minute. I had some spending money. I could pay Glory back.
    Dear Mom,
I typed.
I miss you. You don’t always think I want to talk to you, but I really do,
and I would if you’d give me the chance. Glory listens, but you . . .
    I deleted everything back to
I miss you
and started over. I wanted to tell her about Ricky, but how did I know who else would read this e-mail? Hadn’t there been lots of stories in the news about e-mail not really being private? I couldn’t write about Ricky.
    Dear Mom, I miss you. You’d love this ship, and
I keep thinking how I wish you were here. Someday maybe you and I can take a cruise together. I
hope so. I love you, Rose Ann.
    I clicked
Send
and
OK.
    I flopped back in the chair, disappointed. I hadn’t said any of the things I really wanted to say. I hadn’t written anything that would make up for the argument Mom and I’d had. When I saw how much time it had taken me to write an e-mail that added up to the same old “wish you were here,” I was shocked. At fifty cents a minute?
    It was close to eight o’clock by my watch, so I went to the stateroom and telephoned Ricky. Glory and some of her friends had gone to the lounge to see the evening’s entertainment. I was eager to talk to Ricky, even if it was only for a few moments.
    I expected Neil to answer the phone, but instead I heard Ricky’s voice.
    “I want to see you, Rose,” he said.
    “That might not be a good idea,” I told him. “We don’t want to disturb Neil’s grandmother.”
    “I didn’t mean here,” Ricky said. “Can we find a quiet place on the ship?”
    “There are no quiet places on this ship,” I cautioned. “For your own safety, you should stay where you are.”
    “The sunbathing deck should be deserted. Meet me by the forward elevators on deck twelve in five minutes. And wear a sweater. Night winds off the ocean can be chilly.”
    “Someone might see you in the elevator.”
    “I will take care not to be seen,” Ricky answered.
    “You’re taking a chance, Ricky. . . . Ricky?” But he had hung up the phone.
    I shivered as I put down the receiver. I pulled on a light sweater and hurried from our stateroom. All I could do was try to convince Ricky to return to Mrs. Fleming’s suite and stay there until we knew for sure he was safe. I was frightened, but at the same time I was deliriously happy that he wanted to be with me. The feelings didn’t mix well.
    Rounding a corner, I nearly bumped into Tommy, the cruise director, who was pacing in front of the elevator bank. As he jabbed at the button, a woman laughed and said, “That won’t make it come any sooner.”
    “I don’t have much time. I’ve got to find a few minutes of peace and quiet,” he complained.
    The woman glanced at me. Tommy did too, but he went back to what he was saying as if I weren’t there. Plenty of people were like that, I thought. If you were a kid you were nonexistent. You couldn’t see, hear, or think. I hadn’t liked Tommy Jansen when I first saw him on deck, and now I liked him even less.
    Tommy glanced at his watch and said to the woman, “I have to be back to close the first show in an hour and then get ready for the second show.” He let out a sigh and added, “They didn’t tell me I’d be on with this charming and smiling stuff twenty-four hours around the clock.”
    “I know,” the woman said, “or you wouldn’t have taken the job.” She rolled her eyes as if she’d heard his story over and over again.
    Tommy shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I took it because I was broke and