UPDATE:
Poll closes Saturday, Feb 7, 11:59 PM Eastern
Our shore excursions offer such a great variety - I'm loving Brent's e-mails to his sister, Roselle. If you haven't checked them out, you'll find them over at Marji Laine's blog.
If you're like me and now experiencing "cruise fever," be sure to visit the blog of Elizabeth Noyes, our very own cruise expert, who's been sharing some excellent cruise tips all week.
Chapter
Five
Port
of Call: Aruba
Brent leaned his forearms on the
ship’s rail and clasped his hands together. All around him, as far as the eye
could see, the night held strong. He squinted toward the east and waited for
the sunrise.
He loved this time of day, loved the
quiet serenity, those moments before the veil of night lifted. How could anyone
not believe in a Supreme Creator when faced with the beauty morning would
bring?
“And God saw everything that He had
made, and behold, it was very good,” Brent whispered the words from Genesis in
praise and prayer. “And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.”
Minutes passed as the ebony sky
faded to deepest purple. Rosy swirls joined the Creator’s palette and, before
long, the pinpoint of light on the horizon became a slash. Sky separated from
sea. The world grew lighter. And then the sun broke the horizon in a blaze of
glory. A new day dawning, one that came with renewed mercies.
Good. He needed a little mercy after
being mauled by the “Barbie” twins at dinner last night. Brent shuddered, but
not from the cooler morning temperatures. Brandi and Candi had played
tug-of-war, with him as the rope. Bet Ken
never went through that.
Another shudder escaped at the
thought of their lightning-quick hands. Thank goodness Danny had come along and
rescued him. The thought of what might have happened left him in a cold sweat.
Some women had no shame.
The blue water turned to froth where
the ship’s prow cut through the waves. Sunlight glinted on the sea. When they’d
boarded back in Charleston, the ship seemed huge, the size of a small city. Out
here? An insignificant speck on an endless ocean.
Was this how Noah felt in the days
of the flood? Alone on a vast sea, with the singular duty of leading his family
into a new life?
Brent closed his eyes, drew in a
deep breath, and let it out on a slow count to ten. Isn’t that what God had
called him to do? Lead others into new life?
Ahead in the distance, an indistinct
mass broke the flat line of the horizon. Aruba. They would dock soon. He
planned to be the first crew member off for a quick tour of quaint Oranjestad,
the capital city. He’d noted how the women on the ship flocked to the shopping
areas in previous ports. They dropped a boatload of money on the artsy-craftsy
stuff. Jewelry, too. Lots of jewelry. The gaudier, the better. Maybe he’d get a
trinket for his sister, Roselle. One of those eye-blinding sarong things, too.
With gigantic flowers.
It was the snorkel tour he most
looked forward to, though. Danny claimed Aruba had the most beautiful waters in
the world. Brent just wanted to lose himself in the undersea world for a few
hours.
The thought came with a pang of
guilt. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his ministry work on the ship. He didn’t
care for the lopsided ratio of males to females on this cruise. It was skewed
too far to the estrogen side. Which made him fair game for all the love-starved
women.
Roselle would get an earful when he
got back.
People began to trickle onto the
Lido Deck in ones and twos, most with coffee cups to warm their hands.
He pushed away from the rail, peace
and quiet done for another day. Breakfast first, and then it would be time to
head down to the gangway. Today was his, and he intended to enjoy every moment.
****
Ding.
Ding. Ding. The
ship’s passengers were all queued up with their identification cards in hand.
Brent slipped into the line behind a
man and woman in matching flowered shirts and held his ID card out for the
crewman to insert into the security reader.
Ding.
He tucked the card away and walked
down the gangway. At least the line wasn’t as long as when he’d gotten off to
shop earlier this morning.
A quick tug adjusted the bag over his
shoulder that held his snorkeling gear and towel. He wore board shorts this
time, with a gray t-shirt. Just another lazy tourist on vacation. No worries,
mon.
It didn’t take long to find his tour
group. Halfway down the pier, a guide held a sign aloft for Red Sail Catamaran & Snorkel.
Brent studied the thirty or so
people gathered there. Most were couples, but a few guys hung out nearby, as
did a group of four women who appeared to be in their fifties, maybe sixties.
The way they ogled him, like a cougar toying with a field mouse, made him vow
to steer well clear.
A younger woman fiddled with a
camera off to one side. She wore cut-offs over a modest, one-piece swimsuit
that left a wealth of caramel-colored skin on her back and arms exposed. Her
curly brown hair, caught up in a fat ponytail, hung halfway down her back.
Attractive? Oh, yeah. But it was the way the sun burnished her hair and skin
that captured his attention. As if she’d been dipped in gold.
Mikel, the tour guide, led them
along a street lined with tents where leather goods, baskets, wood carvings,
native dresses, and jewelry were displayed. The hawkers did their best to
entice a sale, but Mikel’s pace kept the group moving. They traversed the
length of the marina to a smaller pier at the end.
And there she was.
The Rumba. All seventy feet of pristine white catamaran bobbed at its
moorings and preened like a sleek angel fish amidst a school of brown grouper.
As the crew cast off the mooring
ropes, Mikel gathered the passengers inside for a safety talk and demonstration
of the loaner snorkel gear for those new to the sport.
Once the captain maneuvered the Rumba out of her berth, through the
harbor, and into the open sea, he called for some strong backs to help raise
the sails.
“Heave, heave, heave.”
Brent and seven other guys tugged on
the ropes until the mainsail lifted and filled. With a thirty-minute sail to
DePalm Island, he grabbed a spot on the front of the webbing and settled back
on his elbows to soak up some rays.
From his position, he had a good
view of everyone on the vessel, except for those who stayed inside to hide from
the sun.
He spotted the golden girl. She
talked with Mikel on the starboard side. Their banter seemed easy, like they
knew each other.
She pushed her sunglasses on top of
her head, and raised the professional-grade camera to her eyes. Her steps were
sure-footed, without the stumbling hesitation the other landlubbers showed.
His eyes followed her route around
the sides of the boat as she snapped shots of the crew and passengers. When she
stepped onto the webbing, Brent pushed to his feet. His mom had made sure he
knew how to treat a lady, but this reaction wasn’t about being a gentleman. He
wanted to see her face up close. Given her skin color and hair, he guessed she
hailed from one of the islands, maybe the Pacific side. Would her eyes be dark
like coffee? Lighter, like milk chocolate? Or a golden, honey color?
One of the ladies from the group of
four struggled to her feet and started toward the cabin. Her first two steps on
the crosshatched netting were steady, but on the third she lost her balance and
staggered … right into Golden Girl.
She never saw the older woman
coming.
Brent reached out when Golden Girl stumbled,
his hands on her waist to steady her.
One hand flew out and clutched his
arm. “Oh,” she yelped. Once she had her balance back, she looked up at Brent. “I’m
so sorry.”
Simultaneous thoughts struck him.
One, she spoke perfect English, with the barest hint of an accent he couldn’t
identify. And two, her eyes were the color of the Caribbean water. Blue-green.
Exotic. “Glad I could save you.”
Smooth,
Romeo. Real smooth.
“Well, I don’t know about that. I
mean, I already have a Savior. But you did keep me from looking like a fool.”
She grinned then. “You can let go now.”
And then she was gone, on her way
across the webbing.
A
savior. Did she mean …?
No time to wonder. The captain
called for help again, to furl the sails this time. Ten minutes later they
dropped anchor in a crescent-shaped lagoon, forty yards off DePalm Island. An
earthly paradise, lush green foliage and blinding-white sand.
Brent looked over the side of the
catamaran at the water and sucked in a breath. He removed his sunshades. With
the submersible steps lowered, the catamaran’s draft had to be at least ten
feet, maybe twelve, which meant the sandy bottom had to be fifteen feet. And
yet, it appeared no more than knee deep.
For once, Danny hadn’t exaggerated.
Most of Brent’s fellow passengers
headed toward the rear of the vessel to descend the steps. Several of the guys,
unwilling to wait, bailed over the side into the water.
Brent stripped off his t-shirt,
pulled out his mask, fins, and snorkel, and looked around for Golden Girl.
The four older women crowded around
him, blocking his search. One said, “You’re the chaplain, aren’t you? I saw you
with those two blondes at dinner last night.”
“Ah, yes, I’m the chaplain. But I
wasn’t with those two. They, ah …”
The redhead Brent had avoided most
of the trip giggled. “Uh-huh. We get it. The cruise line didn’t do a very good
job of balancing numbers for their romantic getaway. I mean, there are scads
more women than men on the ship. That makes you a hot commodity.”
“Smoking hot,” another snickered.
The others added their giggles.
A third lady moved in closer. “I don’t
suppose you’d have dinner with us tonight?” She squeezed his bicep.
“Yeah, uh, sorry. Got another
commitment. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He scurried to the other side of the
boat, fleeing their laughter. No shame at
all.
Sitting on the side of the
catamaran, he spit in his mask and pulled it into place, donned his fins, and
was in the water in thirty seconds.
The sea was warm with little to no
chop. Perfect for snorkeling. He spotted Golden Girl’s red swimsuit on the
surface of the water some distance away. She swam along and skirted the other
swimmers, but stopped often to snap pictures of the people as they frolicked. A
professional photographer? The dive camera suggested it.
He set off her way. “Hey.”
She looked up, glanced around, and
removed her mouthpiece. “Hey, yourself.” Her hair, darkened by the water, clung
to her neck, the curls relaxed.
“What did you mean, you already have
a Savior?”
A smile spread across her face. She
looked like an angel, or maybe a sea nymph. “Jesus. Do you know Him?”
Her answer pleased him, but then her
question sank in, giving him pause. “Yeah, I know Him. I’m the chaplain on this
cruise.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Is that right?”
He grinned in hopes of winning
another smile, but she tucked the mouthpiece back in her mouth and swam toward
the group of women who’d invited him to dinner. They’d ventured quite a ways
from the catamaran.
He followed at a distance, unwilling
to risk another encounter with them.
Golden Girl managed to get ahead of
the group, and tapped one on the shoulder. The others raised their faces out of
the water.
“That way.” She motioned toward the
shore with one hand. “The coral is too close to the surface here. It’s not
safe.”
The ladies grumbled but turned and
slow-paddled in the other direction.
Golden Girl lagged behind, watching
over the strays.
Curiosity piqued, Brent wanted to
know more about this mysterious mermaid. “Do you work for the cruise line or
something?” he asked, falling in beside her.
“Yes.”
“Are you a photographer? Or do you
just like to shepherd the cargo?”
“I thought shepherding was your job.”
He choked on a mouthful of sea
water, while she trailed after her charges.
“Wait up,” he called, using long
strokes to catch up. “What’s your name?”
She aimed her camera at him and
clicked. “Alyssa. What’s yours?”
“Brent. Where do you work on the
ship, Alyssa?”
That earned him another laugh. “I’m
a counselor for the Kids Kamp.”
“But, there aren’t all that many
kids on this cruise.”
“Exactly. That’s why I do shore
excursions. And photography. And sometimes I work in the purser’s office, or
help out backstage, or run errands for the cruise director. They stick me
wherever. Uh-oh.” She started after another group of swimmers who’d strayed too
near some rocks. “Later.”
She took off, slicing through the
water like a dolphin.
Brent started to follow but decided
against it. She had a job to do and didn’t need him distracting her. He slipped
his snorkel mouthpiece in and stuck his face in the water, ready to enjoy the
quiet.
Sometime later, he checked his watch
and started back to the catamaran. The captain would blow the whistle soon, the
signal it was time to leave. He looked around the lagoon for Alyssa’s red
swimsuit. Maybe he could get her to talk about her home country and how she
came to know Christ on the return.
It wasn’t until he reached the
submersed steps that he saw her already on board. She leaned against the wire
rail, watching him.
Brent grinned and waved, slipped his
fins off, and climbed aboard. After a quick rinse under the fresh water shower,
he packed his gear away, toweled off, and cocked an eyebrow at the cup thrust
under his nose.
“Just fruit punch, Pastor,” Alyssa
said. “No enhancements.”
“Thanks.” He gulped the drink down.
They got refills and found a spot on
one side away from the others.
“So, you’re a real pastor?” she
asked. “I mean, you don’t look or act like any preacher I’ve known. Shouldn’t
you have a church to run?”
He cleared his throat to cover his
discomfort. What did she mean he didn’t act like a preacher? He recalled her
earlier comment that indicated a similar doubt about his calling, when she
asked if he knew Jesus. Was he sending out wrong signals?
“Yes, I am a pastor. I started a
small church right after seminary, but I spend most of my time in the
community, working with underprivileged children.”
A flush stole up her neck, giving a
rosy hue to her light brown skin. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I mean, you’re
young and good-looking.”
He ducked his head, lips twitching.
He could work with good-looking.
“Oh, come on,” she went on. “You
know you are. You have to be aware of all the women ogling your … um, ogling
you.”
Brent didn’t think it possible, but
her blush deepened.
“I mean,” she went on. “Why would
you go on a cruise promoting romance? You’re like a pork chop dangled over a
tank of piranha.”
The grin got away from him.
“And for a pastor, you’re not trying
very hard to run away.”
Okay, that part he didn’t like. “Not
true, Alyssa. I can’t tell you how so not true that statement is.”
She pulled her backpack from under
the seat, dug around until she found a t-shirt, and slipped it on.
Brent diverted his eyes, embarrassed
that he’d been doing his own ogling. What was wrong with him? He never acted
this way.
He followed her lead, retrieved his
own shirt and pulled it over his head. Then he leaned against the backrest. “You
want the scoop on me?”
She tilted her head, seemed to
consider his offer, and then nodded.
“I’m twenty-nine years old. After
college, I went to seminary school. Now I’m the pastor for a startup church.
While doing that, I also work with the youth in my hometown. My sister decided
I needed a vacation and contacted my best friend, who happens to work for the
cruise line. Between them, they set me up with this gig. I wouldn’t have come
if I’d known it was a cruise for lovers.”
“Why not?”
His mouth fell open. “Are you
kidding? I’m not looking for love.”
One delicate eyebrow arched high.
She
thinks I’m a player.
“Sometimes love finds you, whether
you’re looking for it or not.”
“Yeah, well it’s not always mutual.”
Sadness filled her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
From suspicion to pity in the blink
of an eye. Not what he wanted. “For what?”
“For your bitterness. Someone hurt
you.”
“It’s done. I’ll get by. So, tell me
about you. What’s your last name? Where are you from? How long have you worked
for the cruise line? Do you have family? A significant other?”
Her laugh was a soothing balm. “Oh
my, where to start?” She looked him square in the eye. “As you might have
surmised, I have a mixed heritage. My father, Francois Laroche, was French. He
came to Manila on business, met my mother, and married her. A real life
fairytale.”
Brent stared at her face. “That
explains your amazing eyes.”
When she tried not to smile, twin
dimples appeared. “I was born in Paris, but my parents were killed in a plane
crash when I was two. I don’t remember them. My grandfather took me back to the
Philippines. He raised me until I went to college.”
“What did you study?”
“I attended the National Teachers
College in Manila. Most of the primary and secondary schools in the Philippines
incorporate English in their curriculum, so my generation speaks your language
very well.” Her eyes lit up. “I learned about Jesus during my senior year. That’s
when I gave my life to Him.”
“Why didn’t you stay in Manila? Become
a teacher?”
Sadness filled her expression. “My
grandfather follows the old ways. He expected me to marry one of the men from
the village. I wanted more.”
He could tell she didn’t want to
talk about it. Alyssa was a puzzle. Beautiful, educated, smart. She was wasting
her future as a babysitter for kids on a cruise ship while their parents went a
little wild. “So, what comes next, Alyssa Laroche?”
She gave him a quizzical look.
“You know, after you see the world.
What do you want to do with your education?”
She seemed to withdraw. “I don’t
know.”
“Have you thought about a life in
the United States?”
She searched his eyes, her own
reflecting a ray of hope that soon withered away. “Doesn’t everyone? All I’ve
got is a Crewmember Visa that’s good for a twenty-nine day stay. One month is
not enough time to find a sponsor or a job.”
He raised an eyebrow, challenging
her. “You won’t know unless you try.”
The riot of curls gleamed like a
halo when she shook her head. “No. It’s not like I can fall back on the cruise
line. If you leave, they won’t rehire you.”
“What if you had a sponsor? And a
job?”
Okay, it was official. He’d slipped
over the edge and fallen into insanity. How could he offer to sponsor someone
he’d only known for three hours? And yet, he felt no anxiety.
Is
this Your work, Lord?
Raucous laughter erupted from the
front of the boat. Two men held out a snorkel tube between them, while the
women lined up to limbo. On the netting. While the catamaran bucked against the
current.
Alyssa rolled her eyes.
Brent chuckled. “‘Enhanced’ fruit
punch at work.”
She laughed, but her smile soon
slipped away. “Time for me to work. They’ll snatch up these pictures in a
heartbeat, for blackmail or to keep others from seeing them.” She waggled her
eyebrows, grabbed her camera, and walked away.
“Alyssa,” he called out.
She looked over her shoulder.
“Have dinner with me tonight?”
“Can’t. I eat in the crew’s mess.
You and the other ship’s officers have to dine with the passengers in the
dining room. Pork chops, remember?”
She was right, but he’d subsist on
potato chips for the rest of the cruise if it meant escaping the Barbie Twins
and their ilk. “You know where to find me on the ship. Stop by and get my
business card. Please. And think about what I said.”
A smile and a shrug. That’s all she
gave him. At least it wasn’t an outright ‘no.’
Come back on Monday for Chapter Six!
Shore Excursions:
Friday:
Write Integrity: Chapter Five
Marji Laine’s blog:
Joan Deneve:
Interview
on Quid
Pro Quills
Julie Arduini:
Fay Lamb’s On the Ledge:
Elizabeth Noyes:
Thursday:
Write Integrity: Chapter Four
Marji Laine’s blog:
Fay Lamb’s On the Ledge:
Wednesday:
Write Integrity: Chapter Three
Marji Laine’s blog:
Julie Arduini:
Fay Lamb’s On the Ledge:
Elizabeth Noyes:
Tuesday:
Write Integrity:
Betty Thomason Owens:
Marji Laine’s blog:
Elizabeth Noyes:
Fay Lamb’s On the Ledge:
Monday:
Write Integrity:
Marji Laine blog:
Fay Lamb:
Marji Laine:
Interviewed
on Lena
Nelson Dooley’s Blog
Marji Laine:
Interview
on Carole Towriss blog: 8 Reasons Romance
is a Joke
Julie Arduini:
