Page 93 of A Perfect Disaster

The overnight stop in Palma de Mallorca is a godsend after so many hours straight of churning out nautical miles and putting up with rude passengers. The Marine IV stands imposingly at the western pier while we, the sea workers, swarm ashore with that rush that hits you when you’re given a few hours of conditional freedom.

Leo, Nico, and Lara have been the ringleaders of the expedition. According to their illustrious theories, “we needed a break before we started growing scales.” According to Gonzalo, the biggest busybody, “we had to celebrate the fact that this hellish contract is coming to an end.” I, who know them as if I’d given birth to them, know perfectly well that they’re putting on this circus because they can sense the tension between Helen and me. And even though it pisses me off that they’re playing cheap matchmakers with my private life, I’m deeply grateful for the gesture of pulling me out of my head.

After grabbing some quick sandwiches and tapas on a terrace along the boardwalk, we head to Can Pere Antoni Beach. The sand feels cool and pleasant under my bare feet. Palma glows behind us with that Mediterranean spell that whispers in your ear that, if you set your mind to it, miracles do exist.

Everything is so beautiful when you’re just passing through, really.

“This is pure bliss, damn it,” Nico blurts out, flopping down on the sand with a bag of chips he’s snagged from the buffet. “If they make me host another senior citizens’ trivia night tomorrow, I’m throwing the mic in the water and turning into a seagull.”

“Well, you’ve got it all figured out, kid, because seagulls are meaner and a whole lot smarter than you,” Lara shoots back, sitting down next to him.

Gonzalo appears on the scene like the crew’s wise king, lugging a pack of ice-cold zero-calorie beers and sporting a mischievous grin he can’t contain.

Helen, who has sat down next to me while pretending to keep a safe distance, keeps her eyes fixed on the black horizon as if she were alone on the planet. Taking advantage of the fact that the guys are minding their own business, I keep glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s fucking gorgeous. Her hair is down, tousled by the sea breeze, and she has that intense look she gets when she’s deep in thought.

“Are you okay?” I ask her in a soft whisper.

It takes Helen forever to answer, as if every word has to pass through her brain’s security filter.

“Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat.

That’s a total lie. I know her too well.

“Palma is beautiful,” she adds.

“Well, well. Approved tourist brochure comment,” I say with a mischievous smirk.

“I don’t know what you expected me to say, Maika,” she replies, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “Especially after what you made so clear to me.”

“Yeah… you know I’m a total idiot.”

For a second, the stress of the ship disappears and the world seems like a slightly kinder place.

“I’ve missed you,” I blurt out, without a filter. Helen immediately looks down at the sand. “These last few days have been… fucking hell.”

“Tense,” she murmurs. “I’ve missed you too…” she confesses so softly that the wind almost steals her words away.

Helen sighs deeply and fixes me with those eyes full of promise. I’m dying to close this tiny gap between us, grab her by the neck, devour her mouth, and tell her to screw the promotion, the ship, and everything else. To tell her that everything’s going to be okay, that I’ll find a way to dig up my grandmother’s money from under the rocks, and that there’s nothing to worry about. But life is a real bitch, and just as my mouth is about to brush against hers, the damn phone starts vibrating in my pants pocket as if it were in a hurry to ruin the moment.

“I have to answer it.”

“Sure, don’t worry.”

I stride away from the group, sinking into the cool sand until I reach a darker area, near some rocky breakwaters where the crashing waves drown out the guys’ voices.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Maika, sorry to bother you at this hour,” says the director of the nursing home. “I’m calling to confirm that your grandmother is stable; the medical assessment is good, but the doctors insist we need to start treatment right away so she doesn’t lose mobility.”

“Okay… So what’s the deal?” I ask, even though I know exactly where this is going.

“The problem is that we need you to make the first payment for the new special care plan before the end of the week,” she tells me gently, but with a firmness that makes my blood run cold. “If the payment isn’t made, we’ll be forced by protocol to arrange her transfer to a public facility in the regional network… and right now the only availability is at a nursing home in a mountain village, on the other side of the region.”

“What do you mean, transfer her?” I snap, clearly nervous. “My grandmother couldn’t handle a change like that right now; she doesn’t know anyone there.”

“It wouldn’t happen overnight, Maika, but we have to open a care file per regulations. I understand this is terrible for you, but the center’s rules are strict if we want to keep her spot here.”

What a tactful, corporate way of telling me that they’re going to send my grandmother to the middle of nowhere just because her granddaughter doesn’t have a penny to her name.