Chapter 5: Ports
In Nassau I left the ship early and walked streets that did not require a shared itinerary.
They stayed aboard or clustered near the pier with the particular irritation of people who had expected prepaid excursions and found only the pier. I did not photograph them. I photographed water and a lunch I ordered without checking whether anyone else could afford the second plate. At night the penthouse balcony held only my own quiet. Champagne from the welcome bottle went flat in the best way—slowly, without an audience.
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Guest services confirmed, when Dad attempted a scene at the desk, that folio authority remained with Millie Miller. Security confirmed that raised voices in public areas were a conduct matter. I received one formal note asking whether I required a different dining time to avoid further conflict. I declined. Avoidance had been their strategy when the bill was due. Presence was mine now.
Vanessa cornered me once by the elevators and asked whether I intended to “do this for the whole week.” I said I intended to finish the vacation I had purchased. She called me cruel. I told her cruelty was rewriting a paid itinerary as my absence and wearing the shirt I bought while doing it. The elevator doors closed on her reply.
