Chapter 12
The observation deck on Deck Ten is freezing, windy, and exactly where I want to be, on this icy sea day.
Iceland’s coastline slides past the ship in a procession of drama with sheer cliffs dropping straight into the churning North Atlantic, fjords cutting deep into mountains where the earth cracked open and never quite healed, and waterfalls cascading down black rockfaces that disappear into sea foam.
The sky is that moody gray that makes everything look like a Gothic painting, and somewhere in the distance, I swear I spot a whale tail breaking the surface. It’s stunning in a way that makes my fingers itch for a paintbrush or a camera.
Bess, Nettie, and I are bundled in our winter coats, clutching coffee cups like lifelines while our hair whips around our faces despite our best efforts to tame it.
“This is gorgeous,” I say for the third time in ten minutes.
“This is hypothermia waiting to happen,” Bess counters, but she’s smiling. “But it’s worth it.”
A gust of wind swings the deck door open behind us, and Marina slips through carrying her own steaming mug. Her crimson hair immediately joins the rebellion against the wind, and she laughs as she tries to gather it into submission.
“Room for one more?” she calls out.
“Always,” I shout back and motioning her over.
I scoot over on the bench, and she settles in beside me.
We sit in silence for a moment, watching the never-ending coastline roll past us. A waterfall appears on a sheer cliffside, tumbling directly into the ocean, and we all gasp at the same time.
“How is this real?” Marina murmurs.
“Iceland doesn’t do anything halfway,” Bess says. “It’s all volcanoes and waterfalls and dramatic geological statements.”
“Speaking of dramatic statements,” Nettie says, glancing at Marina and me, “you’re both staring down the big five-oh and you’ve got less than a week before the odometer rolls over.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
Marina grunts. “Or me.”
“What’s wrong with fifty?” Bess asks. “I’m eighty-three and thriving.”
“Fifty feels different,” I say. “It’s this weird milestone where you’re supposed to have everything figured out, but instead you’re just wondering where the last thirty years went.”
Marina nods. “Exactly. I keep thinking, is this it? Is this what my life looks like now?”
“And what does it look like?” Nettie asks.
“Honestly?” She shakes out her crimson locks. “I have no idea. I’ve spent the last decade working nonstop, and now I’m on a cruise ship trying to figure out what comes next.” She takes a sip of coffee. “It’s terrifying and exciting at the same time.”
The last decade working nonstop. It’s nearly word for word what she told me at the falls, and she knows I was standing right there when she said it.
Something about that snags in my brain like a thread on a nail.
Most people vary the telling a little, especially for a repeat audience.
Marina recites hers like a flight attendant pointing out the exits.
“Now that’s called a second act,” I tell her. “And you’re doing it right.”
“Says the woman who moved onto a cruise ship and married a former FBI agent.”
“See?” I bump my shoulder to hers. “I’m an expert.”
Bess snorts. “You stumbled into your second act by accident.”
“The best things in life are accidents,” Nettie says. “Like my first marriage.”
“Your first marriage was a disaster,” Bess is quick to inform her.
“Exactly my point.”
Marina laughs, and I watch her shoulders drop half an inch—the kind of drop that means she’s stopped bracing for impact. Good. That’s the whole point of bringing her on the ship with us.
“Can I ask you ladies something deeply personal and slightly mortifying?” Marina says, and there’s hesitation in her voice.
“Anything,” I say.
She winces. “How do you deal with the hot flashes?”
Nettie cackles. “I stopped wearing anything I couldn’t rip off in under four seconds. The hot flashes started it, but the men on deck nine finished it.”
“And deck nine has never recovered,” Bess adds. “Neither has deck ten.”
We share a laugh.
“I thought menopause was supposed to be gradual,” Marina continues. “Instead, I’m fine one minute and spontaneously combusting the next. Yesterday I had to stick my head in a bucket of ice.”
“You’re basically a geothermal vent at this point,” Bess offers. “Iceland will feel like home.”
“I’ve taken to carrying a handheld fan everywhere,” I admit. “Ransom thinks it’s charming. I think it’s survival.”
“Does it get better?” Marina asks.
“Eventually,” Nettie says. “Or you just get used to feeling like a furnace with legs.”
“That’s comforting,” I say with a sigh.
“I try.”
“You know what I don’t understand?” Bess says. “Why is it always women who have to suffer through this stuff? Wasn’t childbirth and legally shackling ourselves to grown men who don’t act their age enough punishment?”
“Apparently not,” I say. “The universe decided we needed bonus rounds.”
“Men get distinguished gray hair and deeper voices,” Nettie grumbles. “We get night sweats and chin hairs.”
“And hot flashes,” Marina adds.
“And mood swings that could qualify as natural disasters,” Bess says.
“I threw a waffle at Ransom last week because he breathed too loud during our breakfast in bed,” I admit.
Marina’s eyes widen. “Did he deserve it?”
“Probably not. But the waffle did stick to the wall, which was oddly satisfying.”
“So how did you and Ransom make it work so fast?” Marina asks me. “You got married after knowing each other for what, a few months?”
“Six months,” I correct. “Which sounds insane when I say it out loud.”
“It is insane,” Bess says. “The rest of the world told her not to do it. Nettie and I were in the minority and pushed her in his direction.”
“And I did it because when you know, you know.” I shrug. “Also, I’d just ended a twenty-five-year marriage to a serial cheater. I figured I’d earned the right to make impulsive decisions.”
“How’s that cheating ex doing?” Marina asks.
“More or less broke and bitter,” I say cheerfully. “I took him for everything in the divorce. Best decision I ever made.”
Bess raises her coffee cup. “I’ll drink to that. My ex is funding my entire retirement on this ship, and I couldn’t be happier about it.”
“What about you, Nettie?” Marina asks. “Any ex-husbands funding your lifestyle?”
“My last husband died twenty years ago,” Nettie says, and there’s genuine warmth in her voice. “He was a good man. Terrible with money, couldn’t cook to save his life, snored like a chainsaw, but he loved me exactly as I was. I miss him every day that ends in W.”
We all share a laugh at that one as the wind whips around us and the ocean stretches endless and gray.
“I miss David, too,” Marina says quietly. “In days that end in Y,” she adds. “That was the husband I lost way back when. Even after all this time, I miss him.”
Nettie drapes an arm over Marina’s shoulders. “It sounds like he was a good one. And with the good ones, you don’t stop missing them,” she says. “You just learn to live around the missing.”
Marina nods, blinking back tears, and I reach over to squeeze her hand.
“What about new relationships?” Bess asks gently. “Are you open to that?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know. Maybe? The thought terrifies me.”
“Because of David?” I ask.
“Because of everything.” She takes a shaky breath. “When you lose someone you love, you remember how much it hurts. And the idea of going through that again—”
“So you avoid it entirely,” Bess finishes.
“Exactly.”
“That’s not living,” Nettie says bluntly. “That’s just existing.”
“Says the woman who flirts with every man on this ship,” Bess mutters.
“I’m living my best life.”
“You’re living a life that will get you arrested in some countries,” Bess counters.
Marina laughs through her tears. “You two are a riot.”
“We prefer underappreciated geniuses,” Nettie says.
“What about Wes?” I ask Marina because subtlety has never been my strong suit. “He seems interested.”
Marina’s cheeks flush pink. “He’s just being friendly.”
“Honey, men don’t offer private tours to people they’re just being friendly with,” Nettie says. “Trust me. I’ve been around long enough to know the signs.”
Marina blows out a breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Nobody’s ever ready,” I tell her. “You just jump and hope the water’s warm.”
Marina lands her eyes on mine. “Was it? With Ransom?”
I think about my hot husband who makes me laugh and keeps me safe and looks at me like I’m the only woman in the world.
“It was perfect.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Marina says quietly. “What if it’s perfect and then it ends? I’m only on the ship for a few more days.”
“Then at least you had perfect for a while,” Bess says. “That’s more than most people get.”
We fall into silence again, but it feels comfortable now.
Nicolette struts past us, then backtracks.
“Ladies!” she chirps, looking impeccable in a camel-colored coat and leather gloves. Her dark hair is styled despite the wind, and her makeup is flawless. “What are you girls doing up here? It’s freezing!”
“We’re hiding from civilization,” Nettie says.
“I can see that.” Nicolette mewls. “Well, why don’t you stop by the Mermaid Lounge in ten minutes.
We’re doing a session called ‘Reinventing Intimacy After 50—Dating, Desire, and Second Chances.’ At our age, that’s always relevant.
” She bellows out a hearty laugh until her eyes land on Marina and me. “Especially for our birthday girls.”
“Oh, I don’t know—” Marina starts.
“We’ll be there,” I interrupt, because this is exactly the kind of thing we need to attend. Not just for Marina’s sake, but because I want to watch the Second Act Society members interact. One of them is a killer, and killers always slip up eventually.
“Wonderful.” Nicolette checks her watch. “It starts at two. I’ll see you there.”
She disappears back inside, leaving a cloud of pricey perfume in her wake.
“Did we just get asked to attend a lecture on midlife sex?” Bess asks.
“Yep,” I say with a laugh.
“Perfect.” Bess tosses her hands in the air. “Just what I wanted to do on my sea day.”
“Look on the bright side,” Nettie says. “Maybe we’ll learn something useful.”
Bess rolls her eyes. “What could we possibly learn that we don’t already know?”
“How to reinvent our intimate lives?” Marina offers.
I nod. “Nettie, your intimate life doesn’t need reinventing. It needs adult supervision.”
Marina laughs so hard she nearly spills her coffee, and I join in because this—right here, freezing on a deck in the North Atlantic with these women—is what second acts are made of.
Not the brochure version. Not the “ten steps to your best life” version Nicolette’s about to sell downstairs.
Just four women, three coffees, two hot flashes, and one whale who came and went before we could properly thank it, all freezing on a bench pretending the wind isn’t trying to murder us.
I wouldn’t trade this for a spa day in Santorini.
Okay, maybe for the afternoon. But I’d come right back.
Of course, one of those people in the Mermaid Lounge this afternoon just might be a killer.
But that’s what makes life interesting.