Brandon got off the ship in Cozumel and never got back on.
Lieutenant Okafor from ship security told me later what happened. That morning, Vanessa went to guest services and removed Brandon from her account. When he tried to charge a $65 snorkel rental at the gangway kiosk, his own card was declined. So was a second card.
He went down the gangway at 10:15 a.m. and didn’t come back. When the ship sailed at five that afternoon, his passport had been scanned off at the gangway and never scanned back on.
He left his rented tuxedo in the cabin, unreturned. The formal wear shop charged a $250 replacement fee to the account he’d been removed from. The ship’s billing office reversed it when Vanessa explained.
He also left the engagement ring in a velvet box on the nightstand.
Vanessa had it appraised at a jewelry store at the next port in Florida. It was cubic zirconia in sterling silver, worth about sixty dollars.
The last two days of the cruise were the strangest and best days I’d ever spent with my family.
They weren’t perfect. Dad and I were awkward and polite with each other, like two people who’d been in a car accident together. But on Thursday night, I invited all of them to dinner in my suite.
Rafael set the long glass dining table for five with white linens and candles. We ate lobster tails and grilled steak, and for dessert, the pastry chef sent up a chocolate cake. It was the one that had been made for Brandon’s engagement, which nobody had claimed. Rafael had scraped off the “Congratulations Vanessa & Brandon” in buttercream and written “Miller Family” instead in white icing.
Vanessa laughed so hard she cried.
After dinner, we sat out on the balcony in the warm wind, watching the stars over the Gulf of Mexico.
“Millie,” Dad said quietly, while Mom and Vanessa were inside getting more coffee. “About the loan.”
“We don’t have to talk about it now, Dad.”
“I want to.” He looked at me. “I’m going to pay you back. All of it. I don’t know how yet. But I will.”
“Dad…”
“And I’m going to sign whatever that lawyer of yours wants me to sign. A new payment plan. Whatever.” He swallowed. “And I’m not going to fight you on the lien. You’re right. It’s your money. You trusted me with it, and I didn’t keep my word.”
I didn’t say anything. I just reached over and took his hand, rough and calloused from forty years of swinging hammers.
He squeezed back, hard.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he said. “For the text. For what I said at the buffet. For all of it.”
“I know, Dad.”
“You’re my daughter,” he said, his voice breaking. “You were my daughter the day I met you. You were six and you had a Band-Aid on your knee, and you told me you didn’t like me because I wasn’t your real dad. Remember that?”
I laughed through sudden tears. “I remember.”
“And I said, ‘That’s okay. I’ll wait.'” He wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry I forgot that.”
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