Destination Love

The door closed behind Dalton Hobart, and Sheri dismissed the affair with a shrug. She’d done the right thing, and she was not about to apologize for it. Things were correct or incorrect, finished or incomplete, and the man’s dissertation was not finished. A person should be rewarded for what he or she accomplished. Sentiment had no place in evaluating the work of grad students. Her parents had raised her that way—to take her medicine. They hadn’t spared her or coddled her when she didn’t meet their expectations.

She telephoned the office of the department chairman. “This is Professor Stephens. Which one of us is to review that dissertation after Hobart makes the revisions?”

“I will.”

Hmm. So the chairman wasn’t pleased with her. Too bad. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad.” Well, the whole thing was behind her, and she liked it that way.

Three years later

What a wonderful thing to take a sabbatical, Sheri thought. She had an entire year away from teaching in order to travel, do research and study. So far, the loneliness of life away from the university and the job that filled her time oppressed her more than her adventures and research did. Even after months away from the classroom and her office, she hardly knew what to do with herself. While watching a travel channel on television one night, and observing things she’d read about but never dreamed of seeing, she decided to take a cruise. Late summer was not a time to plan a warm-weather cruise, so she chose one headed north. She at least had something to look forward to.

“Maybe I’ll see glaciers, polar bears, penguins or an iceberg or two. At least this cruise offers something vastly different.”

Sheri boarded the cruise ship in Manchester, Massachusetts, where the cruise began. She’d had a shaky flight from Boston, which wasn’t a promising start to her adventure. Standing on deck, watching the boat ease away from shore, Sheri hoped that somehow she would experience something new and exciting during her first cruise.

At dinner that evening, her tablemates included three couples, a woman about her age and herself. As she left the dining room with the other woman, she continued the conversation.

“Could we meet for lunch around one tomorrow?” Sheri asked the woman, whose name was June.

June stopped walking and looked straight at Sheri. “Girl, I don’t hang out with women. I’m spending my hard-earned money on this cruise to find a man who’s at least got a job, and you ought to do the same. See you at dinner.”

Stunned by June’s rudeness, Sheri wandered around until she reached the shopping area, didn’t see anything she wanted to buy and decided to take in a movie.

“Don’t tell me you’re as lost as I am in this place,” a male voice said as she was about to enter the theater. She jerked around and saw a man dressed in white pants, yellow T-shirt and white cardigan. His smile was meant to titillate, but it only annoyed her. She wanted company, but he seemed as if he was looking for more, she thought. So she ignored him and found a seat between two older women. When she left the theater later, he winked at her and flashed what she figured was a patented grin. Maybe he’d hook up with June.

She wondered if she’d brought enough to read, because the chances of striking up a friendship with someone on the cruise didn’t look good.

The next day as she looked around the pool, she compared the bathing suit she’d brought with the tiny string bikinis other women were wearing and decided that she’d stay out of the pool and wear shorts on deck.

“Maybe this cruise wasn’t such a good idea,” she said to herself as she prepared to debark and explore Portland, Maine, alone. As she walked down the plank, she saw June clinging to the man she’d seen entering the movie theater the previous evening.

Dr. Dalton Wright Hobart found a seat at the tiny bistro table and sat down to enjoy a moment in the sunshine. He had seen as much of Portland, Maine, on foot as the cruise ship’s short stay in port would permit. With his shopping bags between his feet in order to be certain that he didn’t forget them, he ordered coffee. Not because he wanted it but because he needed a reason to sit there. He opened a copy of the Portland Press Herald and checked the sports page for the baseball scores.

“Do you mind if I share your table?”

He did mind, but saying so would have been rude. “By all means, have a seat,” he said and continued checking the scores.

“I noticed that you have one of the cruise ship’s shopping bags. So you must be going to Nova Scotia, too.”

“Looks like it,” he said, hoping to make it clear that he didn’t feel like talking. Indeed, he was beginning to wish he’d gone straight back to the boat.

The ship’s horn emitted a blast, and the woman stood to leave. “Thanks for letting me share your table.”

His head jerked up. Something in her voice sounded familiar, and he looked at her for the first time. Good grief! It couldn’t be, but it was. He narrowed his eyes, looked at her more carefully and didn’t bother to hide the scowl that he knew covered his face. As she walked off, he was certain that was Professor Sheri Stephens.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” It all came back to him. The anxiety of the moment he learned that he wouldn’t graduate on time, wouldn’t be able to accept the best job offer any student in his class received and the pain of having to tell his family that he’d get his Ph.D. later. He recalled his father shaking his head and saying, “You aren’t going to wear the cap and gown?”

His mother had counseled forgiveness and had insisted that getting the degree was more important than how it was handed to him. Still, it was one of the most bitter pills he’d ever had to swallow. He picked up the shopping bag and made his way up the gangplank. With luck, he wouldn’t see her again until the boat returned to Manchester. How could a woman who looked so soft and innocent be so cruel?

Back in his stateroom, Dalton showered, shaved and took a nap, after which he headed to the third-floor lounge. “I hope you haven’t waited long,” he said to Tyson Clark, a retired record producer he met during the trip.

“Not at all. People watching is a sport that I’ve come to enjoy.” They took their drinks and sat on the sofa in a far corner from the bar. “You can imagine why I’m on a cruise,” Tyson said, “but you’re a young man. I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re on this boat this time of the year.”

Dalton allowed himself a moment to reflect. “Point taken,” he said and gave the man the gist of his life story.

“Did you ever get the degree?”

“Oh, yes. I received it near the end of July, and for the past three years, I’ve worked night and day to make up for lost time. I’ve had a number of articles published, and I’m becoming a kind of economics guru. I got a great book deal, and I’m working on that while I’m on this trip. To answer the question, I’m older than you think. These days, thirty-five makes you ancient. I’m here because I needed the rest, and this was a sure way to get it.”

After the meal, which he ate at the late seating, he told Tyson good-night, stood on deck gazing at the night for a while and then went to his room to work on his novel. He wasn’t lonely, but he thought that a cruise was a perfect way for him to become more sociable.

The following night after dinner, he passed the gaming room with its sounds of the one-armed bandits gobbling up hard-earned money and headed to the entertainment level. He loved to dance and, during his undergraduate days, he had enjoyed great popularity because of it. He stood on the sideline watching the dancers move to “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” He hadn’t learned that one, but he liked it.

Suddenly, the sound of the Village People singing “Y.M.C.A.” came over the loudspeaker and like practically everyone else, he headed for the dance floor to do the Electric Slide. It was his favorite line dance, and he gave his whole body over to it. He swung his left foot behind his right one and leaned his right shoulder forward just as the person dancing beside him tripped and was about to fall. He automatically grabbed the person, looked down and saw that it was Sheri Stephens. He’d been so lost in the music and the dance that he hadn’t bothered to notice who was on either side of him.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m just learning this dance. I tried it for the first time a couple of nights ago. It’s fun, and if you make mistakes, no one really cares.”

So she didn’t recognize him. True, his close-cut hair made him look considerably different from his appearance during graduate school when he’d worn it long. Hmm. Was Sheri Stephens more human because she was out of her element, away from the hallowed halls of academia where she called the shots?

Dalton smiled. “You’re dancing like a pro. Everyone trips occasionally. I’m Wright. How are you, Miss—”

“Sheri. Sheri Stephens. I’m glad to meet you, Wright. I was beginning to think that taking this cruise was the dumbest thing I could have done.”

As they walked off the dance floor, he draped an arm casually across her shoulders. “I’m new at this cruise business, too. It takes a while to learn how to maneuver on this boat and among these strangers, but I’m getting the hang of it.”

“I sure hope I do. Three weeks is a long time to flounder like a fish out of water.”

“I’m with you there,” he said. “Say, do you know that guy over there in the yellow T-shirt?”

She looked in the direction to which he pointed, frowned and shook her head. “No. I saw him right after the boat left Manchester, but I don’t know him, nor do I care to.”

Hmm. Best to change the subject. “So this is your first cruise,” he said, trying to make small talk, something that he despised.

“Yes, and I’ve never seen so much food 24/7. Are the passengers expected to eat nonstop?”

Evidently, she hadn’t had much experience with small talk, either. “I do my best to ignore it,” he said truthfully. “But when I get off the escalator and a frozen-yogurt dispenser is facing me, I do what I’m supposed to do. I fill up on banana-flavored frozen yogurt.”

“With me, it’s the cherry cream cake over there at the ice-cream bar. I’ve eaten six of them since I boarded in Manchester.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. He would have expected her to be a bit more disciplined. “I think I’ll turn in now,” he said, having become a little uneasy with his charade, “but maybe we’ll meet at breakfast tomorrow morning. What level are you on?”

“Four.”

“So am I. I’ll meet you at breakfast. Is eight-thirty too early?”

“That’s fine. I’m an early riser.”

Her smile enveloped her whole face. He leaned down, kissed her cheek, ignored her wide-eyed expression, winked and left her. His conscience, however, nagged at him. He wasn’t proud of his ulterior motive in being gracious to Sheri Stephens. He had not forgiven her for the resentment he felt towards her for not approving his dissertation and for the blow that had been to his family. Even if he could forget that, she certainly deserved to pay for his having lost a job with the Brookings Institute. He’d often wondered if she felt proud of herself for having the power to do that to another person or if, indeed, she ever thought of the consequences that her action had on him. He struggled with thoughts of retribution until he fell asleep.