“I was being hospitable.”
“Ms. Calderon,” said my mother, to the woman beside him, without looking at her.
She had read the name off the luggage tag and the passenger list in her head, the way she reads everything.
“You sailed with us as a guest, in the Horizon Suite?”
The woman’s smile had crumpled at the corners.
“Yes,” she said, uncertainly.
“Thirty-one days.”
“Thank you,” said my mother.
She turned her head a quarter turn toward the man at her left, a tall, bald, careful man in a gray suit, holding a tablet.
“Mr. Kendrick, please note the time.”
“Nine forty-one,” said Mr. Kendrick, and tapped the screen.
He was the Director of Crew Conduct.
In my whole life, I had never seen a man so calmly happy to be at work.
Dillon’s eyes jumped from the tablet to the photographer, whose camera was up again, its small red light blinking.
