He frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
I looked past his shoulder.
“Turn to your right, Dillon.”
“There’s someone you really need to see.”
He slowly turned his head.
And the moment he recognized the person standing there, every trace of confidence drained from his face.
PART 2
She stood perhaps fourteen feet away, in the middle of the terminal floor, with two executives at her shoulders and a photographer lowering his camera.
She wore a white uniform jacket with four gold stripes on each sleeve, and her silver hair was pinned under a cap with a gold anchor.
She was sixty-two years old.
She had commanded vessels for thirty-four years, and she did not raise her voice for anything, because she had never needed to.
She was my mother.
Captain Rosanne Cavanaugh, Fleet Captain of Seaborn Cruise Line.
Every time a Seaborn ship came home after ninety days at sea, she met it on the pier.
