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  “Please, call me Captain Nate,” he continues as he swings his hat back onto his ash-blond crew cut and rubs his palms together. “You folks are in for a scenic treat! For the next eleven days, we will explore the seven main volcanic Canary Islands. One legend says the islands are the mountaintops of sunken Atlantis. Another tells the tale of a mythical being who kidnapped the sun and hid it inside one of the volcanoes. Still, another myth speaks of an eighth island.” Captain Nate’s voice slips into a whisper, and he widens his brown eyes and spreads his hands wide. “Only the setting sun will reveal the location of the mystery island—but don’t blink, or it will vanish as quickly as it appeared!”

  With the captain’s words, a low screech slips out of Ella’s mouth as she tries to laugh or speak—Tessa does not know which—as the tumor tears through the normal sound like a deeply scratched record. The curiosity on Ella’s face morphs to embarrassment, and she drops her sunglasses from the top of her head to her nose, hiding her eyes behind their reflective lenses, and she crosses her arms. Tessa puts a comforting arm around her daughter while glaring at the passengers that turn with disgusted expressions to see where the noise originated.

  Valarie, back at the microphone, announces, “Our first stop: the port at Arrecife on the island of Lanzarote.” Her two-way radio chirps in her hand and she listens. “Wonderful news, folks! We are ready! Welcome aboard!”

  Chapter 2

  Tessa, Ella, and Archie ride the elevator in silence. After the safety briefing on the promenade deck and a tour of the life preservers and rafts on the quarterdeck, where sunbeams streaked in long lines between the cracks of angry clouds, the passengers had been released to find their cabins on one of the eight expansive levels. From deep within the ship, they can hear the Atlantic Odyssey’s horn blast. The engines growl as the vessel leaves the dock to shrink from view behind them.

  Ella looks up at her grandpa, fumbling through an awkward gesture.

  “What is it, sweetie? Hmm.” Archie watches Ella intently as she repeats the motions in a loop, pleading for understanding with her eyes. Archie’s white eyebrows are raised, deepening the creases on his forehead.

  The family had begun sign language lessons months before, but while Archie’s arthritic fingers were near useless, Ella was merely resistant. Thus, beyond the fundamentals, the family had resorted to a frustrating game of charades to express more complex ideas and emotions.

  “Hmm, Ell. I’m not sure.” The old man exhales deeply. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  Tessa steps in closer. “I don’t know that sign, Ell,” she says and pulls out her ASL pocket dictionary. She is still flipping back and forth between pages when the elevator doors open. Ella gives up, her arms falling limp as she walks out into the hall.

  Archie deposits his luggage in his cabin around the corner from Tessa and Ella’s room, then raps on their door. “You ladies decent?” he hollers.

  Ella waves her grandpa in to the small cabin—number 251—which contains a queen bed, a wardrobe built into one wall, and a narrow bathroom. Ella shows him the continuous blind contour drawing of the Atlantic Odyssey she had made before boarding. “That’s great work, Ell. Hey, guess what I saw? A cabin with a tiny circular window,” Archie says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Those folks can look out to the sea.” Ella looks impressed. “Maybe next time, my sweet Ell.” Archie pulls Ella in close, ruffling her hair—which she quickly tidies back into place—though she releases a happy squeak, what Archie has recognized over the last months as his granddaughter’s giggle.

  “Want to go up top?” he asks Ella, before swiveling to catch Tessa’s gaze as she hangs a creamy-white cotton dress in the wardrobe. “Can I take her up? For a look around, just Ella and me? You know, grandpa bonding time?”

  “Is that what this trip is all about?” Tessa barks, searching Archie’s face for answers.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I don’t have you figured out, Archie. Is it quality time you’re after? I have never seen you spend this kind of money. And out of the blue!”

  “Always harking on me for being a penny pincher! I couldn’t afford a cabin with a window.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  As Tessa stares at Archie, she sees Arden’s face: her husband’s smile lines, exaggerated; and the curve of his cheeks and forehead, though the face before her is freckled with sunspots from Archie’s career as a roofer. The old man is bald on top, with a half-halo of coarse, silvery hair reaching from ear to ear. Archie’s features have their own quirks, distinct from Arden’s, but Tessa recognizes her husband’s eyes and even his build in Archie’s slouching frame. Tessa unconsciously shakes her head and a thin line deepens between her eyebrows at the thought of Arden Wellsley.

  “All right, Tessa. You got me.” Archie raises his hands in the air. “I do have a motive for this trip. I want my granddaughter to be happy. Does that make me a bad guy?” He looks over at Ella, who shakes her head and pinches her pointer and middle fingers together with her thumb, signing the word no. “That’s my girl,” commends Archie with a chuckle.

  A deep sigh escapes between Tessa’s teeth. She pushes the last two years of struggle as a single parent out of her mind. She had been distrusting of Archie since Arden’s abrupt disappearance, though her father-in-law had proved dependable, even on their toughest days. That is the one difference between Archie and Arden, Tessa reflects. Archie is still here.

  ARCHIE and Ella stroll along a hallway below the quarterdeck, passing expensive gift shops, a beauty salon, fitness center, and a grand entrance to the ballroom and theater at the base of a broad, maroon-carpeted circular staircase. A chandelier of crystal petals dangles above the stairs in a wide skylight, three floors above their heads. The daylight catches the curve of the petals, which cast rainbows in every direction. Ella touches each bend of color along their path. She curls her arm backward and pulls her phone from a side pocket of her backpack and posts a photo of the rainbows on Instagram.

  The pair head up the staircase and Ella runs her hand along the rich oak railing. “Awwweeek—” Ella says, forgetting her vocal limitations. She drops her head and grits her teeth, though peers at her grandpa through the corners of her eyes. A few passengers pause on the stairs.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t care what anybody thinks, you hear me? I know you’ve been having a rough go in junior high—but high school, and the real world, can be even rougher. You need to toughen up.”

  Ella nods but her jaw remains locked. She clumsily signs her thought but her fingers trip over themselves. Her eyes swim behind instant tears and she looks away.

  “This is our secret, Ell,” Archie whispers as he pulls a pen and creased receipt out of the pocket of his oversized pleated pants. “Now don’t get me in trouble and tell your mom about this. She’ll report me to the sign language teacher and get us both in heck. You’re on vacation, sweetie. Now tell Grandpa Archie what you want to say.”

  Ella beams at her grandpa, tears still on her cheeks. She scans the stairs to ensure her mother is not within sight before taking the paper and pen. Ella developed an expansive vocabulary in the years she carted books to every doctor and radiation appointment. When she lost her ability to speak, in the peak of awkward adolescence, she retreated between the hardcovers in her school’s library.

  Ella scribbles on the flimsy receipt: This place is lovely. Like a dream.

  When they pass through the sliding glass doors into the dense salty air on the quarterdeck, the speed of the ship becomes apparent. Ella’s bangs are again swept from behind her ears and tickle her freckled nose. She and Archie explore, discovering a kidney bean-shaped pool carved out of the deck, surrounded by wooden patio chairs, their pristine white canvas slings blowing erratically in the swiftly traveling air.

  “Look! There, Ell!” Archie points at the sea. “Is that a dolphin jumping? Or a whale?”

  They jog to the railing, but startle at the loud thumping of many feet crossing the deck
behind them, led by Valarie, the cruise director, who is calling out above the wind, “This way! Port side!” Archie and Ella find themselves at the most desired section of railing, surrounded by nearly forty eager men and women wearing vests with dozens of bulging pockets and cameras slung around their necks, their fingers poised on their release buttons. Shutters begin snapping open and closed with a whir like a swarm of insects.

  Archie is undeterred, a trait he learned from years of working with tradesmen. He gently pushes back on the encroaching mob. When one zealous photographer wields a pudgy elbow while jockeying for a better view, Archie pipes up. “Come on, fella! Let the young lady see!” Ella ducks for the camera men and women, crouching low against the railing. A look of awe paints across her face as she watches the black shape emerge as smooth as a knife from the unsettled water, then flop back in on its side. An eruption of foamy spray blasts into the sky, glittering in the waning sunlight, before the great dark form slaps its tail in one final disturbance—and is gone.

  “Many apologies,” says the round-bellied man when it’s clear the whale will not reappear. He smirks with self-importance, his words patronizing. Archie scowls. The breeze carries the pungent cologne unsuccessfully masking the man’s body odor into Archie’s nostrils, for a moment overpowering the dense, briny air.

  “What is this anyway, a camera club?” Archie grumbles.

  “Yes, that’s exactly right. We do a cruise this time every year,” the man bats his eyelashes proudly. “Our photographs are often featured in National Geographic.”

  “Any of yours been printed in there?”

  “Well, no.” The man looks annoyed.

  “That’s all right, champ.” Archie pats the man square on the back. “If only old men and girls got out of the way, right? Then you’d get your shot.”

  “Our whale is on the move, folks!” Valarie yells. “Starboard side!” And with that, the feet pound the deck again as the camera club stalks its subject. As quickly as they came, the group—and the fat man—are gone, leaving Archie and Ella alone once more.

  “That was neat, huh, Ell? You did see the whale, didn’t you?” Ella nods without looking away from the water. Archie slowly crouches down beside her and follows Ella’s gaze toward the sharp horizon, where towering clouds and a deep blue-black shifting sky loom over the equally turbulent ocean.

  “It might be a rough night,” says Archie, wiping a raindrop from his forehead. Ella holds up her index, middle, and ring fingers, spreads them, and touches the three to her chin, signing water. She brings her hands side by side, palms down, and rolls them forward, as if following the arches of angry waves.

  “You know what, Ell?” Archie wets his lips. “Your dad is a good man. It may not seem like that, but it’s true.” Archie scratches the white stubble on his chin. “I got somethin’ to tell you, Ell, but you can’t tell your mom, all right? Another Grandpa Archie secret, okay?” He looks at Ella with a stern face and she nods.

  “I think I know where your father is.” Archie pauses. “It’s not like my son to up and leave, especially when you’re having such a rough go with this . . . this tumor. Your mother is not very happy with Arden—Dad—right now, and that’s fine. I understand. These last two years have been one heartbreak after another, and I’m afraid I’m not the help I should be. But your dad is good, Ella. And I’m going to find him. We Wellsley men may seem like loons most days, but we know more than we let on. Your old Grandpa Archibald Wellsley is going to make things right.”

  Ella leans in and hugs her grandfather around the waist and Archie bends his back to share the embrace. The ship hits a wave and the two tumble over, onto the deck. They laugh; Archie’s voice deep and gruff, Ella’s a squawk.

  Archie rolls to his knees to stand, but his expression suddenly darkens. He pats the front of his trousers and tunnels his hands deep into his pockets. Standing upright, he pivots, his eyes dilated, his breath held, his neck jerking to and fro. “The notebook! Where’s the notebook?” he moans.

  Ella, who pulls herself up beside Archie, looks for the brown leather book she had seen her grandfather reading at the harbor. She spots it and points. Archie follows her finger and spies the book a few paces away, the cover freckled with rain. As Archie lunges forward, a camera club member steps into his path, once more tracking a mammal beyond the railing. The thunder of footsteps fills Archie’s ears, but he continues forward. He shoves men and women out of his way, his eyes locked on the book. His tan coat flaps and snaps in the gritty breeze, its metal zipper slapping painfully against his abdomen. One word escapes his lungs, drawn out and desperate: “No!” But it is too late. The toe of the fat cameraman connects with the notebook and punts it overboard to be gobbled up by the sea.

  Chapter 3

  “You all right, Tess?” Archie asks but Tessa does not answer. Instead, she throws-up her breakfast over the bow of the ship, which affords the trio extra shoulder space as the encroaching passengers quickly back-step.

  Captain Nathanial Billows appears beside them and passes Tessa a small pill bottle. “Oh, Nate,” Tessa chirps, covering her mouth to shield her breath. “I didn’t see you coming.”

  “I could have heard your heaving a mile away,” the captain chuckles. “I hope these’ll help. They’re the best motion sickness medication I’ve come across.”

  “Wow, thank you. That’s so thoughtful of you,” says Tessa. Archie elbows his daughter-in-law. “Oh, sorry. Nate, this is my daughter Ella. She’s in grade nine. And this is Archie. My father-in-law.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Captain,” Archie says as he shoots forward his hand. Nate shakes it firmly.

  “The pleasure’s mine. Well, I’d better be off. Someone needs to steer this beast into the marina. You all have a great day. This is one of my favorite places on earth. I’m sure you’ll understand why very soon.” Nate touches Tessa’s arm, lingers, smiles at her, then turns toward the captain’s bridge. At that moment, Valarie, the cruise director, passes them on the deck.

  Valarie’s shoulder connects squarely with Tessa’s. Without stopping, Valarie apologizes with only a slight turn of her head. “Slippery deck this morning. We all best watch our step.”

  “What was that about?” Archie huffs.

  “I don’t know, it seemed a bit mean spirited,” Tessa answers, rubbing her shoulder.

  “No, Tess, not the cruise director. The captain. Do you know each other?”

  “Nah, not really. We chatted, that’s all.”

  “Uh huh. Does he know about Arden?”

  “Yes, Archibald. He does. God, Archie! Can’t you give me two seconds to be happy? You are obsessed with Arden. I get it. He’s your long-lost, only child. But he’s gone. He left us. Do you see me going out, Archie? Do you see me having friends or going on dates? No. So, can you give me some space? To figure this all out? Don’t I deserve a little bit of happiness?”

  “Thank you.”

  “What?”

  “Thank you, Tess. I don’t think I say it enough.”

  “I appreciate that, Archie.” Tessa pauses, takes a deep breath. She turns to Ella. “I’m sorry, Ell,” Tessa begins. “For everything. I know this is hardest of all on you—for so many reasons.” Ella makes no sound and does not raise her hands to sign in reply. The three, each defeated in their own way, turn back to stare at the sea without saying another word.

  The air is like hot breath exhaled off the unseen coast of Morocco as their voyage traces parallel to the western coast of Africa. All passengers grow quiet under its spell, inhaling its rich, earthy scent. Archie, Tessa, and Ella watch the straight edge of the horizon as their destination grows from a speck, taking on form, almost as if the myth of the eighth island were manifesting before them.

  Marina Lanzarote—and the island’s capitol, Arrecife—would be a colorful, vibrant sight with its red and orange roofs and palm trees, but for the storm that continues to stir and charge the atmosphere overhead. The family of three lean against the railing as the Atlantic
Odyssey approaches the port, the hub of the fishing city, flanked on either side by rock reefs beneath electric-blue water. The shadows of the low clouds darken the whitewashed buildings with their cobalt-colored doors; the reds and golds of the sailboats rocking helplessly; the quaint patio cafés; and the Gran Hotel Arrecife at the lip of the island, southwest of the harbor.

  “Give it a rest!” Archie grumbles as a camera clicks near his ear. He swats it away like a fly.

  “Are you sure you need that big bag, Archie?” Tessa asks. “It’ll be a pain to carry around the park.”

  “I’m stronger than I look, Tess. Maybe Ell will find an exotic rock for her collection at the Biosphere Reserve—or some other treasure.”

  “The bag’s already full.”

  “Nah, just old person stuff. You can’t be too prepared—no, Ella, don’t!” Ella wriggles her hand into the opening where the zipper is not fully fastened. She pulls out the object that had caught her eye: a worn royal blue notebook, similar to the one lost the day they embarked. Archie snatches the blue book from her hands and shoves it back in the bag.

  “What’ve you got there?” Tessa takes a step toward Archie. “I’ve seen that notebook before. Where’d you get it?” Tessa’s hand shoots into the bag as Archie struggles with the zipper. Her fingers stroke the smooth cover of the notebook she retrieves, her breath growing thick in her throat. “Arden . . .”

  “I found it in the attic,” Archie admits, reaching for the notebook, but Tessa steps away, bumping into another passenger, as she folds open the pages. The spine is soft, and it flops to an entry near the back cover. “Please, Tessa,” Archie begs.

  She glances at the bag. “How many books have you got in there?”