“Have you done this before? A cruise, I mean?” JJ questioned as they moseyed forward a few steps.
Wynn shook his head. “Nope. Don’t want to be on one now, but what do you do when you get unwittingly signed up to be a wingman to an octogenarian?”
JJ laughed, thinking he might have at least one kindred spirit and friend on board if they ever actually got onto the ship.
Finally, they made it to the point where they were in possession of their Set Sail cards—their personalized key to the floating city.
Grams explained that the cards served as room keys, provided access to specific areas, and were used to make charges on the ship, arrange outings, and book reservations. They were also scanned at every port, both coming and going, and were necessary to board the ship.
“Don’t lose your card, Skippy,” Grams said, patting his hand as though he was back in junior high. Just because he’d lost his lunch money a few times, would she never let him forget it?
Besides, more crucial to the insult was her use of that infernal, abominable name. Why, after seventeen years of never speaking it, had she decided to dust it off and put it on repeat today?
At least Ted and Wynn didn’t seem to notice or hear her as Ted offered his grandson commentary on carrying a better style of wallet than the one he shoved into his pocket.
The meandering path along the gangway was a trial to JJ’s already flagging patience, but they reached the point where they scanned their Set Sail cards and were finally aboard the ship.
When JJ scanned his card, a loud electronic voice said, “Welcome, Skippy.”
What now?
Heat burned up his neck, searing his skin at a swift pace. He glared at his card, noticing the name printed on it. Sure enough, in black and white, he was registered as JJ “Skippy” McKade.
His grandmother wanted him dead. He was sure of it because he would die of humiliation before they ever set sail.
“Skippy?” Wynn asked in a quiet voice as Ted and Grams went ahead of them into the ship.
“My grandfather used to call me Skipper, since I was named after a ship captain. Grams always referred to me as Skippy until I begged her to stop in my grade-school years. I have no idea why she’s calling me Skippy now, or why she put it on all my information.” JJ sighed. If nothing else on this trip, he should build up his lung capacity by expelling pent-up exasperation-loaded air with regularity.
“Don’t let it get to you. At least she’s not telling everyone you’re the wingman to help pick up hot chicks. They look more like over-baked chickens,” Wynn said, then glanced at JJ. “No offense meant to your grandmother.”
“None taken,” JJ said, swiping through the information on the cruise app on his phone and realizing everything, absolutely everything, said Skippy.
Perfect. This day could not possibly get any worse.
