She sighed with relief as the ship approached a construction site near Navy Pier and Roger began describing the Chicago Spire. She’d picked up on the routine of the cruise by the third time around, and she now knew the Spire was the last architectural marvel on the list, so they’d be docking soon. Sophie continued collecting empty cups and napkins.
Roger’s voice sounded strained as he bid farewell to the passengers over the intercom and invited them to return for another cruise at any time. While Grant was expertly docking the ship, Sophie wiped her hands on a towel and headed to the gangway to smile pleasantly at the departing passengers. She wished them a wonderful evening in downtown Chicago.
Sophie glanced up at the bridge as she’d done after the earlier cruises, but this time she did not see Grant winking down at her. The parolees-turned-sailors had not found the opportunity to talk much during the cruises, but their exchanged glances had kept her going. Grant’s dazzling blue eyes provided inspiring energy for her weary body, sparking excitement all up and down her spine.
Typically Roger and Grant had joined her and Tommy by the gangway to see the passengers off, but this time the captain and navigational officer were nowhere to be found. Sophie waited for the last passenger to disembark before taking tentative steps up to the bridge. She arrived to find Grant leaning over Roger, whose bald head was glistening with sweat. Roger’s meaty paw clutched at his chest as his red face screwed up in pain.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Rog just started having chest pains.”
“I’ll call an ambulance,” Sophie offered.
“No, don’t!” Roger feebly insisted.
Sophie appeared confused, and Grant clarified, “He’s refusing to go to the ER.”
Stepping into the small control room, Sophie knelt by her boss. “You’re having chest pain? What about pain down your left arm?”
“A little,” he grunted.
“Pain in your back?”
“Yeah, there too.”
“Is it hard to catch your breath?”
He nodded, and they could both hear him gasping for air.
“Do you feel nauseated?”
Roger continued nodding.
She frowned. “Have you ever had panic attacks before?”
Roger shook his head.
“And it’s not indigestion, either,” Grant said. “I’ve seen him with whopper indigestion, and this is different.” Studying Roger, he chided, “Although you did eat an entire foot-long sub for lunch.”
“What are you, the fucking food police?” Roger managed.
Sophie pressed her lips together. “Rog, you definitely need to go to the hospital. You’re experiencing just about every symptom in the book of a heart attack.”
“How do you know so much about them?” Grant asked.
“I did my internship in a VA hospital,” she replied. Looking away, she added, “And my mother died of a heart attack last December.”
Grant’s eyes clouded over with sympathy, showing the same mournful look as the day she’d told him Jerry Stone’s mother was dying. He reached out and held Sophie’s hand, stroking her smooth skin softly, as his eyes locked onto hers. It was the most genuine expression of sympathy she’d ever experienced—the most compassionate response of all the times she’d painfully informed another person of her mother’s death. She felt instantly nurtured and supported.
Wanting to avoid the fatal heart attack of yet another person in her life, Sophie turned her attention back to Roger. She sternly asked him, “How can we get you to go the hospital right away?”
“It’s sold out,” he rasped with difficulty. “The seven o’clock is sold out, and I refuse to turn paying customers away. I can’t leave.”
“Rog, surely you can miss the revenue from one cruise,” Grant said.
“No,” he panted. “I gotta pay alimony next week. I need every penny.”
“You were married?” Grant asked incredulously.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Roger growled.
“Okay, focus, people!” Sophie admonished. “Grant, you can be the docent, right? You can take Roger’s place?”
Grant’s eyes widened. “What? Me? I can’t be on the mic!”
“How hard can it be?” Sophie reasoned. “There’s got to be a written script or something, right, Rog?”
Roger tapped his temple. “It’s all up here.”
As much as the prospect of playing tour guide created sheer panic within Grant, the idea of Roger’s heart giving out was even more disturbing. Joe would certainly want his nephew to do everything in his power to take care of his friend.
“Okay!” Grant blurted. “I’ll do it. Just go to the hospital, okay, sir? We’ll take care of everything. Just go.”
Roger must have been frightened by the increasing pain in his chest because he finally agreed. Figuring a taxi would be faster than calling an ambulance at this point, Grant and Sophie carefully led Roger down the stairs and onto the dock. It was a good sign that he could still walk.
Tommy also joined them, running to the street to hail a cab, and Grant frowned as they slowly approached the waiting taxi. “This is not right. We should go with you, Rog.”
“I ain’t going to that damn hospital unless you run the cruise,” he protested.
Grant sighed and glanced at his watch: already 6:15. “Tommy, go to the ER with him and then get back here by seven, okay? I need you in the bridge if we’re going to have a chance in hell of pulling this off.”
Tommy nodded and slid to the other side of the back seat while Grant and Sophie helped Roger into the cab. Their hearts were racing, and it didn’t help that Roger looked worse and worse with every minute ticking by. Thankfully the cab soon sped off, leaving Grant with his hands on his hips.
He turned his gaze to Sophie and felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. His eyes narrowed into a glare. “What the hell did you just get me into? I can’t do this!”
She grinned. He was even cuter all angst-ridden and irritated. “C’mon, I’ll help you,” she said, locking her arm into his and leading him toward the ship. She couldn’t believe how forward she was being, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he went along with her easily, matching her stride for stride.
“How are you going to help me? You’ll be serving drinks the whole time. By the way,” he added, glancing at the stains on her shirt and skirt, “you’re supposed to pour the drinks into the glasses, not on yourself.”
“Ha ha. Pour the drinks into the glasses?” she repeated in a high-pitched voice, giving him her best dumb blonde routine. “Who needs drink glasses? I was actually doing body shots with the passengers … didn’t you see that?”
Grant’s mouth dropped open. “No wonder you’re making so many tips! Damn it, I miss all the fun stuck up there in the bridge.”
“Well, the chief navigator does need to stay up there on his throne. It wouldn’t be right for him to associate with us commoners on the poop deck.”
Grant grinned. “You’re learning the ship terminology so fast, Sophie!”
“If only I could learn cocktail ingredients as quickly. I’m running around trying to fill drink orders like a chicken with its head cut off.”
Back at the ship, his grin faded as he glanced up at the bridge, the reality of his impending duty hitting him squarely in the chest. “I’m sure you’ll do a better job as bartender than I will as docent,” he said. “This is going to be bad.”