Baby Talk

Gabby really does love to make the pressure on themself bigger but they're up to it.

Employer 

Book 2 – Chapter 19: Still Sixteen   Morning came bright and early. For Sally, waking early hardly qualified as a hardship. She opened her eyes to the pale light filtering into the cabin and lay still for a few moments, listening. Nothing. No footsteps outside, no voices, no twins announcing an emergency involving breakfast or swimming. Perfect. She wiggled in bed. Her diaper felt warm and bulky between her legs. A twinge of disappointment threatened to set in, but Dr. Costa’s encouraging words to keep calm, give herself a holiday, and relax, brushed away her worries. The diaper eventually felt comfortable, and she allowed herself to indulge in it. She knew with reasonable certainty that she would have the yacht almost to herself. Holidaymakers resisted early mornings, and Sally had always liked the hours before everyone else appeared. Out here, with the sea around her, the quiet seemed particularly worth getting up for. She got ready for the day, eventually pulling the tapes of her diaper carefully and wrapping it tightly shut, depositing it into the plastic lined bin under the vanity.  She showered quickly before choosing one of her new bikinis—the beautiful one this time, rather than the sporty one she'd worn for the water toys. Over it went another pair of her turtle-print swim trunks, these blue with yellow prints, and a short yellow T-shirt. Casual, cheerful and enough coverage to wander around the yacht without looking as though she'd arrived for breakfast in a bikini. Her hair required almost nothing. It was messy from sleep, but with the shag that somehow worked in its favor. Sally ran her fingers through it, studied herself for another second and nodded. Perfect enough. Now she only needed to convince somebody to make coffee. She picked up her Kindle and stepped out of the cabin. -- It was quiet. Sally felt her bare feet sink into the carpet as she crossed the main salon on her way outside. She almost wafted through it, Kindle tucked beneath one arm, enjoying the peculiar feeling of having such an enormous space apparently to herself. The grand white piano sat untouched in the morning light, sofas and tables perfectly arranged from the night before, not a cushion or glass betraying the fact that a dozen people actually lived aboard. She scanned the room hopefully for somebody who might know how she could get coffee. Breakfast could wait. Coffee could not. As she stepped outside onto the pool deck, a stewardess appeared almost immediately. She was young and blond, her hair swept neatly into a bun, looking so awake and composed that Sally wondered whether the crew actually slept or simply disappeared into cupboards to recharge. “Good morning, Miss Weiss. I hope you had a good night. Can I get you anything for breakfast?” Sally blinked. “Um... coffee? Just black.” “Of course. I’ll let the kitchen know you’re up.” Sally nodded her thanks and settled onto a lounger beside the pool, placing her Kindle at her side and stretching out her legs. The morning was beautiful. The water around Lady Lara was almost perfectly calm, a deep blue barely disturbed by the movement of small boats in the distance. Behind them lay Vis, pale stone buildings clustered along the shore beneath the green-brown hills. And farther across the anchorage sat Madiz. Sally recognized her immediately. The old yacht seemed even more at home in the early light, her dark hull and graceful profile standing quietly apart from the modern white vessels around her. She was far enough away to remain mysterious but close enough that Sally could admire her. She was still looking when movement beside her caught her attention. Sally turned her head. Mario, the yacht chef, had emerged carrying a tray with a mug and a small carafe. “Coffee, yes?” he called as he approached, visibly pleased with himself. Sally sat up. “Yeah. That sounds like me.” Mario placed the tray on the side table and poured for her. “What would you like for breakfast, Miss Weiss?” Sally wrapped both hands around the mug and took an appreciative first sip before answering. “What can you offer me?” “Anything!” Mario declared, throwing his newly liberated hands outward. Sally looked at him, perplexed. “Anything?” “Anything.” “Um...” She glanced toward the sea as though breakfast might be written somewhere on the horizon. “Eggs?” Mario nodded enthusiastically. “You like eggs?” Sally nodded. “Any specific kind?” Sally opened her mouth, then stopped. A smile slowly spread across her face. “Surprise me.” Mario’s eyes lit up as though Christmas had arrived unexpectedly, and Sally had just handed him permission to open every present under the tree. “Ah!” he exclaimed. Sally immediately wondered what she had unleashed. -- Sally's Kindle was forgotten almost immediately. The blond stewardess returned first, carrying a small white plate that looked far too elegant for something as ordinary as an egg. In the center sat a tiny brioche toast, crisp and golden at the edges, topped with softly scrambled egg folded into glossy little curds. A few shavings of black truffle lay across the top, with chives scattered so precisely that Sally suspected tweezers had been involved. She stared at it. “Egg number one,” the stewardess said, suppressing a smile. Sally looked toward the doors through which Mario had disappeared. “He's actually doing this?” “I believe you told him to surprise you.” “That may have been a tactical error.” The stewardess laughed and withdrew. Sally picked up her fork. The portion was tiny—three or four bites at most—but ridiculously good. The egg was soft and buttery, the toast crisp beneath it, the truffle earthy enough to make the whole thing taste far more sophisticated than Sally felt sitting barefoot beside a swimming pool in turtle shorts. She ate every bite. Her coffee was quietly topped up before she had even noticed the mug was getting low. Another steward appeared with sparkling water and a small bowl of berries, asked whether she needed anything else, and vanished again with the empty plate. Sally leaned back against the lounger and looked around. Nobody. The pool lay perfectly still. Vis rested in the morning sun behind them. Madiz remained at anchor across the blue water, and somewhere inside Lady Lara, eleven perfectly sensible holidaymakers were still asleep while Sally apparently had an entire superyacht and its crew operating exclusively for her benefit. She grinned. The second egg arrived. This one came in its shell, nestled upright in a little ceramic cup. Sally initially thought Mario had simply boiled it until the steward placed beside it two slender soldiers of toasted sourdough and explained that the egg had been cooked soft, the top removed and finished with a spoonful of smoked Adriatic fish, lemon zest and a few drops of herb oil. Sally dipped a toast soldier through the soft yolk. “Oh.” The steward smiled. “Good?” Sally nodded solemnly. “Don't tell Mario yet. It'll encourage him.” It did not matter. Mario clearly required no encouragement. Egg number three arrived perhaps ten minutes later, once Sally had been given enough time to drink more coffee and watch a small motorboat make its way toward Vis. This time the plate held something entirely different: a miniature Spanish tortilla, barely wider than the palm of her hand, browned lightly outside and still soft in the center, with thin layers of potato and sweet onion bound together by egg. Beside it sat a little spoonful of tomato rubbed with olive oil and sea salt. Sally laughed when she saw it. “He's traveling now.” The steward placed it in front of her. “Apparently.” Sally cut into the tortilla. “Where are we going next?” “I don't think I'm allowed to tell you.” “You know?” “I might.” Sally narrowed her eyes at him. The steward remained professionally inscrutable. She ate the little tortilla slowly. By now the individual portions were beginning to add up into a real breakfast, but Mario had judged them cleverly. Nothing was large enough to overwhelm her, and there was enough time between plates that she never felt rushed. Her berries disappeared somewhere along the way. So did most of the coffee in the carafe. She had stopped even pretending she might read. Instead, Sally stretched her legs across the lounger and enjoyed being spoiled. There was something wonderfully absurd about it. She had awakened wanting nothing more ambitious than black coffee. Twenty minutes later, people were silently clearing plates, replenishing water, straightening a napkin she had abandoned beside her, and producing an international tasting menu devoted entirely to eggs. Then Mario himself appeared. He carried the fourth plate. Sally sat straighter. “Oh, you're delivering this one personally.” “Of course.” Mario approached with considerable ceremony. “Finale.” “That sounds dangerous.” “No. Beautiful.” He set the plate before her. The last egg was the simplest-looking of the four: a perfectly fried egg, small and crisp around the very edges, sitting over a little bed of sautéed wild mushrooms and spinach. But underneath was a thin slice of grilled polenta, and around it Mario had spooned a light Parmesan foam with just enough pepper and herbs to make the whole thing smell extraordinary. Sally inspected it. “You started with truffles and you're ending with a fried egg?” Mario looked almost offended. “A fried egg?” Sally bit her lip. He pointed at the plate. “Crispy edge. Yolk perfect. Mushrooms. Polenta. Parmigiano. Simple is difficult.” “Okay, okay.” She cut through the yolk. It ran slowly across the mushrooms and into the polenta exactly as Mario had presumably intended. Sally gathered everything onto her fork and took a bite. Mario waited. Sally chewed. His eyebrows rose expectantly. She made him wait another second. Then she closed her eyes. “Okay. That's really good.” Mario beamed. “Which one best?” “Oh, no.” “Which?” “You can't make me choose.” “Of course I can.” Sally pointed her fork at him. “The tortilla.” Mario's face fell theatrically. “But this is a very close second.” His dignity returned immediately. “Good.” Sally laughed as he collected the empty coffee carafe, apparently satisfied with his morning's work. “Thank you, Mario. Seriously.” “My pleasure, Miss Weiss.” He glanced at the untouched Kindle beside her and then at the four empty plates that had accumulated and disappeared over the course of breakfast. “Tomorrow, you say ‘surprise me’ again.” Sally shook her head. “Tomorrow I'm ordering cereal.” Mario stared at her in horror. She burst out laughing. He disappeared back toward the galley muttering something in Italian, leaving Sally alone again beside the pool. She settled deeper into the lounger, pleasantly full now, coffee warm in her hands and the Kindle still untouched at her side. The sun had climbed a little higher over Vis, but the yacht remained wonderfully quiet. This, Sally decided, was how to be an early riser. -- Otto stepped out onto the deck clad in a white pool robe. He spotted Sally immediately and smiled. “Morgen, Sally.” He nodded, a touch of his usual formality still present even at this hour. “Otto!” Sally looked up from her coffee. “It’s early.” Otto untied his robe and laid it neatly across the back of a lounger, revealing a yellow Speedo. Sally’s eyebrows rose. “All ready for the pool?” Otto cast a wary glance back through the doors into the yacht. “Before the younger guests take possession of it, yes. I am ready for it now.” Sally chuckled. “What, no breakfast?” “I have already had breakfast in my room. Meetings.” “Oh.” Sally gave him a sympathetic look. “So you’re not on vacation.” Otto raised an eyebrow. “I am.” He spread his arms and turned slightly toward her. “Look at me.” Sally surveyed him. Whatever his morning meetings might suggest, Otto was unquestionably dressed for vacation. “Fair point.” He walked over to the pool and lowered himself gingerly into the water. The sigh that escaped him when he settled against the side suggested that whatever business had occupied his morning was officially finished. Sally looked at the pool, then at her untouched Kindle. “I think I’ll join you.” She pulled off her yellow T-shirt and left it on the lounger, then slipped out of her turtle trunks, leaving them with the shirt. Nearby, a steward quietly placed a fresh stack of fluffy towels on a table without interrupting them. Sally padded to the edge of the pool and waited while Otto moved aside. He looked up at her. Sally raised her eyebrows. Otto nodded. She dove cleanly into the water. The temperature was perfect. Sally surfaced several feet away, swept the wet hair from her face and immediately pushed into a few short laps. The pool wasn't large enough for serious swimming, but it was enough to stretch out, turn and push off again, enjoying the resistance of the water and the simple pleasure of moving. Otto, by contrast, appeared to regard vigorous exercise as entirely contrary to the purpose of a swimming pool. He remained near one side, moving lazily through the water while Sally completed another lap. Eventually she stopped beside him and rolled onto her back, allowing herself to float. Above them was nothing but blue morning sky. Beyond the glass edge of the pool lay the Adriatic, so calm that from Sally’s angle the two bodies of water almost seemed to merge. “This is life,” she said contentedly, turning upright again and wiping the wet hair from her face. Otto chuckled. “Life offers its rewards.” Sally rested her arms along the edge beside him. “You deserve them,” he added. She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “So do you.” Otto considered that. “Yes,” he said gravely. “I believe I do.” Sally laughed, and they settled comfortably against the side of the pool, two early risers enjoying the last few minutes before the rest of Lady Lara inevitably woke up and peace became impossible. -- Sally ended up sitting on the edge of the pool, sipping some sort of tropical juice a steward had handed her without being asked. She wasn't entirely sure what was in it—pineapple certainly, perhaps mango, something sharper underneath—but it was cold and excellent, so she hadn't bothered asking. She swung her feet lazily through the water and watched Otto floating nearby, apparently content to remain there indefinitely. “How are your parents?” he asked. Sally pressed her lips together. There was something in the raised eyebrow and the deliberate casualness of his voice that told her Otto wasn't merely making conversation. There was purpose behind the question. “Good...” She thought about it. “Mom's happy. Constantly beaming, actually. Dad...” She shrugged. “He's back to being busy.” Otto pressed his lips together. “Busy,” he repeated, noncommittally. Sally raised an eyebrow. “Anything I should know?” Otto looked pointedly at her. “You're their daughter.” He chuckled. “Nobody better placed than you to know first.” Sally rolled her eyes slightly. “Okay, so I should quiz them about their health? Is that what you're trying to teach me in today's holiday lesson?” “Your father is almost sixty. Your mother is almost fifty and has just had a baby. You could quiz them.” Otto paused. “Maybe you should.” Sally made a face, thinking about that. “You've got me worried now.” Otto shook his head immediately. “Nothing to be worried about. I'm simply saying that being watchful for them, as they are watchful for you, pays off. Big time.” He rested his arms along the side of the pool. “If we all ran our businesses the way we take care of our bodies, most of us would be bankrupt.” Sally's eyes wandered over him. “Is that why you're sporting extra muscle?” Otto looked down at himself as though the development had escaped his attention. “My doctor is making me lose fat while making sure I don't lose muscle. It is a difficult balance to maintain when you're over sixty.” Sally smiled crookedly. “You're saying my parents should do the same.” Otto said nothing. He didn't need to. Sally's smile faded slightly. “My father.” It wasn't a question. Otto tilted his head. “Your father might need some encouragement.” Sally frowned thoughtfully. “You are his heiress, after all,” Otto continued. “You have a considerable stake in his well-being.” That landed differently. Sally nodded slowly. Adrian had spent years watching over everybody else—her, Bridget, Oskar, the businesses, the family, a seemingly endless procession of problems that somehow arrived on his desk because everyone assumed he would know what to do with them. Sally couldn't remember ever asking him whether he was taking care of himself. She pulled her feet from the pool and stood. Otto watched as she crossed to the lounger, picked up her phone and tapped the first contact on the screen. He smiled to himself. Sally put the phone to her ear. It rang twice. “Hi, Mom.” -- “Oskar looks more focused now,” Bridget explained. “He seems to follow my face more. If I smile, if I frown... I think I can actually tell when he's smiling now.” “So not just a grimace?” Sally asked eagerly, perched on the edge of her lounger with the phone pressed to her ear. “No. Most definitely a smile,” Bridget concluded. “Renée agrees.” Sally smiled to herself. Otto was still floating at the far end of the pool, having tactfully put some distance between them as soon as the call connected. “I miss him,” she admitted eventually. “I know, honey.” Bridget paused. “You look glorious out there, by the way. I've already sent a picture away to be framed.” Sally frowned. “Which one?” “One you sent me. I assume you wouldn't send your mother a photograph of yourself you didn't approve of.” Sally narrowed her eyes at the phone. “So you've got other pictures as well.” “Of course. Astrid keeps me updated. In detail.” “Oh, great.” Bridget laughed. “I chose the one you sent me yourself. It looks like you're in a restaurant.” Sally nodded. “Yeah. It was a cool spot.” “You look glamorous. And I like your hair so much now. It looks wonderful with that dress.” “Thanks, Mom.” Sally grinned, genuinely pleased. She reached automatically toward the ends of her short hair before remembering it was still damp from the pool. “Where's Dad?” “At the doctor's. Just a general checkup.” Sally went still. “Mom...” The sudden tension in her voice made Otto glance over from the pool. His questions of only a few minutes earlier abruptly seemed far more ominous than they had before. “Honey, there's nothing wrong.” Bridget's voice remained completely calm. “Your father has been neglecting his own health for months. First because of you, then because of me, then Oskar. Now that everything is finally quiet, I made an appointment for him to spend the day getting properly checked. A full workup. For once, he can focus on himself instead of everybody else.” Sally looked toward Otto. He was studying the horizon with suspicious concentration. “I want full disclosure,” Sally said firmly. “I need a healthy father if I'm going to be his heiress.” “And I have absolutely no objection to that, my dear.” Sally nodded, reassured but still thoughtful. “Okay. I won't give you any grief about it. But when I'm home, I want us to sit down and talk about this stuff. Properly.” She paused. “I'm not a kid anymore, Mom.” “No,” Bridget said gently. “You're not, Sally.” There was enough sincerity in the answer to satisfy her. “Now go and enjoy your friends,” Bridget continued. “And the yacht.” Sally smiled. “Thanks, Mom. Kiss Oskar for me.” “I will. And Sally?” “What?” “Behave.” Sally's face fell. “Mooom.” Bridget laughed. Sally rolled her eyes toward the morning sky. So much for being grown-up. -- “You knew.” Sally sat back down at the edge of the pool and lowered her feet into the water. Otto turned toward her. “I have been trying to convince your father to get himself checked properly,” he admitted. “Nothing worrying, Sally. But I could tell he was under stress. Headaches and things like that. The usual signs.” He shrugged lightly. “Frankly, just knowing what he has been dealing with was enough to concern me. He told me this morning that he was going to the doctor. A checkup.” Sally nodded slowly. “And you think I should keep an eye on him.” “I think it is normal for children to look out for their parents eventually. You are somewhat below the usual age threshold,” Otto added dryly, earning the beginning of a smile from her, “but your father is almost sixty. More importantly, the level of responsibility he carries makes managing himself particularly important.” “He needs to slow down.” “Pace himself,” Otto corrected, raising one finger. “Not retire, mind you.” Sally laughed softly. “Your father would be unbearable in retirement.” “That I believe.” “He needs to work. He enjoys it. He needs problems to solve and things to build. I would never tell him otherwise. But he cannot behave as though his own body is simply another employee expected to work unlimited overtime.” Sally considered that. “And I need to make sure he doesn't.” “No.” Otto shook his head. “You need to let him know that it matters to you. There is a difference.” Sally fell silent. She turned toward the sea, watching the morning light dance across the anchorage. Her eyes eventually settled on Madiz, still resting gracefully some distance away. The old yacht looked beautiful in the sunshine. She belonged unmistakably to another age, and yet there was nothing frail about her. She looked experienced rather than old, dignified without being tired, as though more than a century at sea had taught her how to carry herself. Sally smiled to herself. Sort of like Dad. The comparison made her chuckle. Otto glanced at her. “What?” “Nothing.” He gave her a knowing look but didn't press. “Your father will be fine,” he said instead. “He simply needs an eye kept on him occasionally. And perhaps a gentle hand.” “Easy for you to say.” Otto shrugged. “I'm here if you need help.” Sally looked at him and smiled. “Thanks, Otto.” “Always.” -- Lady Lara woke with surprising celerity after ten. The twins charged onto the pool deck as though somebody had released them from captivity, dismissed any breakfast suggestion that didn't involve croissants and orange juice, and immediately began discussing what they intended to do with the day. Ally appeared somewhat more gradually, yawning herself into a healthy serving of avocado toast before eventually sharing a bowl of fresh fruit with Sally, who had long since recovered from Mario's four-course celebration of the egg. The adults emerged more quietly. Most had already had coffee or breakfast sent to their cabins, and Otto, now dressed and looking considerably more dignified than he had in his yellow Speedo, gave Sally nothing more than a knowing smile as the deck filled with voices. The peaceful morning was officially over. Sally was quickly coaxed down toward the beach club, where the deck crew were already preparing the toys. The stern had opened once again onto the sea, towels appeared in neat stacks, life jackets were being arranged, and the two fully charged SEABOBs sat waiting beside the swim platform. Emma and Sophie made immediately for them. “No,” Ally said. Both twins stopped. Ally folded her arms. “You used them yesterday.” “We were demonstrating,” Emma protested. “You exhausted both batteries.” “Accidentally,” Sophie clarified. “And Sally never got a turn.” The twins looked toward Sally. Sally, wisely, remained neutral. “So,” Ally continued, “today I'm teaching Sally.” There was a moment of profound injustice. Then one of the deckhands offered a diplomatic solution. “Would you ladies like to go out on the Jet Skis instead?” Two blond heads turned simultaneously. The crisis ended. Within minutes the twins had life jackets on and were climbing aboard behind deckhands, all previous interest in the SEABOBs apparently forgotten. “Okay, but you have to try these too, Sally!” Emma called as her Jet Ski was eased away from the platform. “Yes, they're a lot of fun!” Sophie added from the other one. Sally was already lowering herself into the water with a SEABOB beside her. “But you have to hold on tight!” Emma shouted. “Why?” “Because they try to throw you off!” Emma called back. “They do not!” one of the deckhands protested. “They do!” Sophie insisted. The engines rose in pitch, and both Jet Skis accelerated away from Lady Lara, the twins laughing and shouting at each other as they bounced across their own wakes. Sally waved after them. A splash beside her made her turn. Ally surfaced, pushed her wet hair from her face and rested one hand on her SEABOB. “Follow me.” Sally looked down at the machine floating in front of her, then back at Ally. “That’s the entire lesson?” Ally grinned. “Pretty much.” She squeezed the controls and disappeared beneath the surface. Sally's eyes widened. “Oh.” She tightened her grip. Then she followed. -- Sally learned the trick of the SEABOB—eventually. At first she treated it too much like a machine, trying to steer it with her arms and discovering that the thing had opinions of its own. Ally kept demonstrating, disappearing beneath the surface in a smooth curve and emerging several yards away while Sally splashed after her with considerably less elegance. “You're fighting it!” Ally called. “What am I supposed to do?” “Use your whole body!” That made more sense. Sally learned to curve herself behind the SEABOB almost as though she were a mermaid, letting her shoulders, hips and legs follow the movement rather than trying to force it around with her hands. Once she understood that, everything changed. She squeezed the controls and dipped beneath the surface. For a few glorious seconds there was nothing but blue. The machine pulled her forward effortlessly, deep enough that the surface passed above her head and the world became strangely quiet. Sunlight broke through the water in shifting columns, bubbles streamed around her arms, and Sally stared ahead through her mask in delight. This was incredible. She went deeper. And then discovered, with some surprise, that being propelled underwater had not altered one fundamental feature of human anatomy. She needed to breathe. Sally shot back toward the surface and emerged with a gasp, pushing wet hair from her face while Ally surfaced nearby. “You have to come up to breathe, remember?” Ally laughed. Sally clung to the SEABOB and caught her breath. “Okay. This is tricky.” She inhaled deeply. “But I'm getting the hang of it.” She did. By the time the batteries were running low again, Sally could dive cleanly, sweep through broad underwater turns and rise without the frantic last-second dash for oxygen. The SEABOBs were eventually handed back to the deck crew for charging, and Sally climbed onto the swim platform exhilarated and ready for the next thing. Which, apparently, was the Jet Ski. Otto stepped forward wearing swim trunks and a life jacket, another life jacket dangling from one hand. “Mind if I drive?” he asked with a wink. Sally laughed. “You drive these?” “I drive anything.” Otto waved the question away. That was apparently sufficient qualification. Sally fastened her life jacket and climbed on behind him. Nearby, Ally surrendered the second Jet Ski to Leon, who settled behind one of the deckhands. Both machines eased away from the swim platform at a thoroughly respectable pace. For perhaps thirty seconds. Once they were well clear of Lady Lara, Otto looked over his shoulder. Sally saw the expression. “Oh, no.” Otto opened the throttle. The Jet Ski surged forward. Sally was ready for it. Her experience aboard Flying Fox the previous summer had taught her exactly what happened when a supposedly respectable adult was given several hundred horsepower and an expanse of open water. She wrapped her arms tightly around Otto and laughed her head off as they accelerated across the bay. Otto knew what he was doing. He pushed the machine hard but never blindly, his head constantly moving as he checked the water around them. When he turned, he looked through the bend first, watching for boats, swimmers and other traffic before carving across the surface. Spray flew everywhere. Sally's sunglasses were soon covered in droplets, but the Adriatic sun was far too bright to do without them. Her short hair flew wildly behind her as Otto accelerated again, the second Jet Ski coming alongside with Leon hanging on behind the deckhand. Apparently this constituted a challenge. The two machines raced across the open water, neither maintaining anything resembling a straight line for long. They swept into broad circles, crossed one another's wakes deliberately and bounced through the disturbed water they'd created. Sally squealed as the Jet Ski kicked beneath them, then laughed harder when Otto immediately sent them across another wake. Eventually the two riders separated and began carving tighter turns of their own. Leon was not quite as successful. Sally saw the second Jet Ski cut sharply, saw Leon lean one way while the machine went another, and then watched him disappear sideways into the Adriatic with an enormous splash. She burst out laughing. The deckhand immediately throttled back and circled toward him. Leon surfaced, pushed his hair from his face and raised one arm with as much dignity as a seventeen-year-old floating alone in a life jacket could reasonably muster. Sally was still laughing when Otto slowed beside them. “You okay?” she called. Leon gave her a look. That made it worse. It was only then that Sally realized they had acquired an audience. Several people aboard nearby yachts had stopped what they were doing to watch the commotion from a safe distance. A few stood along rails, apparently entertained by the two Jet Skis tearing around the anchorage and the teenager who had just been deposited into the sea.  Eventually Otto turned them back toward Lady Lara. This time he went gently. Sally loosened her grip and sat comfortably behind him, enjoying the change of pace. After all the noise and spray, the bay suddenly seemed peaceful again. Yachts rested across the blue water, Vis rose beyond them, and the morning sun flashed brilliantly from windows and polished metal. Then Sally saw Madiz again. The old yacht sat as elegantly as ever, her dark hull unmistakable among the modern vessels around her. As Otto guided them past at a respectful distance, Sally noticed someone standing aboard—a lady with short white hair, watching the activity on the water. The woman raised an arm and waved. Sally blinked, then smiled broadly and waved back. Otto continued toward Lady Lara, leaving the beautiful old yacht gradually behind them. -- Lunch was a pleasant break from all the water activity. Sally was famished, and the main dining room offered a dazzling self-service buffet that seemed designed precisely for people who had spent the morning swimming, diving and being thrown around behind Jet Skis. Nothing aboard Lady Lara was ever exactly simple, but the spread managed to be hearty without being heavy: grilled fish and chicken, prawns, several salads, roasted vegetables, fresh breads, cheeses, bowls of rice and small potatoes, cold seafood, sliced fruit and enough sauces and little accompaniments to make Sally circle the buffet twice before committing herself. She had managed a quick cold shower down in the beach club beforehand, washing away the salt and drying herself in record time. Once again, she found herself delighted by her haircut. No mass of wet hair to comb through, untangle or somehow make presentable before lunch. She rubbed it vigorously with a towel, ran her fingers through the resulting mess and decided that was good enough before slipping back into her turtle trunks and yellow T-shirt. Nearby, Emma and Sophie were having a considerably more complicated experience. The twins stood facing each other, each attempting to sort out sections of the other's long blond hair, passing a brush back and forth and muttering in Danish whenever they encountered another knot. Sally watched them for a moment. Sophie noticed. “Don't.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were thinking it.” Sally grinned and walked away. By lunch, however, the morning was beginning to catch up with her. She ate enthusiastically—perhaps more enthusiastically than Mario considered compatible with simply leaving her alone. Every time Sally passed near the buffet, the chef seemed to materialize beside her with another suggestion. “Try this.” “What is it?” “Eat first.” “That seems suspicious.” “Trust Mario.” Apparently she did, because something else invariably ended up on her plate. By the time dessert appeared, Sally had slowed considerably. She sat with a small glass dish of lemon mousse in front of her, spoon moving with decreasing enthusiasm while she fought the unmistakable heaviness behind her eyes. Astrid noticed. “Early riser, I hear.” Sally looked up. “I am an early bird,” she specified. “I was just awake, so I took advantage of the quiet and came out for coffee.” Astrid chuckled. “Mario has fallen in love with you.” Sally glanced toward the buffet, where Mario was supervising the removal of something with the intensity of a military operation. “What makes you say that?” “I've been watching him fuss over everything you put on your plate. Half your lunch received personal intervention.” Sally grinned. “Chefs like being creative, and I like it when they take it out on me.” Astrid laughed. “I'll have to try my cooking out on you, then.” Sally perked up slightly. “I hear you're quite the chef yourself.” “Forced to take a vacation.” Astrid gave a resigned shrug and glanced around Lady Lara. “Apparently nobody will allow me into the galley.” “That sounds reasonable.” Astrid gave her a look. Sally smiled innocently and took another spoonful of lemon mousse. “But you'll be the judge,” Astrid continued, “as soon as you come to our home.” “I’m looking forward to it,” Sally said, nodding. And she meant it. Copenhagen had gone in less than twenty-four hours from being somewhere vaguely cold and Scandinavian on Sally's mental map to a place containing Tivoli, good shopping, a disappointing mermaid, Astrid's cooking and two blond girls who apparently intended to organize every minute of her visit. She took another spoonful of mousse and yawned before she could stop herself. Astrid smiled. Sally covered her mouth. “Sorry.” “Go take a nap.” Sally looked down at the remaining lemon mousse as though faced with an important moral decision. “After dessert.” “Of course.” There were standards to maintain. -- She stopped beside Otto on her way out. He was sipping espresso with Niklas, David and Matthias, the four men gathered around one end of the table. They had quite obviously been talking business; the conversation paused with suspicious efficiency when Sally approached. Niklas stood slightly. “Please, would you like some coffee?” Otto glanced at her and shook his head. “She looks exhausted. Let her have her siesta. She beat all of us to breakfast.” “Oh?” Matthias looked genuinely concerned. “No vacation?” “Just an early riser,” Sally explained. “The only difference is that normally I go out for a jog.” David waved a hand at her. “Yeah, yeah. Trying to make the rest of us feel old. We'll talk later.” Sally raised an eyebrow at Otto. Otto had the decency to look faintly guilty. “Later,” he said. “Go. Rest.” Sally shook her head as she walked away, wondering what exactly Otto had in mind for her. Her suspicions were confirmed, though she was glad he appeared to be taking things relatively easy. Niklas, David and Matthias were three major businessmen in their own right, and Otto sitting among them over espresso did not look remotely like four men discussing the weather. That looked like work. She slipped into her cabin and found Delia there. The stewardess had apparently just finished servicing the room; Sally's bed was perfectly made and everything had returned to the immaculate order in which she'd found it that morning. “Miss Weiss, I was just leaving.” “Thanks, Delia.” Sally looked around appreciatively. “This looks wonderful. Thank you for taking care of everything.” “My pleasure, Miss Weiss. I hope you're comfortable.” “As comfortable as ever. Everybody's doing a great job.” Sally yawned despite herself. “I just need a siesta. I was up kind of early.” “Make yourself at ease. I'll come back later to freshen the room.” “Again?” Sally blinked. “It's okay, I—” Delia shook her head with a smile. “It's nothing. It's my job, and I'm glad to do it.” “Okay. Thanks.” “Have a good rest.” Sally closed the door behind her and breathed in. The cabin smelled fresh. Her bed had been made impeccably, towels replaced, surfaces straightened, and the bathroom showed practically no evidence that she'd occupied it that morning. Then something occurred to her. She pressed her lips into a small smile. Even her wet overnight diaper had disappeared. No awkwardness. No mention of it. Nothing left sitting conspicuously anywhere. Delia had simply taken care of it along with everything else. Seamless service. Discreet, too. Sally washed her face and brushed her teeth. By then she could feel her shoulders beginning to sag as the afternoon tiredness took possession of her. Four little egg courses, swimming, SEABOBs, Jet Skis, sunshine, lunch—and an early start. Her body had apparently decided it had done enough. Still, a familiar little hesitation surfaced when she thought about sleeping. Probably unnecessary for a siesta. Probably. That word was enough. Sally knew her enuresis was nocturnal, but sleep was sleep, and she could already tell this one was going to come easily. There was absolutely no reason to lie in bed wondering what if when she had an easy way not to care. Decision made. She took another quick shower, letting warm water and soap soothe muscles pleasantly tired from the morning's activity. After drying herself with one of the new fluffy towels, she closed the bedroom curtains, shutting out the brilliant Adriatic afternoon, and prepared herself for sleep. She laid in bed and lazily slipped the diaper on. Nothing else. Not now. The little knot of uncertainty was gone. No tension. No danger. Nothing to worry about. Only comfort and security. Sally let her head sink deeper into the pillow. Somewhere beyond the darkened cabin lay Vis, the blue Adriatic and Lady Lara resting quietly upon it. Her thoughts began wandering without direction, following an imaginary coastline beneath the afternoon sun. In her mind there was an old yacht moving slowly through the water, dark-hulled and graceful, something like Madiz, carrying her toward nowhere in particular. The image softened. Sea became sky, coastline became dream, and Sally drifted peacefully away. -- Sally woke slowly.  For several seconds she didn't know what time it was, or particularly care. The cabin remained dark behind the curtains, the bed wonderfully cool beneath her, and her body had that loose, pleasantly heavy feeling that only came after a really good sleep. She stretched. Then she smiled. That had been a great nap. Her hand wandered down to her waist and confirmed what she already suspected. The diaper was wet. Sally lay still for another moment. “Okay.” No disappointment. No mental accounting of how long she'd slept or what she'd drunk at lunch. No wondering whether she should have tried without it. She had needed sleep, she'd protected herself, and she'd slept. That was what it was for. She pushed the covers aside and sat up, rubbing both hands over her face. Somewhere beyond the curtains was the Adriatic, her friends, an entire megayacht and whatever the rest of the afternoon had decided to become while she'd been unconscious. Sally stood. Her diaper sagged slightly, and she tugged it up unconsciously. Five minutes later the diaper was disposed of and she was beneath the shower. Ten minutes after that, the curtains were open again and brilliant Croatian sunlight flooded the cabin. Sally stood for a moment looking out at the sea. Rested. Clearheaded. Ready. She was still sixteen. Still on vacation. Still allowed to spend an afternoon doing absolutely ridiculous things with Emma, Sophie, Ally and Leon. But there were other things now too. Dad. Otto's quiet words. Her own recovery. A future that was beginning, little by little, to ask more of her. Sally smiled faintly. Fine. She could handle serious things. Even after waking up in a wet diaper. She reached for her clothes. At last thought, she picked up a folded t-shirt she recognized. White. Black square, red lettering… Erika’s t-shirt.  Sally smiled. Vasco Rossi. “Nessun Pericolo…Per Te.” She smiled at herself in the mirror. For Erika. She slipped on her turtle trunks over her bikini bottoms and checked the mirror one more time. Now, what were the twins up to? -- It was a lazy afternoon. They would be cruising again tomorrow, so today Lady Lara remained comfortably at anchor off Vis, sharing the bay with a scattering of other yachts. They were close enough to one another to give the anchorage the quiet sense of being somewhere worth coming to, yet separated by enough blue water that every yacht still seemed to inhabit its own private little world. Sally had lost almost two hours of the afternoon to her siesta, although she quickly discovered she hadn't missed very much. She found Emma and Sophie splayed across one of the sofas in the lounge, an action movie playing on the enormous screen in front of them. Emma sat slumped against the cushions with a glass of ice water in both hands, looking rather subdued. Sophie was curled into the opposite corner, her eyes fixed on the screen without anything resembling her usual enthusiasm. Ally glanced up as Sally entered. “Too much sun,” she explained, motioning toward them. Sally walked over to the sofa. “You guys okay?” Emma paused the movie. “Headache.” Sophie looked up. “Dizzy too.” Sally winced sympathetically. “Ouch.” Astrid poked her head into the lounge at almost precisely that moment, apparently conducting periodic inspections. “They'll be fine. They're resting, they're drinking, and they're staying out of the sun for a while.” She looked pointedly at her daughters before turning to Sally and Ally. “You two should come outside. It's a lovely afternoon.” Neither twin protested. That alone told Sally how thoroughly the sun had defeated them. Outside, the yacht had settled into a wonderfully unhurried rhythm. There were no Jet Skis screaming across the water now, no SEABOBs being hauled in and out, no twins demanding that somebody follow them somewhere immediately. The adults had distributed themselves around the upper deck in loose groups, talking over coffee, cold drinks and the occasional plate of something a steward quietly deposited within reach. It was the perfect sort of afternoon for conversation that didn't need to go anywhere. Ally eventually opened her laptop and began working through the photographs she'd taken over the previous days, occasionally making a satisfied little noise or turning the screen toward Sally for an opinion. Sally, meanwhile, sat at the edge of the pool with her feet in the water and her sketchbook balanced across her thighs. Her hesitant drawing was beginning to take shape. The sea occupied most of the page. Sally kept it deliberately sparse for now, using only pencil, while broad curved lines swept across the surface—one crossing another, then bending away, reproducing the trails the Jet Skis had carved into the Adriatic that morning. She stopped, studied it, erased part of one curve and tried again. Better. Later she would add color. Bright color. She could already see it in her head: violent streaks cutting across all that blue, carrying speed and laughter and adrenaline across the water before slowly dissolving into the calm sea behind them. She smiled as she drew another line. She had loved the Jet Ski. The thought brought with it a small pang of disappointment that Croatian rules meant she couldn't simply take one out and drive it herself. Sitting behind Otto had been tremendous fun, but Sally had felt the machine responding beneath them, had watched his hands on the controls and understood instinctively that being the passenger wasn't quite enough. She wanted to drive. Another time. Another place. She returned to her sketch. The afternoon drifted by like that, punctuated by conversation, laughter and occasional visits from stewards. The sun gradually softened, shadows lengthened across the decks, and the brilliant blue of midday began taking on the warmer tones of evening. Eventually someone announced that dinner would be served inside. “We're keeping it simple tonight,” Astrid explained as people began gathering their things. “Tomorrow we'll have a proper formal dinner.” Sally pulled her feet from the pool and stood, closing her sketchbook. “Good. I brought a couple of decent dresses that I need an excuse to show off.” “Oh, you'll have plenty of occasions.” Astrid smiled. “Besides, there's some shopping expedition or other somewhere in between, so who knows what you'll acquire.” Sally's eyes brightened. Astrid winked. “I won't say no to new shopping environments,” Sally said. Astrid laughed. “Somehow, I didn't think you would.” -- It was hamburger night. Not that Mario's hamburgers bore much resemblance to anything Sally would have expected from an ordinary hamburger night. They were magnificent specimens of Americana filtered through Italian imagination: beautifully browned beef, melted cheese, crisp vegetables, toasted brioche buns and sauces Mario had apparently decided civilization could not survive without. Beside them came bowls of impossibly thin, crisp fries that seemed to replenish themselves every time somebody made progress toward the bottom. Even the adults were impressed. The twins, still recovering from their afternoon encounter with too much Croatian sunshine, managed half a hamburger each before deciding that the chilled tomato soup accompanying dinner was considerably more appealing. Emma sat spooning hers slowly while Sophie stole the occasional fry from her plate. Sally had no such difficulty. “I could live on this yacht,” she murmured, closing her eyes briefly as she took another bite of her hamburger. Across from her, Ally grinned. “I wish I could take a picture of you right now.” Sally shook her head firmly while she chewed. “Not authorized.” She swallowed. “Besides, you can't even hold your camera with those hands.” Ally looked down at her own fingers, thoroughly occupied with hamburger and sauce. “Not right now,” she conceded. “But I'll get you on your second burger.” Sally stared at her. “Who said I'm having a second burger?” Ally gave her a look. Sally reached for another handful of fries. Even Leon seemed particularly at ease that evening. Being the only teenage boy aboard sometimes left him visibly conscious of the fact, especially when Emma, Sophie and Ally formed one of their impenetrable little alliances, but meals gave him neutral territory. He could simply sit, eat and join whatever conversation happened to reach him. He inspected his hamburger thoughtfully. “Even Germany cannot make a good hamburger like this.” Sally looked at him. “That's a dangerous statement for a German.” “It is true.” “Don't let your country hear you.” Leon shrugged and took another bite. Sally's phone buzzed beside her plate. She glanced down automatically. Charlie. Her eyes widened. Camp was over.   Charlie: Got a minute?   Sally pressed her lips together. Ally noticed immediately. “Everything all right?” Sally felt heat creep into her face. “Yeah.” She glanced around the table, suddenly acutely aware that she was sitting among eleven other people. Ally tilted her head. Sally concentrated on finishing the last few bites of her hamburger with a speed that probably did nothing to make her look less suspicious. She swallowed, wiped her fingers carefully on her napkin and picked up her phone. “I'll be right back.” Ally's eyebrow rose. “Airplane boy?” Leon looked up from his hamburger. Sally shot Ally a look, but there was no point denying it now. Her cheeks were already betraying her. “Charlie,” she admitted with a helpless half-grin. Leon remained very interested. Sally pushed her chair back. “Excuse me.” She slipped away from the table and stepped outside onto the deck, phone already warm in her hand. The doors closed behind her, muffling the conversation inside. Sally looked at the message again. Got a minute? Her stomach fluttered. She tapped the call button. -- It was a beautiful evening. The sun was low now, no longer shining directly onto the deck, but its light still filled everything around Sally with a warm softness. The Adriatic was almost perfectly calm. A few boats and smaller yachts dotted the water, some anchored and others moving so slowly that they seemed to be going nowhere in particular. Sally leaned against the rail and answered. “Hey, Charlie.” “Sally!” His voice made her smile immediately. “Long time no speak.” “Yeah. Camp. And stuff.” Charlie sounded faintly apologetic. “Phones were sort of a no-no.” “I get it.” Sally settled more comfortably against the rail. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?” “Not much.” Sally chuckled. “That's eloquent.” “Well...” Charlie complained. “I mean, besides math projects and mosquito bites. And occasionally a canoe ride. Maybe some soccer.” “That sounds more like camp.” “It was okay.” “High praise.” Charlie ignored that. “Your holiday sounds more interesting. Thanks for the Challenger pictures. Cool plane. Loved the view.” Sally frowned slightly, phone pressed to her ear. “The view?” There was a pause. Then Sally heard Charlie take a deep breath. She waited. “Okay. You look cool. Great haircut. It rocks.” He delivered the entire sentence in one breath, as though he'd rehearsed it beforehand and was afraid that stopping anywhere in the middle might prevent him from reaching the end. Sally beamed. She turned toward the horizon, suddenly very interested in the golden light across the water. “Thanks.” Charlie was silent. “It means a lot coming from you,” she added. Another pause. “It's difficult,” he huffed. Sally laughed softly. She knew exactly what he meant. “You're getting good at it.” “Yeah, well. Don't expect miracles.” “I won't.” After that, conversation became easy. Charlie told her about camp properly—the math projects that had consumed far more time than he'd expected, the mosquitoes that apparently considered him personally responsible for their nutritional requirements, the canoeing, soccer and people he'd met. Sally told him pieces of Croatia without trying to narrate the entire holiday. They talked about Hartford, about church and the youth group, and about Patricia getting ready for college and gradually transforming half the house into piles of things she intended to take with her. Sally listened happily. There was something wonderfully ordinary about Charlie's world. She was standing barefoot aboard Lady Lara in the Adriatic, surrounded by yachts and islands and people who traveled by private aircraft as casually as other people took trains, and Charlie was telling her about church, mosquitoes and his sister packing for college. She liked that. “And your birthday's coming up,” Sally said eventually. “Yeah.” Charlie said it as though birthdays were unavoidable administrative events. “Party?” “Nothing grand.” Sally smiled. “I didn't ask if it was grand. I asked if you're having one.” “Probably.” “Charlie.” “What?” “You're turning fifteen.” “I know how old I am.” “So you should have something.” There was silence at the other end. Sally waited. “Okay,” Charlie said finally. “I'll organize a party.” “Good.” “But only if you come.” Sally's smile froze for just a moment. Then it grew. She lowered her eyes toward the deck, suddenly feeling strangely shy despite there being nobody immediately around to see her. “Deal.” “Really?” “Really.” “Cool.” The relief in that single word was so obvious that Sally had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Cool,” she echoed. She looked back across the water, smiling helplessly now. Apparently she was going to Hartford.

I'd be calling, asking them for a disability allowance (leeway) as WTF are you supposed to do? Diapers take up a LOT of space! I fill 1 1/2-2 bags/week.... and IF I get another notice taped to my can, I am calling!\]   Well...time to get to work! Shame you're not near me...I have extra.

Just put on my last PakPals diaper. Feels great to be padded again, but sad that I’m in my last Northshore diaper. Need to make some money to buy more!