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“You’re a bright kid. If I were younger, I would be on your wavelength. Go change the world. I’ll pay for the sandwich.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The tent in Pasadena felt more and more like a minimum-security prison. Brad watched new people move in as others left, some finally moving out of state to live with friends or relatives and some trying something completely different, the retirement ships.

Decades earlier this trend had begun with people buying luxurious homes on cruise ships and living there part of the year. It was very expensive and reserved only for the ultrarich. Then, in 2021, Royal Swedish Cruise Line took the concept one step further and introduced the first affordable retirement cruise ship, The Retirement One. In order to keep the price down, luxury was no longer an option. The ship held over two thousand people and had plain rooms, average food, and some entertainment and activities, but basically it resembled a standard retirement facility. Some people even referred to it as “a nursing home on water.” Sometimes the ship wouldn’t even move for months: It would dock at a Royal facility in one of six countries and stay there for the summer or the fall. The residents were guaranteed only three months of actual cruising, but still people loved the concept, and Royal constructed another ship, The Retirement Two, and then their third, The Sunset.

Five years earlier this was something Brad Miller would have scoffed at. He remembered telling his friend Jack, “Those poor people are packed in there like sardines … except sardines don’t get seasick.” Now, as he stared at the brochure, he wondered if this might be the way to go. Except Brad didn’t even have the money to be a sardine. Everything was tied up in his condo, which was no longer there, and he couldn’t even borrow against it. Here was a man who felt so vital on his eightieth birthday and now he thought, more often than not, about dying.

Some nights he would lie awake and imagine the letter he would write to Walter Masters, asking for his services. It reminded Brad of when he was a child and wrote to Santa Claus. Other times he would lie in his cot and stare at the brochure for The Sunset. The ship was starting to look better with each passing day.

One morning Brad was playing cards with three new arrivals when he heard his name over the paging system, asking him to come to the office. He had never been paged before and he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of excitement. Maybe there was some good news.

When he walked outside he saw his son standing there, waiting for him. Tom hadn’t told his father he was coming; he wanted it to be a surprise.

The first thing that struck Brad was how bad Tom looked. He had a potbelly, which now was unnecessary unless you really didn’t give a shit about your appearance, and was balder than he remembered. His son looked defeated. Jesus, I’m the one who lost everything and he looks worse than I do.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hey. Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“I don’t know. I thought I would just come.”

“Well, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, same here.” Tom offered his father a sandwich.

“What is this?”

“Cheese.”

“Jesus, couldn’t you bring something a little more exciting? Did you really think I wanted a cheese sandwich?”

And that little comment set Tom off. Years of suppressed feelings and anger and frustration just made him blow. “How the fuck do I know what you want? Can’t you just say fucking thank you instead of criticizing the sandwich? Do you know how long it takes to fucking drive here with no fucking roads? What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

Brad turned around and walked back to the tent without saying a word. His son ran after him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted you to say thank you. Please, Dad.”

Brad stopped. A wave of emotion swept over him. His son looked so sad, so crushed. What is wrong with him? He walked back to Tom and gave him a hug and apologized. He hadn’t hugged him for so many years that it felt strange, but he