The hidden verse was unfinished. Owen had written that a straight wake required every hand to name the same direction. Beneath it, he listed Colin's name and a date from twelve years earlier, when our son had left the shipyard for accounting school. I remembered their argument. Owen wanted him to stay in the family trade; I had quietly paid the first tuition bill so Colin could leave. Honesty had not always meant agreement in our house. Sometimes it meant refusing to make love dependent on the route someone chose.

At the terminal, Paige stood beneath the departure board wearing white, surrounded by six friends and more luggage than the revised reservation allowed. Colin looked exhausted. When he saw my inspection badge, he asked if I had arranged for them to be stopped. I said baggage limits came from the fare they purchased, not from me. Paige demanded a private conversation. She admitted the event planner had already been paid with credit cards and would not refund her. If the cruise package shrank, she would lose deposits and appear foolish to everyone following the celebration online.

I asked whether she wanted help making a smaller plan or wanted me to reverse company rules. She said there was no difference. Colin finally spoke. He had believed the fifty-thousand-dollar figure was an aspiration, not a signed obligation. Paige had opened two cards in both their names and hidden the balances. Her face changed from anger to panic. We stepped out of the boarding line while their friends continued through security. I told Colin financial deception needed more than a dockside argument. I told Paige shame was not an emergency the company had to finance. They could cancel, sail under the paid reservation, or meet with the onboard account manager together. I nodded.