Page 71 of Fire and Ice Cruise

Now let’s talk about fear. Of course you’re terrified. Opening your heart after divorce, after years of protecting yourself, after building a life that feels safe—that’s genuinely scary. But here’s what I know about turning fifty—we don’t have time to waste on “what-ifs” and worst-case scenarios. We have time to take chances on things that feel right, even when they’re risky.

Could this fizzle when you’re back home? Sure. Could it turn into something real and lasting? Also sure. You won’t know unless you give it a chance. Two hours apart is nothing—that’s a weekend visit, a midweek dinner, a Sunday morning coffee. If Sean makes you feel alive, if he’s willing to put in the effort, then exchange numbers and see what happens.

As for your BFF—her silence is her choice, not your responsibility. You’ve tried to talk to her. You’ve been honest. If she can’t be happy for you, or at least civil, after fifteen years have passed since her relationship with Sean ended, that’s about her healing process, not about your worthiness of happiness.

Give your number to Sean. Take the chance. The worst thing that can happen is it doesn’t work out and you’ll survive. The best thing that can happen? You get a second act worth writing about.

XOXO

Trixie

P.S. Fear is just your heart’s way of saying this matters. Listen to it, acknowledge it, and then do the brave thing anyway. That’s what fifty is for.

Day 8: At Sea

There is something magical about looking out at the horizon in every direction and seeing nothing but rolling waves and ice blue water.

It’s the first of two sea days in a row, and Ransom is doing research for the case. He won’t call it that, of course. He calls it following up on some questions and just checking a few things and staying busy, but we both know what’s happening. My husband is just as bad at steering clear of an investigation he’s not officially part of as I am.

It’s one of the many reasons I love him.

I spend my morning writing in my blog, recapping the Blue Lagoon experience in a way that doesn’t mention the communal nudity or our sea witch hair, then teach three different art classes.

We paint the Blue Lagoon with acrylics, watercolors, and alcohol markers, and I don’t think I could ever get enough of that natural wonder. My students produce varying degrees of success, from that’s actually recognizable as water to abstract interpretation of geological chaos, but everyone seems happy with their efforts.

The Second Act Society is running full steam today with a packed schedule of classes and seminars. Marina avoids them all. I’ve been watching for her, and she’s nowhere to be seen. But Bess, Nettie, and I attend everything as though we’re cramming for finals.

First up is “Financial Freedom After Fifty” led by a former Wall Street analyst who’s now a yoga instructor. The irony isn’t lost on anyone.

Nettie raises her hand during the Q&A. “If I invest in cruise ship stocks, does that count as supporting my lifestyle?”

“That’s not really⁠—”

“Because I feel like it should. Plus, my lifestyle employs a heck of a lot of hot men.”

Bess nods. “Now that logic is something no one can argue with.”

“I might get it printed on a T-shirt.”

“Nettie, you don’t need a shirt for that. You need a disclaimer.”

Next is “Reinventing Your Personal Brand,” where we’re supposed to create vision boards. Bess carefully arranges magazine cutouts of gardens and books. I go for images of art supplies and ocean views. Nettie glues down pictures of motorcycles, martinis, and a shirtless firefighter.

“That’s not a personal brand,” Bess whispers.

“It’s aspirational,” Nettie says.

“It’s a wanted poster.”

“Same thing if the right man finds it.”

The afternoon session is “Finding Your Voice in the Digital Age,” taught by a podcaster who used to work in corporate law. She talks about authenticity and vulnerability and building community. Nettie falls asleep in the back row and wakes herself up with a snore so loud that three people turn around.

By four o’clock, I’m all seminared out and desperately in need of air. I escape to the promenade deck, where the ocean stretches gray and endless under an overcast sky. The wind is sharp and cold, but it feels good after hours of sitting in conference rooms listening to people describe their journey to self-actualization.

I’m leaning against the railing when Celeste materializes beside me in a shimmer of pink sparkles.

“There you are,” she says, settling in as though we’re old friends meeting for coffee. “I was wondering when you’d come up for air. Those seminars are dreadfully boring.”