by Jill Barnett
“I don’t know.”
“What will happen if they do?”
She heard his feet as he crossed to stand behind her. “What are you worrying about, Smitty?”
“I’m not certain. Everything. Nothing. Us. Them.”
“The children?”
“Yes. And the future. They have no one, and I won’t let them be placed in an orphanage.”
He took a deep breath, then said, “They have us. You’re an attorney. What’s the law?”
“Legally I can’t do anything.”
He was quiet. “Because you’re a woman alone?” She nodded.
“What about us? Together?”
“What are you saying, Hank?”
He was quiet for a tense minute. “We could get married.”
She didn’t know if she could have moved then, not after he’d said those words. Words she wanted more than anything but that frightened her. The words weren’t the problem. Oh, God, she wished things were different.
He stepped behind her again.
She picked up the silver frame with the photograph that Muddy had taken and given her. She looked at it with a bleak feeling.
“If we’re found, we’ll go back to the States, get married, and adopt the kids. It seems pretty simple.”
She turned and faced him. “It’s not that simple.”
He gave her a narrowed look. “Why not?”
“You have a past, Hank. A past that could destroy everything.”
He laughed without humor. “Only here in the islands. Not in the States.”
“You’ve been in prison. We can’t adopt the children unless you clear your name. You said yourself you’re innocent.”
“Yeah, and you damn well know that I can’t get a fair hearing here. What are the chances of them finding me innocent back home?”
She didn’t say anything. They had no future without clearing his past.
He began to pace. “Hell, Smitty, that’s a stupid excuse. If you don’t want to marry me, then damn well say so!” He was shouting now and running his hand through his hair.
“I love you, Hank, but you can’t keep running away.”
“I’m not going back to prison. Listen closely, sweetheart. I won’t let them lock me up again.”
“I don’t want you locked up again. But we can’t have a life with this hanging over us. It would always be there. I couldn’t live like that. We can’t have the children. They need us. And someday you’re going to have to learn to trust. Give the law a chance to work for you.”
He closed the distance between them and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Look, we’re arguing over something that’s stupid. It might not ever matter. Who knows if a ship will ever come. We can go on like we are and worry about this if it ever happens.”
She could hear the panic in his voice. “We’re just pretending on this island. It’s not real. We’re not a real family, Hank. What happens on this island isn’t real.”
“What I feel for you and those kids is real, Smitty.”
“What I feel is real, too. But what we are together isn’t. We’re not a family. Those children aren’t our children. They can’t be because we’re not legally their parents.”
“Who cares if it’s legal?”
“I do. And the law does. They can’t be our children until the law says they are. I won’t go against everything I believe in. And you have to understand that your past is not going to go away because you pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“Shit! I know that!”
“Stop shouting at me.”
“I don’t understand why you’re bringing this up. Why are you worried about something that might never happen? We should live each day just like we have been.”
“And never think about the future?” She could hear the sarcasm in her voice, but she couldn’t help it.
He looked at her long and hard, and there was no doubt he was angry. “I told you before. You think too goddamn much.” Then he turned and walked toward the door.
She called out his name, and he paused. “Remember what you said about never being able to run worth a damn?”
“Yeah?” His voice was bitter and rough.
“Well, you’re wrong, Hank. You run away from things better than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Then he was gone.
She stared at the empty door, then she buried her face in her hands and cried.
Theodore’s fingers tightened around Muddy’s hand as they stood in a dark corner of the hut watching Smitty sink to her knees and cry, her angry words and Hank’s still echoing in their ears and minds. Theodore looked up at Muddy with tears rolling down his freckled cheeks.
Muddy raised a finger to his lips. They moved quietly and left the hut together. The boy stopped and looked back, but Smitty was still crying, her back to them. His small shoulders began to shake, and Muddy led him down the beach to a quiet and secluded place where they could talk. Perhaps he could make the boy understand what had happened and why.
There was no moon that night—just a black, dark sky that looked and seemed endless above the secluded patch of beach where a boy and a genie stood. The others on the island were sound asleep. No one was talking much. No one smiled because harsh words and tension were all that was left of their paradise.
“Muddy?”
“Yes, master?”
“Will you take me flying just once more before you go?”
“Yes, Master Theodore.” And the genie bent in a deep salaam, then straightened. He winked at the boy and held out his hand.
A moment later they were flying, the little boy’s laughter singing through the night sky. They flew in circles and dove deep, almost touching the sea, only to soar upward like two hawks racing for a sparrow.
For two thousand years, the genie had his own dreams and wishes: to meet a believer, an innocent, and finally, even if it was for only a short while, he had found one.
And so they flew across the sea, the purple genie and the red-haired little boy who believed in things the rest of the world thought only a figment of the imagination. They flew over the land on a trail of childish laughter and smiles, creating magical memories that would live on in a little boy’s heart.
They quietly landed in the sand in a place where no one could see them, and the small boy crooked his finger at the genie, who crouched down so the boy could whisper his last wish in his ear.
They said good-bye here, where no one else could hear the words they spoke. Then the genie bent once in a full salaam, giving the boy his respect and, perhaps this time, also giving this master a piece of his heart.
In a puff of purple smoke, the genie streamed back into the bottle. The boy brought the bottle to his eye one last time, paused for only the time it took a tear to fall, then he put the stopper back.
He took two steps until the soft waves lapped at his small ankles, and he gently placed the bottle in the water. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, then stuck his hands in his pockets and stood there as the bottle floated out into the sea, bobbing along as if it were flotsam—a bottle that was as old as time, a magical silver bottle that could make wishes come true . . . if one could only imagine.
Chapter 33
“There’s a ship! Look! A ship!” Lydia came running back to the hut.
Margaret grabbed the box of matches, picked up Annabelle, and followed Lydia out the door of the hut and down the beach.
There was a ship riding high on the horizon. She turned and scanned the beach looking for Hank. She could see his silhouette on the ridge, standing where he’d told her he had built a signal fire.
He hadn’t come back to the hut the night before. She didn’t know where he’d gone. She watched him intently, wondering if he would light the fire, or was he desperate enough to just let the ship pass?
It would be the perfect solution for him. The perfect way for him to keep running away.
She looked at Lydia, who had run down to the beach where Theodore sat watching the horizon. She ope
ned her palm and looked at the match box. Then she turned and looked back at the ridge, at Hank.
A thin trail of dark smoke drifted up from where he stood.
He’d lit the fire.
She slid open the match box, her hand shaking. She took a deep breath and lit the other fire.
Margaret moved across the hut, gathering the things she thought they should take down to the beach. She stopped and looked out the window. She could see the ship getting larger as it moved closer to the island.
But there was no sign of Hank. She picked up the ball gown and looked at it for a long time, then she took a deep breath and packed it along with Hank’s tails back into one of the trunks.
For the next few minutes she concentrated on packing, then she checked on the children. They were quiet. As quiet as she was. Lydia had packed a small crate with her doll and combs and necklaces, and she sat in a corner with Annabelle in her lap while she braided Rebuttal’s uneven, ragged beard.
Theodore had hardly said a word. He was sitting next to a pile of his things and Hank’s baseball equipment.
“Theodore?”
He turned around and looked at her.
“Where’s Muddy’s bottle?”
He averted his eyes.
“Did you pack it?”
He shook his head.
She watched him for a minute, then crossed over to where he sat. “Theodore?”
He looked down at the cap in his lap. “I don’t have the bottle.”
“Did you misplace it? We can help you find it—”
“I put it back in the sea.”
She waited, then asked, “Why?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Did you use the last wish?”
He nodded.
“For the ship?”
He didn’t respond.
She waited, then said, “You don’t want to tell me what you wished for?”
He shook his head.
She thought about talking to him. She thought through her argument. But she decided it didn’t matter. “Theodore? Look at me.”
He slowly raised his head.
“It’s okay. It was your wish. Just gather your things and put them inside that open trunk, and we’ll go down to the beach.”
He was quiet for a second, then he asked, “What about Hank?”
Lydia’s head shot up, and she could feel both of them staring at her.
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Can’t we look for him?”
“He saw the ship, Theodore. I watched him light that other signal fire. He’ll come.” If he wants to, she thought.
Half an hour later they had dragged their belongings down to the beach and stood there waiting while one of the ship’s lifeboat’s rowed toward them. Margaret rested one hand on Theodore’s shoulder and the other on Lydia, while the younger girl held Annabelle.
The closer the boat came, the stronger her sense of dread. She turned and looked up at the ridge. But there was no silhouette of a tall man. She scanned the beach, but he wasn’t there. She stared for long minutes at the jungle. At the grove of palm trees.
He could stay on the island and never have to face his past. It was a way of running. Perhaps it would be his way.
By the time they were in the boat and the two sailors were loading their belongings, she knew he wasn’t coming.
She looked at the children, wondering what she could tell them. Theodore and Lydia both were intently watching the beach.
“Is that everything, ma’am?” The crewman stood at the side of the boat, waiting to shove off. Margaret looked up.
“Look!” Theodore shouted and began to jump up and down. “There he is! It’s Hank! Hank!”
Margaret whipped her head around just as Hank walked out of the thick jungle, moving toward them with his hands in his pockets.
Hank leaned against the rail of the fishing trawler from British New Guinea and watched the island grow smaller and smaller until he could no longer make out the white slip of sand or the palm trees, only the dark outline of the small island where he had thought his life had begun again.
He heard a noise and turned.
Smitty stood in the passageway, her hands gripping the iron frame as she stared at the island, then she looked at him. She said nothing. They hadn’t spoken since the day before.
They both stood there, and he saw in her eyes the same emotion he felt, that same sense of loss, and he closed his eyes for only the second he needed. When he opened them, she was gone.
He turned back and stared at the wake as the ship cut through the blue water, heading for Papua and Port Moresley, a British territory. A place of relative safety since it was under British control. He could go on to Australia or New Zealand and lose himself among a thousand other men with pasts.
It was easy now. Easy to run and hide.
He watched the water for a long time before he let himself think. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Smitty was right. He always ran away as fast as he could.
And it was pretty clear to him now. He wasn’t running from his past. And he hadn’t been for all those years.
He ran from the future. Because it scared the hell out of him.
It was easier to run than to take a chance at something that might be real and lasting, before he became trapped or stuck in a place where he didn’t belong.
As he stared at the water, he remembered that moment when he’d first broken out of prison, at the dockside when he realized that he didn’t belong outside the prison walls any more than he belonged inside.
He stood there a long time, thinking. Smitty’s favorite sport.
He didn’t think a man got very many chances in life to change things. Smitty was probably his last chance. But hell, it didn’t matter if she was or not. What mattered was whether he had the guts to not run this time. For her sake and for those kids.
Maybe he’d never felt as if he belonged anywhere because he’d never had Smitty. He’d never had the kids. He’d never given love to a woman or children. Maybe it wasn’t where a man was, but who was there with him that made him belong someplace. And he knew deep down inside of him, in that place he’d never liked to think existed, that he wanted to hold on to them, hold on tighter than he’d held on to anything in his life.
But damn, he was still scared. Because he was so afraid he would lose them in the end. It was almost as if some part of him could feel them slipping away, falling through his fingers like sand. And he had no idea how he could hold on tight enough so he didn’t lose it all.
At the sound of her name, Margaret looked at the doorway of the small cabin. Hank stood there. Her heartache. He said her name again very quietly, and she felt the words pass right through her. She tried to stand a little taller, because she needed strength now when she wanted to give in, to run to him and say it would be okay to keep running away from everything. That in her heart she wanted to run with him.
He stepped into the light and stood there, looking awkwardly huge in the small cabin. “Where are the kids?”
“In there.” She pointed at the adjoining door.
He looked at it, then turned back and just watched her as if it were the most important thing to him. She took a deep breath and wished and prayed that it were.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away, scanned the room, his gaze not meeting hers. He stared at the floor for a long time, then looked up at her. “I’m not running this time.”
She stood there unable to move because she wasn’t certain she had heard him. All she could hear was the loud throbbing beat of her heart. She looked away for a second, confused and scared and emotional.
“Smitty.”
She turned back.
“Did you hear me?”
She shook her head.
He gave a quiet and sardonic laugh. “Figures you’d make me say it twice.”
“What?”
“I’m not running this time.”
It took an instant for his words to register. She closed her eyes and exhaled, not even realizing until then that she had been holding her breath. She could feel emotion tightening her throat and filling her eyes. And a second later she was in Hank’s arms.
They were married in Port Moresley at a small church that sat on a point where the sea crashed against cliffs and the wind blew a breath of warm wind over the land and through the massive crowns of banyan trees. The church was stark white with a high narrow steeple and green wooden storm shutters on its slim windows. A church that was as traditional as the wedding party was unconventional.
The bride was barefoot, with island flowers around her ankles and around one wrist. Orchids ringed her blond topknot. She wore a pink silk ball gown that rustled as she walked down the aisle with a baby dressed all in white hitched on her hip.
Beside her was a little boy in a brand-spanking-new suit with short pants and shiny brass buttons, and an expression of pure happiness. A young girl in a pink-and-white linen dress with a big bow and matching ribbons in her hair stood with them.
The groom wore evening clothes, white tie and tails, pearl studs, and a Chicago White Stockings baseball cap turned backward. They looked at ease, no wedding nerves, no guests, no one else at the wedding but this new little family.
The baby reached up and grabbed one of the flowers from the bride’s hair and tried to stick it in her own hair, crying when she couldn’t make it stay.
The groom bent and picked up the crushed flower and tucked it into the toddler’s white hair ribbon and told her she was gorgeous. Then he turned to the bride and said, “Almost as gorgeous as your mama.”
Margaret stood beside Hank and the children and listened to the minister’s words. Theodore was fidgeting next to her. Out of the corner of her eye Margaret saw Lydia pinch him, then heard her whisper for him to hold still. She smiled, then looked around her.
Had she ever thought of what her wedding would be like, this image would not have entered her mind. Margaret Smith, attorney-at-law, barefoot, a baby in her arms and children at her side while she married a tall, rugged ex-baseball player and convict.
