“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.
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 opened 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?”
