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 leanedagainst the railof 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.
