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 soundof 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.
* * *
