And that was when the revelation struck me, Arden was a humble man. Despite his beauty and his charms and my obvious adoration, he didn’t believe himself worthy of making such demands. It was his humility which I’d interpreted at times, as indifference and at other times, a willful obstinance. I’d told him he could ask for anything, but his own modesty wouldn’t allow it. And I’d taken that reticence as a rejection and personal affront. Because I’d never had such reservations. My whole life I’d been raised to believe that I was entitled to such things—shelter, comfort, attention, praise, an Ivy League education, a lucrative career as a bestselling author. And I took it all for granted. My own hubris was appalling. And that was the difference between us that Arden had been trying to articulate all along.
“I interrupted you,” I said. “Were you going to say something more? Is there anything else you want?”
Uncertainty flickered in Arden’s eyes, and he said, “No, this is more than enough.”
A plan was forming in my mind. One that was half mad or perhaps it was all the way mad. Certainly, Liam would think so.
We helped Ardenpack up his things. He’d rented a small U-Haul truck, mainly to transport his books. Bitzy took inventory of his clothing and accessories and offered to sell the more valuable pieces for a small commission. Liam dove into ordering and packing Arden’s small library according to genre. He distracted us with literary arguments, which Arden indulged with enthusiasm, while Travis and I did the heavy lifting.
Franco popped in on his lunch hour to see him off. They promised to keep in touch on more than just financial matters. We drank sparkling cider out of plastic cups and wished Arden good luck on his next adventure. I got a little emotional but tried to reign it in. Before Arden embarked on his long drive home, I pulled him aside and kissed him. He molded against me as if we’d never been apart. It did feel like the natural conclusion to our heartfelt goodbye.
“Call me,” I said. I had no intention of letting him go.
“I will. And Michael…” He placed both hands on my chest, bracing me for bad news. “If things change, or if this becomes too much, I’ll understand.”
He’d said the same thing to me in the beginning. Arden was sweet to his very core, always giving without any expectation that he’d get anything in return. I resolved to never take advantage of this aspect, and if he’d let me, protect him from anyone who might try.
I kissed his nose and then his forehead. “The only thing you need to understand is that I’ll be visiting you in six weeks, and I expect to be given the royal treatment.”
He smiled. How I’d miss that adorable gap-toothed grin in the months we’d been apart. “I’ll roll out the red carpet for you, Mr. D’Agostino.” His hand gave a little flourish.
I nearly saidI love you, but that would have to wait until we were on more solid ground. “I’ll be seeing you then.”
“I hope so.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.”
He climbed into the truck, wearing a Yankees ballcap turned backward, and waved us all goodbye.
He left me with a promise to reunite in Florida and the printed pages of his memoir. New York never looked so lonely.
VIII.
The captain was cremated, according to his wishes. His ashes would be spread in the waters surrounding their favorite island in the Bahamas, but in order for that to happen, the boat would need to be repaired. The engine wasn’t working properly, and there were tears in the sails. The boy didn’t trust the boat to make it there without sinking or being blown off-course. She was like the captain’s body in the end, ravaged by disease and fallen into disrepair.
The boy’s aunt accompanied him to Caladesi Island where they drank beer to honor the captain. His aunt vomited most of her lunch over the side of the boat. The boy had forgotten what it felt like to be seasick. The boat’s unceasing rocking felt normal to him now, and it was only on land where he felt off-kilter.
The boy told his aunt of their travels, the memories they’d made, his bitterness at his father’s seemingly senseless death. His aunt patted his shoulder while he licked at his own tears. Their salty taste had always been a comfort.
“What will you do now?” she asked, not to frighten him, only to steer him back on course.
The boy was broke and broken. Despite all his captain had taught him, he had few employable skills. Technology still largely mystified him. He liked working outdoors, but he didn’t have the endurance for manual labor. He’d never been good at keeping to a regular schedule either. School was a distant island, lost in his disastrous wake. He had his father’s rundown boat, a mountain of debt, and not much else.
“I don’t know,” the boy said.
The months that followed were full of grief and resentment drowned in alcohol and sex. Even those were pleasures with ever-diminishing returns. His body was a piece of driftwood, carried along the current and battered against the rocks. And always with him was that burning cinder of fury that he tended to like a precious seedling because it was all he had left. His father had deserted him, again. Had taught him how to be first mate but never to be captain. What was his destiny now?
The boy had become a man who knew how to survive the tempestuous seas with its many hidden and poisonous dangers, but he didn’t know how to navigate this treacherous land and its cunning inhabitants. So, the boy remade himself again, and in the remaking, lost a little more of who he was.
21
the reunion
Ikept myself busy over the next six weeks. I read Arden’s memoir three times, astounded by the talent that had been under my nose all along, gleaning from it every detail of his inner-workings. Though I didn’t think it possible, I fell in love with him even more in the reading of those pages, and I admired not only his skill, but his courage throughout all that he’d endured and his willingness to retell his experiences with such candor. No wonder Brown had afforded him a scholarship. I determined I’d do whatever I could to encourage him in his writing and to see his talent flourish, if he’d let me. But I wouldn’t push him. I’d let him move at his own pace.
There was a lot that I must accomplish ahead of my trip to Florida. Finishing this novel was at the top of my list. The contract with the TV people had been signed as well, and I’d been in contact with the screenwriter already to discuss what aspects of the story might be simplified or fleshed out, what side characters might get more attention and how their own narratives might unfold.
