Bes holds up a hand. “Before we do: as you know, Cec and I need to go into town tomorrow evening. I was wondering if you’d like to join us?”
I think on it for a moment. I haven’t gotten to see much of Italy. I’ve been to South America, South Africa, parts of Asia, and the rest of North America plenty of times, but I actually haven’t been to Europe. And Italy, particularly, holds a special place in my heart.
“I thought we wanted to get to the Dolomites as quickly as possible,” I say finally. “How exactly will this little detour help us? Does this have anything to do with the Amulet of Amun?”
He pauses, considering. “Not directly, no, but it does have to do with the God Men and information on how much they’re involved with the Third Reich.”
I nod. “And who plans to use this information you seek?”
Bes grimaces. “Uncle Arturo.” He doesn’t elaborate.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Can you guarantee our safety there? Considering the God Men already found us once, what’s to stop them from finding us again?”
“We’ll be as careful as we can,” Bes explains, “but we do run the risk of it by venturing out.”
I consider this. If Bes thinks it’s safe enough for me to leave this boat without running into the God Men or Mussolini’s soldiers, then I’m not going to pass up the opportunity to find out more about these fascists. Yes, it’ll be a relief to get off this damned vessel, but, more than anything, this is a chance for me to get some answers.
Even if doing so endangers me.
Besides, what the hell else am I supposed to do while they’re gone? I could stay on the boat, even steal it if I wanted to, though I don’t think that would accomplish much. Not when I know I won’t get far without being caught by the God Men.
I’m not running anymore.
I weigh his offer only for a moment. “Sounds dangerous; I’m in.”
The left side of his lips pulls up in an almost-smile and his next words are soft. “I’m glad of it. Sleep well, Miss Hawkins.”
Warmth floods my cheeks. “I still wish you’d call me Mel.”
His dark gaze sparks in the moonlight. He reaches for my arm, gently brushing his calloused fingertips against my exposed skin. It nearly sets my entire body aflame. “Someday, perhaps.Only when I feel I truly know you will I allow myself to call you that.”
I suck in a breath at the confession, but Bes won’t look me in the eye. Instead, he walks over to his cousin and grabs his arm, drawing him away.
Still trying to catch my breath, I wait to move until the two of them disappear behind the helm and into the galley.
I don’t go down into the cabin to undress, though. Instead, I walk back toward the railing. Focusing on my breathing instead of Bes’s words, his gentle touch, my pulse eventually slows.
Arching my neck back to view the inky night sky, I think about how the millions of stars above me here aren’t much different from the ones I’d see if I were home. My heart aches at the realization. Torturing myself like this, wishing Nonna was here or that I was there, has become second nature now. Nonna blames my Irish ancestry for my masochistic tendencies, although that could just be because she never misses a chance to take a jab at my father. Can’t say I fault her, considering he was never around.
I don’t blame him either, though; not really.
When I was nine, he returned from one of his treasure hunts to stay with us for a week. I wasn’t old enough to understand the reason behind it, but I didn’t care. My father was home and nothing could keep me from him—not even the man himself.
It should’ve been the best week of my life. We stayed up late every night. He regaled me with his latest expedition deep in the Amazon, and all the ones he hadn’t had a chance to tell me about yet. Listening to him chatter on about the things he’d found, the people he’d met, the dangers he’d encountered… he was my hero. In my eyes, he could do no wrong.
The more time he spent with me, though, the more he pulled away. Foolishly, I asked him why.
Thinking back on it now, I wish he would’ve lied to me. But I think the truth had burdened him long enough: that he couldn’t stand being near me because I reminded him too much of my mother. I cried nearly every night for the next month. I’d always wondered if I’d done something wrong. Why else would he abandon me the way he did? But knowing it was because of my mother—who I missed too, despite never meeting her—cut deep.
After admitting that to me, he left the next day without so much as a goodbye. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.
Sometimes, I wonder where he is. He used to send postcards—which I found a stack of in the back of the pantry once, hidden inside a large empty tomato can—but I haven’t received one for more than a few years now.
When I’m not hating him for abandoning me, I imagine him climbing Mount Kilimanjaro and gorging on sushi, or hiking across the Grand Canyon and cooking up rattlesnake under the desert sky. Maybe he met someone to help him forget my mother, or a persistent dog befriended him.
I imagine he’s happy, even if being so means he’s not with me. I’m old enough to take care of myself now, and I have Nonna to lean on.
What would my father do, if he were in my shoes?He’s brave to a fault, and despite being a shitty parent, he has a high moral code. The only thing he and Nonna could agree on was returning recovered artifacts to their countries of origin. Does he continue that work?
