“It couldn’t be helped,” she said.
“Make a wish.”
“You take my wish.” She pushed the croissant back toward him.
“I’ll be fine.” He pushed it back to her.
“Not just for today but always,” she said. “I’ll always give my wishes to you.”
He smiled. “Okay, then … together. One, two, three.”
Together, they blew out the candle.
“You’ve prepared me well, Mom,” he said, taking her hand.
She touched his cheek. “There’s always more,” she second-guessed. “You need to …”
“Mom.” He stopped her gently. “I’m ready.”
She smiled and nodded. “I love you and I will see you when you return with Skylar.”
He hugged her tight and walked down the steps to the sea.
He had decided to take the long and arduous ferry from their local port to Bari, Italy. The ride was almost seventeen hours. But he wanted to connect to the sea and detach from most of the world. The ferry was the way to do it.
He stood on the deck of the boat. The air was a brisk reprieve from the hot June weather, even under the high noon sun. He breathed in the fresh air. The boat reminded him of New Year’s Eve with Skylar, although this boat was far from private. He didn’t mind, though. A sold-out boat filled with economy travelers made for interesting people watching. He was among many families, some with small infants. Some looked like it had been a while since their last bath. A few carried chickens in cages. He didn’t know how that would work on such a long boat ride, but he would find out soon enough.
He’d missed out on the last seat inside the glass cabin so he’d headed up top, not sure how long he’d last. The wind was considerably worse above. But he was finding it invigorating.
He put his backpack on the floor and sat back in a worn plastic seat. With the sun on his face, he closed his eyes. He had a new appreciation of the elements, feeling the Great Mothers surrounding him now. The sea, the wind, and the fiery sun. He had known Ocean for a while now, and Beatrice briefly at Silverwood and then met her once again on her last day on earth. Vivienne had long flitted in during dramatic moments in Skylar’s life, but it would seem it was time for her to take center stage.
Argan had always loved the sea. It was the backdrop of his home in Greece, and he knew the magic it held. Leonora had made sure commanding the sea was part of his training as a boy. Although she had always said commanding was a strong word. It was more of a cooperation. No one commanded the sea. No one except Vivienne, whose secrets of the sea ran deep.
He’d always had the sense that his mother knew the details of Vivienne’s past, but she’d never spoken one word about it. His mother had the highest integrity. It was one of the traits he admired in her.
The wind kicked up and smacked him hard in the face. He laughed. “Hello, Beatrice. Were my thoughts lingering too long on Vivienne?” It quickly died down to nothing, and the temperature became almost pleasant. “Thank you,” he said. “I forgot I could ask for help with the elements.” With the whole top floor to himself, he laid his head back against the seat and fell asleep in the afternoon sun.
He woke up with the sun much lower in the sky. He stretched and rubbed out his stiff neck. He hadn’t slept that long, though, only a few hours; he wouldn’t be to Bari until after sunrise. He reached for his backpack to get some water, but it was gone from the floor. He jumped up and looked under the seat.
“Damn,” he said, with his head on a swivel. He saw a small object huddled in the corner and ran over to find that it was a young boy who was using his backpack for a pillow. He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. He still wanted his water but didn’t want to wake the child. It was odd that someone would leave him alone to sleep up here, but people in this part of the world were more trusting than in the States. Everyone watched out for everyone else, and their kids.
He took a seat next to the boy and immediately smelled alcohol. “You’re way too young,” he said aloud and frowned. Argan shook the boy lightly but he didn’t stir. He figured the kid was passed out and reached under him to retrieve his water bottle. He got it out without a peep from the boy.
Argan decided to spend the rest of the trip there on the floor. He had brought a book but didn’t feel much like reading. He stared up at the sky and made pictures out of the clouds until nightfall. He laid his head on the other side of the backpack, and eventually fell asleep for the night.
Daybreak came quickly; the sunlight was a natural wake-up call. When his eyes adjusted, the coastline of Bari was in view, and they would be docking within the hour. He ran his fingers through his hair and decided it was time to meet his bunkmate. He shook the boy gently. He didn’t wake. He tried again: nothing.
“Hey,” he said loudly. “It’s time to wake up!” he said first in Greek. “It’s time to wake up!” he then said in Italian.
The boy jumped to his feet in one move.
“Hi,” Argan said. “You were asleep on my backpack.” The boy stared at him. “Do you speak English?”
“A little,” the boy said quietly.
“You’re too young to drink. How old are you?”
The boy looked to the side. “Sixteen.”
“That can’t be true,” Argan said. “How about twelve.”
“Eleven,” the boy said.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Argan said. “Are your parents below?”
“No,” he said. “I travel alone.” His accent was Italian.
“You headed home?” Argan asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Okay, well, we’re almost there. Do you have money for food? Breakfast?”
The boy shook his head no. Argan nodded and put his hand in his front pocket. He pulled out a few euros and gave it to the boy. “For food,” he emphasized.
“Thank you,” the boy said thickly.
They docked in Bari and the port was already bustling. Argan made his way down the stairs and joined the crowd disembarking. He became one with the mass of people on the gangplank, eager to get to their destinations. He glanced to the side of him. The boy was right by his side.
“Where do you live?” Argan asked.
“Down the street.” He pointed.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you,” Argan said, not sure if he needed to take responsibility for the kid. The boy paused and let Argan move ahead, making his way down Via Adriatico.
The city was crowded. Early summer was a busy time on the Italian coast. The weather was already hot, and a light breeze wafted in from the sea.
It only took a few minutes to arrive at 117 Via Adriatico. The ornate door was just as his mother had described it. He recognized the three doves.
He walked up the first step.
“Signore, no!” a voice yelled, and a hand yanked Argan backward. It was the boy from the ferry.
“What’s up?” Argan asked, almost annoyed.
“You can’t go in there. She’s a witch. Everyone says.”
Argan relaxed. “Could be, but it’s okay. I know her.”
The boy’s eyes widened. He threw Argan’s money back at him. It landed in the street and he ran off.