Not Home Yet
ABOUT TWO hours in, Eben remembered Dramamine in his first aid kit, which was good, because right before that, Reg had given up the fight and started throwing up everything he’d ever eaten as a child, all to be consigned to the briny deep.
Including his last pair of glasses, which got tossed off his head with the first violent heave.
Anthony had wrapped his arms around Reg’s waist and held on as he’d blown chum over the stern, where he’d run when the seas had gotten rougher so the wind didn’t blow everything back in their faces.
After the (blessed, blessed) medicine had kicked in, Reg had rinsed and spat and fallen almost immediately asleep next to Reynaldo, the two of them huddling against the cold under wool blankets, and Eben Fields had pulled Anthony and Ilia up to the helm for a brief lesson on how to pilot a modest cabin cruiser through open water.
Eben was a good teacher—in fact had been a professor of nautical history at the local junior college for most of his life.
He showed the boys how to read the gauges, how to steer, what to look for as they neared shore, and then he let them take turns piloting the cruiser, turning away from their point of reference and finding it again, often enough that they both felt confident they could find their way through Puget Sound with the charts Eben showed them how to read.
By the time Eben guided Anthony into docking at Port Angeles Harbor, with solid directions for how to cross the sound to Sooke Harbor in British Columbia, Anthony was getting his legs under him.
“Now you’ll get there at night,” Eben said as they navigated the bay approaching Port Angeles.
“So what I’m going to do is go get you some food, some more medicine for both the young one and your boyfriend there, and then leave you.
You cross the harbor, turn on the lights like I showed you, and spend the night in the cabin. In the morning—”
“We find the authorities,” Anthony said calmly. “And contact our people. And get the boys safely and legally into Canada, where nobody can hurt them.”
Eben nodded. “Yeah. That’s about it. Now I’m going to tell the harbor master that my kids are in this boat. If anyone asks—”
“My name is Anthony Fields,” Anthony said with a smile. “Won’t my father be surprised.”
Eben chuckled. “Well, so will my grown children. It will be a shocker all around.”
Anthony gazed at the older man, and suddenly missed his father.
They usually didn’t go more than a day without at least talking, and usually no more than a few days without seeing each other.
God, he’d love his dad’s laconic advice right now.
“You know, you—you’ve given us everything here.
I-I don’t know what we would have done if… .” He swallowed. “Thank you.”
Eben shrugged. “It’s really a small thing,” he said, looking troubled.
“But you maybe saved our lives,” Anthony told him. “At the very least, you saved Reynaldo’s. Thank you.”
Another shrug, and Eben gazed off to the horizon. Anthony was struck then that it was maybe the same response Reg would have, or his mother or father. Funny, wasn’t it, how the best of people could shrug off their own accomplishments as something that “needed to be done.”
“WHEW,” ILIA said, staring apprehensively from the dock, now bumping gently against the boat’s hull. “I bet you’re sweating down your asscrack, Mr. Anthony.”
Anthony grinned at the young man—and consciously unclenched. Eben had insisted he pull the boat out from the fuel pump and park it in the slip himself so he’d be able to do it in Sooke Harbor without attracting too much attention.
“Now remember, keep the radio tuned to this frequency,” Eben said for the umpteenth time. “And be very frank. Say you have a sick passenger and two of your number are missing passports.” He paused, worried. “You’re sure their passports are coming, along with a family member to care for them?”
“Yes,” Reg said, standing determinedly at Anthony’s side.
“I was able to call my father while you all were working on seamanship.” He didn’t mention that the phone had about five minutes left in it, but Anthony knew.
“He said that my brother would be crossing the border in Blaine, and that Reynaldo’s aunt had both the boys’ passports and a signed letter making her Ilia’s official guardian.
They’re supposed to cross later this evening…
.” He paused, gnawing on his lip. “Will that be okay? Will they arrest us? I-I can’t take these boys across the border if they’re going to be put in jail. I can’t.”
Anthony reached over and grabbed his hand. “Reg, it’ll be okay. If Dean said it will be―”
“He gave me the name of his contact,” Reg said, sounding like a child singing to himself in the dark. “Told me to mention Lloyd Hemmer and Dean and Marcus, and that would… expedite, I guess, the process. God….”
Anthony knew Reg and knew how he worried—and knew that he worried most about the people he cared about.
Who wouldn’t care for Ilia and Reynaldo after the last few days?
“Baby,” Anthony said softly, “sometimes we have to have a little faith.”
Reg gnawed on his lower lip and then nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”
Eben gave them both a compassionate look and said, “I’m going to go get you some food, some more ibuprofen, and some cough medicine—” Reynaldo’s fever had developed into a deep bronchial cough during the trip, and God, no wonder Reg was worried.
“—and some extra blankets. I’ll be back in half an hour.
In the meantime, keep the boys hidden, and you two lay low, understand? ”
“Of course,” Anthony murmured, while Ilia gave a heavy sigh.
“I know it’s hard,” Reg told him, obviously pulling out of his own worry spiral to help the boy cope. “It’s a new place—you want to explore. But hopefully the next new place will be safe for you, okay?”
“I’m really going to miss art,” Ilia said glumly.
“I mean, I’m glad Ms. Barerra will be there, but…
.” His lower lip quivered, and Anthony and Reg exchanged looks.
Art wasn’t what Ilia would miss, and Anthony, who hadn’t had to choose between his parents, even when they’d split, wondered at the pain and the courage of choosing right over his own family when he was only fifteen.
“You know,” Reg said softly, “if Reynaldo’s aunt has your passport and a letter from your mother, that means your mother is trying to keep you safe.
You know that, right? She doesn’t want you to follow your uncle any more than you want to go with him.
You’re… you’re doing what she wanted. If that helps. ”
Ilia nodded and gave him a brief glance before wiping his eyes. “I’m going to go hide with Reynaldo,” he said softly. “All this trouble, I’d better not get caught.”
Eben watched him go and shook his head. “Those are good kids,” he said. “I’ll be back in a bit, and you all can get on your way.”
Reg sighed, and—much to Anthony’s surprise—leaned his head against Anthony’s shoulder. “Are you tired?” he asked randomly. “I’m exhausted.”
“Oh yeah,” Anthony told him. “And I didn’t spend half the morning blowing chum off the back of the boat.”
Reg groaned. “Not one of my best moments, no.”
And that, of all things, made Anthony laugh. “Baby, you’ve been puking all morning, and you still tried to make that kid smile. Don’t kid yourself—this is all your best moment.”
Reg shook his head. “I’m too tired to argue,” he murmured.
“When did I get to be ‘baby’? I’m curious, that’s all.
Feels like I’ve been trying not to fall in love with you since we met, and now that my guard is down, you’re already there, ‘baby’ and all.
God, you’re brave. How are you all ready to be in love? ”
“I don’t know,” Anthony said, running his fingers through Reg’s fine hair—he’d taken off his stocking cap when he’d been throwing up.
In the fog, his hair was limp and plastered to his forehead, making him look young, like a child lost in the rain.
“I just talked to you and fell. I guess I figured waiting for you to join me in the fall was worth it.”
Reg nodded. “I can only worry about so much at a time,” he confessed. “I guess I’ve maxed out on worrying about whether I’ll get hurt in the fall. Bigger things to worry about.”
“Mm.” Anthony kissed his forehead, lost in his warmth, his pliancy, and the wonderful weight of his confession. “Yeah. I—” His words were drowned out by the thump of feet and shouts beyond the dock. “Shit,” he muttered.
Together they both peered out of the cabin’s window, searching for the source of the shouts.
“Oh hell.” Anthony scowled at the SUVs with light bars parked badly at the entrance to the dock—and at the men, sans masks, wearing uniform body armor and wielding expensive weapons. “These guys look like the real deal.”
“I’ll untie the moorings,” Reg said, straightening up. “Eben’s supplies would have been welcome, but we’ve got enough medicine and crackers to last until tomorrow morning. It’s time to go.”
Anthony held his breath as Reg—moving gracefully, for all his discomfort when they’d been out at sea—hurried out of the cabin and started untying the mooring ropes.
He’d managed to recover himself for an hour or two while Anthony had napped, more tired than he cared to admit.
The three of them—Anthony, Ilia, and Reg—all took their rest times with Reynaldo, sometimes simply letting him know they were there and sometimes talking with him to help keep his spirits up.
He’d found Reg’s upset stomach somehow hilarious, and Ilia had, in the way of fifteen-year-old boys, made “It was the epic Godzilla of puking—you would have loved it,” sound almost wholesome.
Now Anthony started up the boat and mentally urged Reg to hurry up, hurry up, because the fracas at far end of the dock seemed to be getting closer and more important.
“C’mon baby, c’mon baby, c’mon….”