Page 100 of Ardently Yours

The press haven’t figured out who the little blonde in the boat with Henry was. Yet. But they have footage of Charlotte and Bronnie both. It’s only a matter of time before they get a tip from an excited citizen, and their names and address become public knowledge.

Charlotte steps from my arms to rush across the dock to Bronnie. Bronnie blinks sleepily when Charlotte lifts her into herarms. Charlotte says something I can’t quite make out to Henry, her tone encouraging, but he looks at his feet in response.

As Charlotte passes me with Bronnie in her arms, she pauses long enough for me to kiss both mother and child on their foreheads. Then she carries Bronnie toward the cabin. I make out the sound of Charlotte’s grateful sobbing and Bronnie’s confused-sounding responses as Charlotte takes her daughter inside.

A Coast Guard officer escorts my son to me with a hand on his shoulder.

Hands on my hips, I attempt to control my fury.

The officer ruffles his hair, and Henry shies away from the unwelcome touch. The man gives mea look. “Safe and sound. They were lost, but he brought life preservers, water, snacks, blankets, and bug spray. He’s an organized runaway.”

Henry’s expression turns desperate. “I wasn’t running away. I wasrelaxing.”

“Next time, chill out with adult supervision,” the officer says.

“You have my gratitude.” I offer my hand. “If you ever need anything from me, please reach out.”

With a sidelong glance of wry amusement at Henry, he returns my handshake. “Could have ended worse. Glad to help. Have a good one.”

When the Coast Guard secures the stolen pontoon and pulls away in their own boat, I glare at the little man who looks so much like me, and he glares back with an expression to match my own.

“Henry, what the hell were you thinking? You decide to steal a boat in the middle of the night and take a little kid with you? If Bronnie was hurt or drowned, you’d have to live with it for the rest of your life, assuming you didn’t die with her. Half of this state was on the water looking for the two of you all night long.”

The scowl on Henry’s face grows deeper, and he straightens, his eyes glinting with tears. “I didn’t steal the pontoon boat.”

“What do you call it when you take something that doesn’t belong to you?”

“I had permission. You said I could. You said, ‘You don’t have to take any staff or crew at all. You can take it out on the lake all by yourself. And you can turn the engine off and float in silence with just the sound of the waves and the birds.’ So I did. I was going to ask you to go with us, but you and Miss Charlotte were having private adult time.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “I didn’t mean you, specifically, could take the boat any time you wanted to. I meant an adult who owns a pontoon boat can do those things.”

Henry’s chin wobbles. “You didn’t say that. You said I could. I wouldn’t let Bronnie get hurt. She wore her life vest, and I didn’t let her climb on the rails. I gave her snacks and water and covered her with blankets. I told her stories when she got scared.”

I look at my windblown, disheveled boy, still wearing his little blue-checked pajamas, cowlicks sticking up all over his head and drop tiredly to my knees, wrapping him in my arms. “I made a mistake. This is my fault. I didn’t explain the rules in a way you understood. I’m sorry, Henry.”

Henry pats my back and sniffles in response. “It’s okay, Dad.”

“I was scared, Henry. I was so afraid while you were gone.” I’ve never been more terrified. During the Vinucci War, I kept the boys barricaded behind what amounted to a fortress and surrounded by armed guards. But last night the kids were on their own, and I'd have doneanythingto bring them home safely.

Henry’s bony chin digs into my shoulder as he nods his agreement. “Can I tell you something?” he asks in a tiny, watery voice.

“You can always tell me anything, buddy.”

“After a while, I wanted to come back, and when I realized I was lost, I was scared too. I didn’t tell Bronnie, but no matter what direction I looked, I couldn’t see land, and I thought we might perish from dysentery or parasites from having to drink lake water before I managed to find the shoreline.”

I squeeze him tighter. “I’d never let that happen. No matter where you go, I’ll find you. You did a good job. The Coast Guard told me you set off flares.”

“It was my final hope,” he says bravely. “I was concerned it may draw the wrong kind of attention from the wrong people, but it was an emergency.” He leans back to look earnestly into my eyes, his expression one of utter horror. “Bronnie needed to use the bathroom.”

Henry doesn’t resist when I pick my tall eight-year-old boy up and carry him into the cabin. He hangs on, feet dangling near my knees, and puts his head on my shoulder. When I carry him upstairs and lay him in his bed, he barely stirs. I remove his glasses and tuck him under the blankets. My plan is to kiss his forehead, then quietly leave him to find Charlotte, but when I try to go, my feet stay glued to the wooden floorboards.

Bronnie’s giggles reach me through the thin walls, then Charlotte’s laughter. Bronnie and Charlotte are okay, and my boy is safe.

I kick off my shoes, climb in, and lie next to my sleeping son, unwilling . . . unable . . . to let go of him. He smells like sweaty, dirty boy, and a touch of lake water. Under other circumstances, I’d have insisted he shower before bed, but not today.

My calm reassurances to Charlotte that the kids would be fine were nothing but hope wrapped in prayer.

All of this was my fault. The kids came looking for us and didn’t get our attention because, after the scene in the kitchen, I’d explained to Henry that when he comes across two adultshugging each other or kissing, the correct thing to do is to give them privacy.

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