The man pulled out a bottle of wine and took a swig. A sickening horror overcame Henry as he looked at the label. The wine was from his own vineyard.
“Why are you doing this?” Henry said. “What do you want?”
“Let’s just say your interests are not mine, Matthew Hudson.”
“Matthew? I’m not Matthew. Matthew is my son. I’m Henry.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. He got right down in Henry’s face, observed him more closely, and then he swore and threw down the bottle of wine. The thick bottle didn’t break, but wine spilled all over the deck and splashed onto Henry’s clothes.
“Look, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Henry said, holding up a hand. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work it out. Just . . . just take me home and we’ll work it out.”
The man ignored him. He gave some sort of signal to someone who must have been standing behind Henry. Before he could even blink, he was knocked out again.
When Henry woke, hours or days later, he had no idea, he found himself in a much smaller boat that was being slowly lowered down the side of the ship. But he wasn’t alone. There was another person in the boat with him, a young man, late teens or early twenties. He looked familiar to Henry, though he couldn’t place why until he turned and met eyes with him. Henry felt a jolt in his heart. Those eyes. They were Gloria’s eyes. He’d recognize them anywhere. Gray and full of life and laughter, though there was more fear than laughter in them now.
“Dad?” the young man said. “Dad, is that really you?” His breath smelled of wine. He was probably a little drunk and confused. Maybe he was some unknown relative, a niece or nephew of Gloria’s he didn’t know about. She had siblings who lived far away.
“Who are you?”
“Dad, it’s me. Charles. Your son.”
Henry laughed a little. “Charles? Charles is only six.”
“Dad, you’ve been missing for over twelve years.”
“Twelve years?” How hard did they hit his head? Maybe that maniac had given him brain damage. Maybe this was all just one big hallucination.
They were about halfway down the ship now. The young man who claimed to be Charles (he did look like Charles) started to shiver. He was wearing a tuxedo, a rose pinned to his lapel.
“Did you just go to the prom or something?”
Charles shook his head. “Wedding.”
“Aren’t you a little young to get hitched?”
“Not mine. Matty’s.”
Henry’s eyes widened. Matty was getting married. And he was missing it. How much had he missed?
“It’s Matty he’s really after,” Charles said, nodding up to the man above. “I think . . . I’m not positive, but I think he stole his woman or something. Belamie. That’s the girl Matty’s marrying. Pretty. Smart. Mom loves her, and she doesn’t like any of the girls we’ve ever dated, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Henry said, and his heart suddenly ached terribly, thinking of all the things he would miss, had missed, in his sons’ lives. And Gloria. He thought of how he’d spoken to her that morning, or however long it had been, and he was filled with sorrow and regret. This could not be the way they parted. This could not be the way his life ended.
They hit the water. The ropes were pulled up, and the ship started to move away from them. Henry looked around and noticed the oars in the bottom of the boat.
“Grab an oar,” said Henry, hard determination in his voice.
“Huh?” Charles said.
“We’re not getting left behind here. Start rowing.”
They started to row, keeping up with the ship at first, but then something strange started to happen. The water began to bubble around the ship, and the ship itself began to change.
A rope dropped down, and though he couldn’t explain it, Henry knew if they didn’t grab on to that rope right that second, they would be stuck here forever.
“Grab ahold, Charles!” said Henry. He hefted his son to the rope. Charles clung to it and then the ship moved and he was pulled out over the water.
“Dad!” Charles cried. “Hang on!”
He reached out to him as he swung over the bubbling, churning water, clinging to the rope, but Henry knew it was too late.
“Tell Gloria I love her!” he shouted. “And Matty too! I love you!”
And then the ship was gone. And Charles too. It had just . . . disappeared.
The little boat tipped and swirled in the eddies until it calmed to a gentle rocking motion. Silence. Henry stared at the place where the ship had been. It had just disappeared, and now he was utterly alone. Lost.
Henry had never minded being alone, in fact he enjoyed it. Of course, he always knew he would eventually get back to Gloria and the boys, but now he didn’t think that would be the case. He never cared for being lost. He was not accustomed to it. He was used to being oriented, knowing where he was.
Henry floated aimlessly in the boat for hours, huddled and shivering in the corner of the boat. He thought maybe he should row to land, try to find help, but he saw no signs of civilization anywhere, and what if the ship returned and he missed it? Or what if someone else came along? But he was hungry, and his head was pounding. He couldn’t think.
The sun set. It grew colder. Henry began to shiver violently. He started to lose his sense of reason or any feeling of hope. He reached in his back pocket and took out his wallet. He always carried pictures of the boys and Gloria. Charlie was only five in this picture and Matty eight. He had a gap-toothed smile and front teeth too big for him. How could it be that Matty was getting
