68 Knots (46 page)

The crew drank to that. Then they talked with each other, openly and freely, about their lives, their dreams, their fears, and the summer they just spent together. The sky to the east was growing light when the last of them went to bed.

And Arthur untied the last knot in his rope calendar.

August 22nd dawned crisp, cool, and windy. After breakfast, Arthur gathered everyone on deck.

“When we get to the dock,” he said, his low voice calm and certain, “there will be a lot of people waiting for us. The Coast Guard, reporters, our parents. We need to make this look good. We have to show them that we know what we're doing—that we're not just a bunch of crazy teenagers.” He paused and looked at Dawn. “We also need to say our goodbyes now. We won't have much chance when we reach Rockland.”

Logan turned to Crystal. “This has been really great,” he said quietly. “Do you think I could call you sometime?”

Crystal smiled—a surprisingly soft and gentle smile beneath her cap of blond hair. “You need to find someone closer to home,” she said. “But it's been good getting to know you, too.”

Joy went around the circle, hugging each of her friends and whispering blessings and solemn wishes into their ears. “It's been a pleasure ministering to you all,” she said. “If you ever need help, give me a call.”

Jesse clapped a huge hand on BillFi's shoulders. “Does this mean we're going back to the shelter?” he asked. “Back to the Bronx?”

BillFi smiled. “What do you think?”

Jesse returned the grin, distorting the tattoos on his face. “After all this?” he said. “Hell, no. I never again want to take orders from people who don't know what they're doing. I like the way things have been this summer—free to do whatever we want. So let's go wherever we want.” They shook on it.

Arthur put his arms around Dawn and gave her a strong hug. “If I can . . . um, College of the Atlantic . . .” he said, “would that make any sense . . . if I—”

“Yes,” Dawn said softly. “It would make all the sense in the world.”

After a long moment of heartfelt and sad farewells, Crystal announced that she had one more thing to do. She ran below and returned with something held behind her back.

“This is for you,” she said to Arthur. “You've been a pain in the ass at times, but we wouldn't have had this summer without you.” She held out her hand. In it was Blackgoat's dagger, with ruby eyes in the handle's skull.

Arthur stared at it and then looked up with amazement at Crystal's smiling face. “You kept it!” he said. “I didn't think we had saved anything from that cave.” He took the dagger
and held it respectfully in his hand. “Thank you,” he said. “This really means a lot to me. A lot.” He gave Crystal a quick hug and stowed the dagger in his duffel bag.

As the goodbyes dwindled down, the crew got ready for their return to their families and their futures. They wanted the ship to be perfect.

Space had been cleared at the main dock in Rockland Harbor, and Fernandez waited there with his Coast Guard officers and two dozen members of the Maine State Police. Waiting on land was a cluster of adults—the parents of the
Dreadnought
crew, some reporters, curious townspeople. Noon was just minutes away.

“There they are, sir,” said one of the Coast Guard uniforms. He pointed to the east, where the sails and masts of the
Dreadnought
were coming into view. The ship was in full regalia: every sail had been hoisted, colorful banners fluttered from the rigging, and the four gashes of the
Dreadnought
flag—the one Logan had made so many weeks before—flew from the top of the mainmast.

“That's one beautiful ship,” Fernandez said out loud.

The
Dreadnought
approached the dock smoothly, with Arthur at the helm. Flash bulbs and murmurs popped through the crowd. The crew, dressed in dark T-shirts and light pants, lined the rails, standing not at attention but with a steady air of confidence. Arthur called out his orders with a clear sharp voice. “Prepare to jibe!” he boomed. “Jibe ho!”

The crew leapt into action, sheeting in the sails and preparing to let them out on the other side. Arthur twirled the wheel, and the
Dreadnought
spun around smartly. The starboard side of the ship slid gracefully against the side of the dock, Jesse and Logan threw lines over the dock cleats, and
Dawn and Crystal secured the gangplank. The sails were lowered and stowed in an instant. Then once again, the
Dreadnought
crewmates stood along the starboard rail. Their faces were serious, respectful, and proud.

Fernandez and two of his officers approached the gangplank.

“Nice docking. Permission to come aboard?” Fernandez asked in a strong military tone. He saluted, and his officers did the same.

Arthur stepped forward and returned the salute. “Permission denied, sir.”

Fernandez looked startled. “What?”

“Just a moment, sir,” Arthur said. “Crystal? Now, please.”

Crystal turned from the line of crewmates, kicked off her shoes, and scrambled up the rigging. At the top of the mainmast, she unclipped the
Dreadnought
flag and carried it down to Arthur. Dawn and Arthur folded the flag into a triangle with great care, and then Arthur climbed onto the gangplank and crossed over to the dock.

“Sir!” he said firmly. “Presenting the crew of the
Dreadnought
—the finest sailors ever to cross the Gulf of Maine.”

One at a time, the crewmates walked solemnly across the gangplank as Arthur called out their names:

“Joy Orejuela.” She held her hands before her and paused for a moment in prayer. Then she stepped onto the dock.

“Crystal Black.” Crystal marched across the gangplank and gave Captain Fernandez a playful punch on his shoulder.

“Jesse Kowaleweski.” The crowd gasped at his multicolored skin. He walked across without looking at anyone.

“William Fiona.” BillFi pushed his glasses up his nose and trotted off behind his friend.

“Logan McPhee.” Logan crossed the gangplank and stood smartly in front of Fernandez. He locked eyes with the captain—something he would have been afraid to do a few months ago—and then he nodded and continued down the dock.

“And Dawn FitzWilliam.” Dawn smiled at the crowd and at Arthur, and she walked across the gangplank with the casual grace of someone who knows where she's going.

“I'm Arthur Robinson,” Arthur said, stepping onto the dock. “One crewmate unaccounted for, sir.”

Fernandez smiled gently. “We know, son,” he said. “She's on her way home.”

“And it is my duty to report a suicide and burial at sea,” Arthur continued.

“Very well,” Fernandez responded.

“Presenting the
Dreadnought
colors, sir,” he said. He held the flag out toward Fernandez. “Permission to come aboard now granted.”

Fernandez shook his head. “We don't need to take your ship just now, son. And you keep the flag. I think you all earned it.”

Then the
Dreadnought
crewmates, escorted by the Coast Guard and Maine State Police officers, walked down the dock toward land, toward their parents, and toward some tough questions and painful answers.

Logan trotted over to his parents, gave them an awkward hug, and turned with them toward their car. His mother, prim and severe, glared at him sharply, but his father wore a tie-dyed hat and maintained an odd grin. He couldn't help noticing that Logan seemed to stand a little straighter and carry himself with more pride than he had before. He winked at his son. “Cut out the booze, didn't you?” he whispered. “I was hoping you would.”

“You knew?” Logan asked, wide-eyed.

“Why do you think I sent you on this cruise?” Loopy answered with a grin. The two of them walked side by side toward the car.

Crystal's parents, classic middle-aged overweight Americans, greeted her with joy and concern and then ushered her off toward a waiting station wagon. Crystal scanned the parking lot—and saw Jim Greenfeather standing at the edge of the crowd. She tore herself away from her parents and bounded over to him. “You came!” she said.

“Had to,” he replied with a smile. “I don't have your phone number.” The two of them talked for a moment, exchanged addresses, and kissed goodbye. Then Crystal climbed into the station wagon and waved to Jim until she vanished in the distance.

Jesse and BillFi walked across the parking lot toward a waiting taxi. The driver, a bored-looking heavyweight woman, held a hand-scrawled sign bearing their names. The shelter in the Bronx had obviously hired a taxi to take them to the bus station—things were probably too hectic to spare anyone. Jesse and BillFi approached the taxi, side by side, and then looked at each other for a moment. Without a word, they walked past the taxi and vanished down the road. Arthur watched them dwindle, not sure if they'd be all right but confident that somehow, together, they would survive. He wondered if he would see them later at the police station. Or ever.

Joy burst through the crowd and wrapped her arms around Leo. Her parents waited quietly, not staring directly at the young couple, and then hugged her in turn. “You've lost so much weight!” her mother shrieked with a giggle.

With her arm still around Leo's waist, Joy said, “Mother, I've been ministering to my shipmates, and I want to work at a street mission. I know it's not the House of Joy, but it truly is God's work. I'm on the right path now, and it's time for me to start getting the job done.” Her mother grinned and kissed her on the head.

Dawn gave Arthur a final hug and a deep kiss, and she whispered in his ear, “College of the Atlantic. One year from now. I'll see you then—if not before.”

Arthur hugged her back. “Count on ‘before,'” he said. “We're only four hours apart. Won't we be able to see each other pretty often?”

“Would you like that?” Dawn answered.

“Do seagulls poop on the foredeck?” Arthur said with a grin.

Dawn laughed. “'Do seagulls poop on the foredeck?'” she said. “Couldn't you ask something a little more romantic—like ‘Do the stars shine beautifully on your radiant face'?”

“How about ‘Do you think hurricanes could keep me away'?”

Dawn nodded. “Don't you agree that it's a nicer way of phrasing things?”

“Do you realize how much you've taught me this summer?” Arthur asked.

“Isn't that what special summers—and special friends—are for?”

“Do you think we'll ever spend a summer as wonderful as this?”

“No,” Dawn said. “Not unless we're together.”

They hugged again, parted, and walked toward the crowd. Dawn's father gathered her up and hurried her away from the reporters. She glanced back at Arthur, and then she was gone.

Arthur walked up to his father and stepmother. He held his hand out to his father, man to man, handshake and nod and understanding.

It didn't happen.

“What the hell were you thinking?” his father screamed at him, ignoring the offered handshake. “When we get home, young man, you've got one hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

Arthur stopped walking and stood tall. “No, Dad, I don't,” he said in the same solid voice he had used with Fernandez.

“What?” his father asked. The new wife drifted off into the crowd. “Don't tell me you think—”

“Dad,” Arthur said in a firm and gentle voice. “This is important. There have to be some changes between us. You sent me here to gain some maturity, some authority, some sense of command. Good call, Dad—it worked. And it's working now. If you want to talk with me—
with
me—I'd be happy to chat with you all night. But if you want to lay down one of your lectures, if you want to talk
at
me all night, if you want to play the Authoritative Dad role and have me play the Subordinate Son role—then forget it. If that's your plan, tell me now and I'll just keep on walking. You've done a lot for me, Dad, but you don't own me. Whatever happens between us from now on, Dad, it happens between men. Between adults. I made some mistakes—some big mistakes—and I'm prepared to do community service for them. But stop treating me like a child. If you want to talk things over, hear about how my summer went, maybe tell me a little about your life—then I think we should find someplace comfortable and start talking. But I don't want your lectures anymore.” His gaze never left his father's eyes. At last, it was the elder Robinson who blinked.