I bend down to her and fold my arms around her. Her bones feel delicate now. Her body feels small. I’ll never hug her again from the vantage point of childhood. But that’s fine. That’s fine. She’s here.
“I searched for you for many years,” she says. I hear her for the first time as an adult, as someone who’s lived with many voices. I hear the melody of Spain there now, and the soft roundness of French, but she speaks to me in English, the way she always did. “Your father—”
“Mama, you don’t need to explain.” I don’t care. Whoever that man was—I don’t care.
“I went to pay a man for passage out of France,” she says. “Your father was looking for us. He did not want a child. He only wanted—”
“I understand,” I tell her. I know about men like that. Of course I do.
“He found you while I was making the payment.” I hear that old panic in her voice. Hear how her heart must have collapsed to discover what had happened. “When I arrived, his people were taking you away. I should have stepped forward. I should have died before I let you think I had abandoned you.”
I’m a wave, breaking on shore. All thundering emotion. But the sea never breaks, does it? It’s always whole. My mother had spared me the sight of her being killed in the street. All the rest of it, I could bear. I survived it. “I never thought that. I would never think that of you.”
“I never gave up. I could not leave France, but I—” My mother’s arms tighten around me. “I searched for you. I prayed for you to come home, and here you are. You are—” Her voice breaks. “You are very tall.”
“I have a great ship,” I tell her, an old wound repairing itself as I speak the words.
“With white sails?” Tears in her voice. And laughter.
“Yes. It’s strong enough for the highest seas.”
“And blessed by God to bring you home,” she whispers, and I hold her tight.
Neither of us wants to let go, but eventually my mother pats my arm and steps back so she can look at me. “You’re handsome.” She laughs, and it’s just like I remember. “Is this your wife?”
Heat burns across my face. “Not yet.”
My mother takes both my hands in hers and kisses my knuckles. “I taught you better manners than that,” she scolds. Her eyes shine.
“Mama, this is Ashley.” I wave her forward and put my arm around her. There. Nothing is missing now. “Ashley, this is my mother.”
Ashley puts a hand out to shake, but my mother pulls her into a hug. “Oh, come in,” my mother says. “Come in. I’ll make tea. And you will tell me everything.”
Ashley
We get back late. Poseidon didn’t want to leave his mother in the village. He insisted that she come with us. But she can’t just leave her life, and so we’re staying for a few more days. A few more weeks. However long it takes to decide.
The lights are low when Nicholas opens the hatch for us. “How did it go?”
Poseidon nods. He doesn’t say anything else.
Nicholas nods back.
Muffled voices come from the deck. The crew is up there, talking and keeping watch. Their voices are a low murmur on our way to Poseidon’s quarters. Almost all of them are back now.
I go in ahead of Poseidon and kick off my shoes. All my muscles ache from the joy of the day. The door closes with a quiet click. I stretch my arms above my head. “I’m so tired, but I’m so awake,” I say, turning to look at him. “I—”
He’s staring at me, and I can’t name the expression on his face. It’s part shock. Part joy. Part something else entirely. Poseidon sucks in a breath, one hand going to his chest. “She’s alive,” he says. “I thought she was dead.”
And then he bursts into tears.
I manage to tug him toward the bed before he sinks to his knees. I end up on the edge of the mattress, holding him in my arms. The tears wrack his body. Wring him out. His strong arms go around my waist. His lifeline. I brace one foot against the floor and tell him small truths. That I love him. That she’s alive. That he found her. Poseidon sobs and sobs and sobs.
Like his heart was broken for all his life.
Like it’s finally whole.
Epilogue
Poseidon
My wedding day is perfect.
Clear blue sky. Clear blue water beneath The Pearl, christened last week at a ceremony attended by my family. I wait at the back of the deck, near the doorway to the stairs, as our guests make their way to their seats. Mostly my crew, and some of Ashley’s friends. That’s sure to become my problem later, but what can I do?
Brigit comes to stand at my side. “She’s ready,” she tells me. “But I have a wedding gift for you first.”
“It can’t wait until after the ceremony?”
She grins at me, looking cocky as hell. Brigit and Zeus are a matched pair. Both of them are golden and pushy. “I’ll hold it for you while you say your vows. I just wanted you to have it.”
All of them have been bothersome since I found my mother. I called Hades to apologize for clawing his hands bloody during my attempt at drowning myself, and he laughed at me. “No debts between us,” he said. “But Persephone insists that you talk to her now.”
Not just Persephone. Brigit, too. During our first phone conversation, Brigit told me in no uncertain terms that they’re not letting Ashley be isolated on some dirty pirate ship. Offensive as hell. But she’s all right.
Brigit hands me a small box, and I open it to find that my brother is a thief. I’m not sure which of them took the picture out of my backpack, but Brigit is obviously the one who had it framed. As far as I know, this is the only photo of the three of us that exists from the farmhouse. Now it’s safe behind glass. I’ll never admit to getting choked up about it.
“I had it scanned, too.” Brigit plucks it back out of my hand and hides it in the pocket of her bridesmaid dress. “Happy wedding day.”
Persephone pokes her head out of the staircase. “It’s time,” she says, and she helps my mother step out to me.
I escort her to the front row, to her spot next to Nicholas and Jason. We stop at her seat, the photographer taking an obscene amount of photos, and I bend to kiss her cheek. “This is the best day of my life,” my mother says into my ear. Caspian grins from his spot at the front. He was the obvious choice to marry us, since I don’t trust my brothers to keep a straight face.
“I wouldn’t say that just yet,” I tell her, and leave her to wonder what I mean while I go back for my brothers.
Leave it to those fuckers to make me feel underdressed on my own wedding day.
We’re all wearing versions of the same suit, but Hades and Zeus look like they were born in theirs, and I look like myself. They stand on the side of the deck, Hades’ daughter curled against his chest. “My baby’s going to be in your wedding ceremony,” Hades says. She’s asleep in his arms. According to the dinner conversation last night, she screams whenever he puts her down. For now, her legs are tucked up and she breathes peacefully. Conor stands at his side, watching over them both. Buddy, whose name matches his personality, wags his tail next to Conor. Dogs at a wedding. Jesus Christ.