“I promise, Ivor,” Ronin said. “The second you want to get out, I’ll turn back to shore.” He stepped inside the speedboat and reached out his arm to help Ivor aboard.
Ivor shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to.” The boy looked caged inside his life jacket. He tugged at its neck and scratched at the thick woolen hat on his head. He looked ready to tear both off him. As Ronin coaxed the boy, Billy’s doubts grew. He’d hoped to join Ivor and Ronin on the water, but there wasn’t room for a third. Not even a normal-sized man.
Ivor stepped onto the boat, Ronin holding on to one hand and Billy holding on to the other. The boat shook beneath the boy, making him wobble and cry out. “You’re okay, son, we’ve got you. And Ronin will go nice and slow, won’t you, Ronin?” Billy wished the weather was better. A gray, gloomy day, the river looked almost black.
“You’re my captain, Ivor, I’m at your command,” Ronin said. “You tell me what you want and it’s done.”
“Remember,” Billy said, “he can’t swim.”
“Don’t worry,” Ronin said, suddenly solemn. “I’ll take good care of him.”
Billy could hear Tricia in his head. What are you doing?
“Go really slow,” Billy said.
Ronin grinned. “How about I don’t turn on the engine? We can float?”
Billy laughed. “What do you think, Ivor? Do you want to float or race?”
Ivor offered a shaky smile. “Race!”
“Okay, Captain Ivor,” Ronin said. “Here we go.” He used a wooden oar to turn the boat about inside the rushes and faced for the river. Then he allowed Ivor to turn on the ignition. The black engine on the back of the boat roared to life. Billy pushed down the urge to call the whole thing off. Ronin eased the boat to the right and glided over the water. Billy trained his eyes on them as they traveled farther away. If anything happened. If something went wrong.
Ronin turned the boat around and they passed in front of Billy. “All okay?” Billy shouted.
Ronin and Ivor gave a thumbs-up. Ivor still looked nervous, though.
Ronin ferried Ivor back and forth over the river, slowly gaining speed. “Looking good!” Billy shouted.
Fifteen minutes later, Ivor was waving his arms, elated. “Look, Dad. Look at me!”
“I see you! Well done, boy!”
“Faster!” Ivor shouted.
Ronin obliged. Maybe too much. He rode the boat hard, its front lifting high out of the churning water. Billy stopped himself from signaling to Ronin to slow down. He didn’t want to ruin Ivor’s big adventure. Whenever Ronin turned the boat, it leaned dangerously to the side. This latest turn, almost the boat’s entire body rose out of the water, one corner plunging deep below the surface. They looked about to capsize. Billy almost couldn’t stand to watch. Above the noise of the engine and water, he could hear Ivor cheering.
At last, it ended.
When the boat returned, Billy gripped Ivor’s hand and pulled him back to shore. “You enjoyed that!”
Ivor grinned. “It was brilliant.” He wrapped his arms around Billy’s sides. “Thanks, Dad.”
Billy shook Ronin’s hand. “Thanks so much. He won’t forget this, and neither will I.”
“Anything for any of Michael’s,” Ronin said, a tremble in his voice.
Billy and Ivor walked up the grassy slope toward their car, Billy’s arm around Ivor’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to tell everyone tomorrow, especially Cormac,” Ivor said, suddenly sounding much older and more confident—that thickness to his voice barely noticeable.
“Make a right good story out of it,” Billy said.
Ivor laughed. “Oh, I will.” He stopped walking and looked up at Billy. “Do you really not think what I said today in class was stupid?”
“About using God’s powers to talk to the people in heaven? No, not at all. I told you, I think that’s an excellent use of God’s powers.” Billy rubbed the top of Ivor’s curls, smiling mischievously. “I just wouldn’t stop there. I’d also play the Lotto—”
Ivor slapped Billy’s hand away, snorting, rolling his eyes. Then he turned serious again. “I talk to Michael every single day and I listen and I wait, but he never answers.”
“I know, son, I know.” They continued walking, Billy’s arm around the boy’s soft shoulders.
*
Days later, Billy asked John to carry the ladder upstairs. He trailed his son, breathing heavy. It felt good to have John’s help, almost as if they were getting along, but it was also humiliating to not be fit enough to carry the ladder himself. He was getting there, though. Time was he couldn’t get up these stairs without dragging himself along by the banister; now he was clearing the steps unaided. Someday, he would run up and down them, get Anna and Ivor to keep time and to count aloud the number of laps he completed.
John deposited the ladder on the landing, beneath the attic opening. Billy reached him, trying not to breathe so loud.