He wrapped my hands around the bottle. Without knowing why, I kissed the glass for good luck.
“Please receive our message, Mr and Mr Woodrow. Please know that your son is safe, and that I will take great care of him.”
“I thought you wouldn't get sentimental?”
“I never said that. You made me sentimental about your family, so now deal with it.”
I handed the bottle back to him, and after a moment, he kissed the glass as well, whispering a prayer of good luck. He held my hand tight, stepped forward, and with his other arm chucked the bottle as far as he could. I heard it splash in the water, quite a distance away, where the sea would pick it off and do the rest.
“Now it's up to the tide. And the gods of the sea.”
“I might build a shrine to Poseidon just for that one.”
We stayed there for a moment, enjoying the softness of the night, as he watched the bottle drift away into the horizon until it disappeared. Carrying our hopes and our dreams in a tiny glass bubble, forever rocked by the waves until the end of times."
Read The Color of Home here: archiveofourown.org/works/3014…