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Steve found Billy at the docks, staring out over the northeast shore of Lake Superior. “Hey, hey, babe,” he said, pulling him away towards the parking lot. “You didn’t bring your meds. Let’s get some food in you, and you can take your pills, okay?”
“What if she doesn’t want me to…?” Billy asked, watching the still, deep water over his shoulder.
“Sssh,” Steve said. “She would want you to. She would. Fuck, you scared me,” Steve said, tugging him back towards solid ground, and laughing with relief. His eyes were wet and bloodshot, and Billy tried to pay closer attention.
“Sorry,” he said, remembering the night before in a dim haze. “I...wanted to ask her.”
“Come away from the lake,” Steve whispered. “You don’t come here alone, remember? I brought your diving stuff, okay? You need to wear it. She doesn’t want you to drown.”
Billy nodded, feeling a little more solid, with Steve holding his arms. “I don’t have to ask her right now,” he said uncertainly, shaking a little as he let his fear of drowning push him away, instead of getting an answer. The guilt washed over him, and he closed his eyes. “No, no—no, I can’t leave yet—”
“We’ll come back,” Steve told him, pulling him into a hug. “Right after you get some food and some sleep, okay? Just a few hours.” His arms were warm and strong, and Billy shuddered, breathing the laundry smell of Steve’s jacket.
“I need to talk to her,” Billy whispered, and Steve pulled back and cupped his face, stroking his thumbs up Billy’s cheeks. Billy closed his eyes, sighing.
“Remember what the rangers said?” Steve told him. “They can’t let people dive unless they’re well-fed and rested, right? You have to let me take care of you first, and then we’ll go see your mom.”
“Yeah,” Billy nodded, mumbling. “Yeah, okay. Okay.”
Steve pushed him into the car, and cranked up the heat, and by the time they turned off for the diner, Billy was half-asleep. “...how long were you standing on that dock, babe,” Steve asked softly, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
Billy considered, folding his hands. “...I knew you didn’t want me to jump in,” he said, and Steve took a shuddery breath, wiped his eyes, and slapped his hand over to squeeze Billy’s, hard. “I wasn’t gonna jump in,” Billy said, again, because they’d talked about it, and he’d promised. “I told you.”
“But you disappeared,” Steve said, shaking Billy’s fist, a little. “You drove up here overnight, you didn’t leave a note, you didn’t even take your diving shit—”
“...I didn’t want to wake you up,” Billy said numbly, grimacing at Steve’s hand on his. “...sorry.”
“Just kinda freaked me out,” Steve said, thickly, as he pulled into the parking lot. “What did you want to tell your mom?”
Billy shot a glower at him. “Who’s the crazy one here?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “You fucking proposed, dumbass, remember?”
“Yeah,” Steve laughed, wiping his eyes. “So...I mean, are you asking if you can say yes, or just like...what…”
Billy bit his lips together, closing his eyes tightly, as he remembered the worn rubber of the regulator hose, and his father’s snarl as Billy tried to point it out, his eyes swollen with tears, his throat hurting from sobs.
“...she…” Billy said softly, unable to say aloud what he’d done, after his dad came back to the surface without his mom. Billy’d taken Steve to visit her, finally, after three years of waking up beside him—Billy'd driven him to the lake, and rented the diving gear, and trained him on week-long “vacations” Steve obviously thought were weird, but went along with—but Billy could not...quite...tell Steve what had happened after the last time Billy saw her alive.
They’d just called it in and left. Billy had let his dad shove him back into the truck without her, and they'd driven clear back to the motel. Billy'd stumbled to the bed through his tears, burying his head under the pillow, because they hadn’t even waited to help search.
She’d loved both of them, Billy knew, and after his dad had swum back to the boat without her, Billy hadn’t waxed the zipper to keep the freezing water of Lake Superior out of his father’s drysuit, or told his dad about the dry, crumbly feel of the edge of the rubber regulator hose for the oxygen. After his father dove the next time they drove to the lake, Billy had leaned over the edge of the boat and waited for the bubbles, like in a Disney movie, but the water was still. It was possible, Billy’d thought much later, that the currents had drawn Neil Hargrove’s body, and his last choking gasps for air, well away from the boat—or maybe he’d realized, and swum up too fast, and the blood had spilled from his veins into his lungs.
His mom must have known, he’d thought, floating down there somewhere below the boat, looking up at her son and her husband. She’d seen him let his father dive alone, and she’d seen Billy hold the wax in his hand, and pretend to wax the zipper, so Neil Hargrove’s suit would flood 200 feet under the surface of the murky water. She must’ve seen what Billy had done to the man she loved enough to vow her life to, in sickness and in health.
He thought, watching Steve’s hand on his, she might have some objections to Billy making vows of his own.
It had taken him years to find her, with her neon regulator hose cover—too long to be able to check, really, how exactly her gear had failed, or do much more for her than brush the silt off her half-buried diving suit, and wrap the gold chain with Billy’s class ring and his dad’s wedding ring around her arm. He’d lingered around, for a while, wishing his air regulator allowed him to speak, watching her hair waft in the green light of his flashlight, and the grit from above fall through the beam.
He’d never found her again.
The diner lady recognized them—she’d seen Billy around the lake since he was holding his mother and father’s hands, swinging between them—and she gave them a great big booth with a nice view of the shore, even though there was a party of five waiting ahead.
“Hi, honey,” she said, squeezing Billy’s shoulder, and then patting Steve’s.
Billy stared out at the lake. He blinked down at the toast and eggs Steve ordered him when it showed up, and licked his teeth, considering what to say. After a minute, Steve waved a fork at him.
“Eat your eggs,” he suggested, smiling a little crookedly, and Billy shut his eyes for a long second, considering breaking his promise, and diving off the pier, and just...seeing what his mom would do. Standing there half the night, he’d half expected to feel her fingers wrap around his ankle—revenge for killing the man she loved. Revenge for failing to find her, he thought, sighing, and picking up his fork, revenge for leaving maybe. In Billy’s worst nightmares, she was still alive somewhere below when Neil surfaced, and took the boat, and she watched them go as her lungs filled with dark, cold water.
Maybe she wanted revenge for Billy being happy, just sometimes, when he hadn’t even tried to find her the day she didn't resurface. He swallowed, sawing through the crispy edge of the egg white, and told himself what Steve had told him, once, shaking him on the boat—it wouldn’t be Billy’s mom deciding, if he jumped into the Great Lakes without his diving gear. Physics would decide his fate then, and maybe Billy’s mom didn’t want her whole family to die in the waters of Lake Superior.
Billy nodded to himself, taking a shaky breath, and chewed.
After eating, Steve hauled him back to a motel room, curling around him on the bed and kissing his neck. “You don’t have to say yes,” he whispered, pulling one of Billy’s hands up to kiss it. “We don’t have to get married. Nothing would change.”
Billy squeezed his hand, thinking, stomach-droppingly, of somehow knowing his mom wanted him to. Wanted him happy, wanted him curled up with Steve at home, safe and well, with her husband, Billy’s father, dead by Billy’s hand. He took a long, steadying breath through his nose, and wondered whether Steve would want to marry him, if he knew.
“Tell me what’s going on in there,” Steve said, kissing the nape of his neck, and Billy groaned.
“Just being crazy,” he sighed.
“...crazy how?” Steve asked softly.
“Just thinking,” Billy told him, shutting his eyes tightly, and Steve nodded, squeezing him again.
“...about your mom, or your dad?” he whispered, and Billy flinched, then snorted a laugh.
“...pretty obvious, huh,” he breathed, and Steve nodded again, holding him tighter. “...why would I be thinking about my dad,” Billy hissed, belatedly, because all Steve knew was that Neil Hargrove was dead.
“...mmn,” Steve said, but Billy’s heart had started pounding, and he pulled away, sitting up.
“The fuck did you hear,” he asked, his throat hurting again as he breathed. His vision blurred with tears.
“Nothing...certain,” Steve told him, pulling back as Billy drew away. “It’s not like I was asking around—”
“What did you hear,” Billy rasped, and Steve bit his lips, thinking. “...just tell me! ” Billy shouted, startling at the volume of his own voice, and Steve sighed.
“I heard they went out when you were what, nine?” he said, and Billy clenched his fingers in his jeans, listening like his whole body was attuned to Steve’s channel. “They took you on the boat. Your mom and dad dove…” Steve trailed off, and Billy swallowed. “She didn’t come back up,” Steve whispered, watching him.
Billy whispered “Fuck,” rubbing his face with his sleeves. “Keep going,” he said.
“...I heard a lot about your dad,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice low, and Billy laughed, setting his jaw. “He sounds like he was...a piece of work,” Steve ventured. “I got told he...hit you.”
“You got told right,” Billy said, crossing his arms. “So?”
“He took you out to dive the Madeira,” Steve said, raising his eyebrows, “—just you and him, and when we did it, you checked the weather every hour and then pulled the plug, because the wind was kicking up. I checked the weather that day, babe, the day your father died? And it was windier than the day you wouldn’t go, with both of us, to watch each other’s backs. He went alone.”
“...it’d have been more dangerous to take me,” Billy said slowly, thinking about it, but Steve cut him off.
“Yeah! Yeah, it would have been more dangerous to take you, babe, you were a kid, jesus.” He shuddered. “At least he had that much sense. But okay,” he said, counting off a finger, “—he went in windy weather. Too windy.” He counted off another one. “He left you alone on the boat for hours, which isn’t really the point, but I just wanted to bring that up. How old were you?”
“...nine,” Billy admitted, frowning. He felt like he wanted to argue, but Steve hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. “He just wanted somebody to pass the weights and tanks to.”
“And could you lift the weights and tanks?” Steve asked, and Billy remembered his dad shoving him and yelling as Billy struggled to drag them away.
“I could drag them,” he whispered, letting Steve grab his hand, and tug him closer.
“When you’re getting out of choppy water on a windy day, is it safe to have somebody who can’t help you out of the water?” Steve asked, the same questions Billy usually directed to him.
Billy bit his lips, shaking his head.
“Is it safe to bring someone who can’t lift the tanks, and could drop them on your face?” Steve asked pointedly, and Billy shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
“It’s not like that,” he whispered. “Steve, I—I didn’t wax his zipper, his suit could’ve leaked—”
“Not that much,” Steve said, unimpressed. “He got some perky nips, maybe.”
Billy’s throat closed over the next confession, but he rubbed his face, and took a deep breath. “His regulator hose felt—the rubber was old,” he choked out. “Felt dry and—and crispy, I bet it cracked, a hundred and ten feet under the water, I bet his lungs filled with water—”
“Billy,” Steve sighed, yanking him into a bone-crushing hug. “He went on a dangerous dive alone. You never go alone. What do you always tell me?”
“Never dive alone,” Billy whispered, swallowing hard, and fighting to breath against his shuddering lungs.
“It’s too dangerous,” Steve whispered. “Your dad died diving alone. You know how dangerous it is.”
“I d-didn’t tell him about the regulator hose,” Billy sobbed into his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I didn’t tell him—”
“Babe, babe,” Steve whispered, pulling Billy more between his thighs, against his chest. “He made a nine-year old check his equipment. You were scared of him. How many times do you check equipment?”
“...always double-check,” Billy whispered, sighing it into Steve’s wet shoulder.
“Do you let somebody else check it?” Steve asked, kissing his hair, and Billy laughed, sniffling.
“Check it yourself,” he whispered. “Fuck. I thought—” he cleared his throat, his tears spilling over more with relief, now that he knew Steve had heard everything. “I thought you’d…”
“Is that what you were thinking about?” Steve asked, squinting. “Him being really irresponsible? How the hell long were you in that boat before you went back to shore?”
“...all night,” Billy whispered, remembering.
“Jesus fucking christ,” Steve muttered, squeezing him tighter again. “Babe, your mom must be so glad you survived.” Billy made a weird frog gulping noise as his lungs jerked, and then laughed into Steve’s shoulder. “...let’s get some sleep, and make sure we’re safe for a dive later,” Steve whispered,” and Billy nodded, shivering.
Billy laid staring at the ceiling as Steve snored softly into his shoulder, remembering how in the diving mask, his mother couldn’t kiss him goodbye. She’d made a heart-shape with her fingers, her eyes on him as she stepped backwards off the boat—and when Billy had finally found her, he’d almost yanked her mask off, a decade later, to kiss her face. He'd jerked his hands back from her corpse, shuddering as she drifted with the current, the weights on her diving belt dragging her down to the lake floor again.
When Billy woke again, Steve was poring over the maps of the currents again. “I plotted out some spots for next time,” he said, tapping his pencil on the spot, but Billy just leaned in and kissed him, remembering all at once that this man had dropped everything to drive to another state in the middle of the night, knowing it was to help search, again and again, for Billy’s dead mother. Steve startled, and then grinned against Billy’s lips.
“...sorry,” Billy whispered, sighing.
“I asked for some time off next month if you wanna start pushing further south,” Steve said, and Billy nodded, biting his lips.
“...you want to get us some food before we go?” Billy asked, and Steve blinked at him.
“...it’s noon, babe, by the time we get everything and get out there…”
“Better hurry, then,” Billy told him, and Steve grimaced, but got up and started yanking his shoes on. Billy waited for the door to shut, and then took a deep, shuddery breath, leaning his head in his hands, and finally dug around in his stuff for the old, water-stained notebook he used to record dives. He flipped to a new page, and began to write. He wrote for a while, his eyes burning and then just spilling over, dripping warm down his cheeks, until Steve stomped back in with burgers, and Billy ripped the pages out, and folded them up.
The burgers smelled good, better than breakfast, and Billy’s stomach growled. He waved Steve over from where he’d paused at the door, watching Billy fold up the letter.
“...who’s that to?” Steve asked, trying not to sound worried, and Billy got up and went over to kiss him, and steal the bag of burgers.
“My mom,” he said. “I mean, I know she’s not really gonna—”
“Can I write one?” Steve asked, because he never just told Billy he was crazy, like anybody else would have, and Billy pushed him back against the door, sliding his thumb over his boyfriend’s lips.
“Love you,” Billy told him, leaning in for a slow kiss. Steve’s lips were cold—from the wind outside, but also from the chocolate milkshake he tasted like.
They went down around two in the afternoon, Steve checking his watch again and again beforehand. “It’s fine,” Billy told him, and Steve nodded, trusting him—and Billy’d been aware, before, that he had to check and triple check Steve’s equipment, had to get him out of the water before it got too dark to navigate on the lake, had to keep him safe—but the knowledge that his dad, an experienced diver, had died on a dive shallower than Billy’d been planning was starting to sink in. They reached about 80 feet down, the lowest safe depth for recreational divers, and Billy swam over and grabbed Steve’s arm, shaking his head. Steve looked at him, his frown intent through the mask, and then down, his flashlight fading into the distance of another two hundred feet of lake depth, where they’d combed and combed before.
Billy shook his head again, and pulled out the letter. He let it go—he’d stuck a few rocks in there, so it would eventually sink—and pointed up. Steve watched their letters, sealed in the same envelope, drift downward, and then frowned at Billy’s face again—and Billy wanted his boyfriend out of there, suddenly, out of the depths that had killed his father and mother.
He pointed up, and Steve nodded. He searched Billy’s face at their first safety-stop, waiting while their bodies worked through the nitrogen from the deep dive, and Billy watched him back, wondering whether he’d been wrong all this time, and his mom was cursing him down there for risking Steve Harrington to find her. Billy made the little heart-shape with his fingers that his mom had, the last time he saw her, and Steve’s eyes widened. He made some noise with a lot of bubbles—he still forgot he couldn’t talk—and grabbed Billy’s arm, but there wasn’t much Billy could do, so he just waited, raising his eyebrows.
When they got to the surface, Steve stripped off most of his gear and flopped to the deck of their rented boat, groaning. Instead of starting up the motor, Billy sat next to him.
“What’s up?” Steve asked, watching him. “...do you want to...try and get her up here, put her in an urn before you go marrying anybody, or—”
“I don’t want to find her again,” Billy admitted, and Steve sat up, frowning at him. “She—I said goodbye, but—” he laughed, grimacing. “It was so fucking creepy, Steve, she was just drifting along, she wasn’t—she wasn’t my mom, anymore, she was all—” he waved his hand, “—through the glass, she…” he trailed off.
Steve had seen the faces of Lake Superior’s dead, down in the wrecks and along the bottom where it was too deep for the sun, and too cold for decomposition. They went waxen and transparent, semi-featureless. He nodded, and just scooted closer, sliding an arm around Billy’s waist.
“She loved diving,” Billy whispered. “She’s...she’s fine down there, I don’t...I don’t want to see her again. I’m sorry I took you down there. Kept...taking you down there.”
Steve kissed his wet hair, pulling their heads together. “It’s all right,” he said. “I knew you were a little haunted when I asked you out,” he offered, shrugging, and Billy barked out a startled laugh.
“I told her we wouldn’t be back,” Billy said, swallowing as his throat started to close again. He sniffled. “In the letter. I told her you’d asked me to marry you. I wish—” he broke off, and Steve waited, then squeezed their heads together again, as Billy bit his lips together, and shut his eyes tight.
“...I told her I'd keep an eye on her kid," Steve said, and Billy winced. "...the lady at the diner said she was so excited to spend time with you,” Steve said, and Billy’s tears started up again, and he swore, rubbing them. “She said your mom always tried to get them to make shaped pancakes for you. Like Mickey Mouse.”
“They were shit at it,” Billy choked out. “Didn’t even like Mickey Mouse, she just thought they could get three circles right, and they fucked it up—”
“And the last thing your mom did was make that little heart shape, right,” Steve whispered, and Billy nodded, taking shuddery breaths. “So I’m getting a message your mom sent over a decade ago,” Steve said, putting his hand over his ear, like he had a Star Trek communicator. “It must just be coming in now because we’re right over her.”
Billy snorted a wet laugh, shoving at him.
“She loves you and wants you to be happy, and we can visit her here, from the boat,” Steve said, then pretended to listen. “Oh, um. That’s all she said.”
“Bullshit,” Billy laughed, leaning into him. “What’d my mom say?”
“She told me to give you time,” Steve said, squeezing him again, and Billy groaned, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder. “As much time as you need, okay?”
“I’ve had enough time,” Billy sighed.
“Don’t argue with your mother,” Steve told him, and Billy laughed, half sobbing, for most of the boat ride back.