Owen McCuen

She matter-of-factly said it was the same with everything down there.

I wasn't surprised.

The clacking shankles and the flumping sails were driving me crazy, so I lowered the sails and tied off the halyards.

A cool wind had come up.

The boat rocked and waves slapped the hull like an impatient hand.

Tim carried Grace below with help from Tyler.

I really didn't want them down there.

I didn't trust the boat.

Not just because it looked like it was built by a moron, but because, how else to put it, it didn't feel right.

In a tactile sense.

I didn't tell Tammy, but when I came back on deck, I pulled myself up on the wooden handle.

There was a softness to it.

I could have sworn my fingers compressed it.

Tammy, always attuned to my mood, asked what was wrong.

How could I answer when my own mind was in turmoil?

I wanted to tell her to get into the dinghy, the others too, but without an explanation they'd be floating out there looking back at a more stable place to be.

I glanced into the cabin.

Everyone huddled at the table.

I asked if they were okay.

Grace was awake, but hardly coherent.