Owen McCuen

At least you lower the sails.

We pulled alongside and I tied up after lowering my main mast.

Halliards and shackles slapped the aluminum masts from both boats, clanking noises I usually associated with carefree sailing now relaying tension.

One more yell and I climbed aboard.

Nothing seemed amiss.

I peeked into the cabin, unsure I wouldn't find the couple below canoodling, but when I went down, I found no one.

Everything seemed neat and in order.

The front berth looked like a setup in a department store.

Back in the cabin, a few foodstuffs lined the stove area, but no water came out when I turned on the faucet.

The head, neat as a pin.

I went back on deck.

"'Nothing,' I said to the faces lined up watching me.

"'It's like a showroom in there, but no people.'

Grace let out a sob.

As I surveyed the ocean around us, I offered one opinion."

I hope these dumbasses didn't jump overboard for a swim and couldn't get back on.

Tammy gave me a look that said I wasn't helping.

Better call the Coast Guard, I quickly said.

I went below for the radio, but there wasn't one.

No way a cell phone worked out here.