Chapter 5: The Tuesday Boat

On Sunday morning I sat on an overturned bucket at the end of the pier, watching Ben mend a mooring line.

Brant's name came up on my phone again.

I had let every earlier call ring out.

Brittany's text from Saturday was still open under it.

I had written back one line: I won't tell her. Is it true that two others wrote yes?

Brittany had answered at midnight: I think so. I can't ask them again. She watches us all.

So the count was wrong, and I was the only person outside the family who knew it.

I decided Brant would hear nothing about it from me.

Ben did not look up. He pushed a steel spike through the braid of the rope and pulled it tight.

His sleeves were rolled to the elbow. His forearms were scarred in a dozen places, white lines over brown skin.

I noticed that and then looked at the water.

I answered the phone.

"Where have you been?" Brant said.

He was not calling from the rocks. There was wind in the speaker and the sound of a door.

"Mom has been on the landline since breakfast."

"I've been here."

"The grocery boat didn't come. She called the supplier and they said the order was cancelled."

"It was."

The wind went on for a second.

"Fern, who cancelled it?"

"I did."

"Why would you...?"

He tried again.

"She called the Marigold's office too. They said only the account holder can release the return, and that's you."

"Yes."

"You cancelled our boat home?"

I stood up from the bucket.

"I cancelled the crossing I booked and paid for."

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