Chapter 17: The Boat

Stefan's POV

The letter from the bank came on a Tuesday, in a white envelope with a window.

I read it standing at the marina office counter, with a crew of four waiting for their assignments.

It said that the guarantor of my commercial note had withdrawn her support, effective immediately.

It said I had thirty days to bring the loan current or arrange alternate collateral.

It was signed by a man I had played Little League with.

I folded it in thirds and put it in my shirt pocket.

"Bad news?" asked the dockhand.

"Weather," I said. "Go check the fuel pump."

When they had gone, I sat down at my desk and added up what I owned.

The marina was worth two million, and I owed the bank one point nine.

The slips were rented through spring.

My truck was paid off, and I had forty-one thousand in savings, and a thirty-four-foot sailboat named the Marguerite that my father had left me.

I had refused to sell her for eleven years.

I called the broker that afternoon.

By Friday she was gone.

A couple from Sandusky bought her for a hundred and ten thousand.

The woman cried when she walked the deck, because the teak was so well kept.

I told her my father had oiled it every spring.

I did not say that I had, too.

That evening I sat on the dock where the Marguerite had been, looking at the empty water.

The slip was dark.

I heard the car before I saw it, tires on gravel, a door shutting.

Dell came down the boards in her black jacket with her hands in her pockets.

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