JANE
Are you stalking him now?
LYDIA
Google image search isn’t stalking
KITTY
Oadsy buot amoeik sudoiur
JANE
???
MARY
She’s typing with oven mitts on.
JANE
Oh. Okay, just finishing up at school—be home soon!
LYDIA
But what time are we leaving???
Lizzy put the phone back in her bag and brought her hand up to the ignition, letting her fingers hover over the keys while she enjoyed a few more precious moments before facing the inevitable chaos inside. She had closed up the bakery at five, flipping off the electricOpensign and ignoring the ringing phone, letting their ancient answering machine field calls from would-be customers so she could prep the kitchen for the following morning. By six she was locking up the back door, dropping her bag in the back of her truck, and getting behind the wheel.
She didn’t go straight home, though. She never did. Despite the bakery being only five minutes from the Bennet house, Lizzy always found a way to extend the drive to almost an hour. Herrusted maroon Chevy truck would ramble down Main Street, past the old Gardiner Windmill to Dunemere Lane, where the scattering of colonial buildings slowly disappeared behind the tangled branches of oak trees that lined the road. As those fell away and the sand traps for the Hunsford golf course swallowed up the landscape on either side, she’d take a right, winding around Hook Pond and parking along the beach to watch the tide come in, mentally giving pointers to the surfers dotting the break line. It wasn’t until the light began to shift, and she had gotten at least three texts from her mother asking where she was, that she knew it was time to head home.
Lizzy waited for the last few notes of Beach House’s “Superstar” to fade from the stereo before turning the key, cutting the ignition. Through the house’s front bay windows, she could view the figures of her sisters and her mother moving in and out of the living room, the blue glow of the television silhouetting them against the curtains. She couldn’t see her father in there, but that wasn’t a surprise. She knew exactly where he was.
For the past twenty years, the eyesore Bob Bennet called his sailboat sat permanently and unapologetically landlocked on their lawn, the last remnant of his dream to sail around the world. When he was Lizzy’s age, he had been working for his dad at the bakery, too, saving up to join a crew for the Newport Bermuda Race with the plan to eventually climb the ranks of international offshore racing. But then his parents retired, leaving the business to him. Not long after, Mrs. Bennet got pregnant with Jane. And slowly, the dream faded until there was nothing left but an old boat parked next to the garage.
A light flickered in its cabin as Lizzy got out of the truck. The red paint along the hull had probably been vibrant a few decades ago, but now it was faded and peeling. The only part of the boatthat remained pristine was the name of the vessel,Calcifer, which was perfectly scripted in brilliant gold across the starboard bow.
Lizzy stopped in front of the ladder that led up to the deck. She could hear the familiar muted voices of NPR from above.
“Permission to board?” she called out.
“Granted,” her father answered.
Lizzy pulled herself up, then navigated around the perennial mess of ropes and sails to the steep metal stairs that led below deck. The cramped cabin was barely big enough for the V-shaped sleeping berth at the far end, let alone the galley kitchen here at the bottom of the steps. Yet somehow her father had wedged himself under the small sink, his toolbox beside him.
“I thought you fixed the generator?” she asked, eyeing the battery-powered lantern on the table, the cabin’s only source of light.
“I’ll get to it,” he murmured, grabbing a nearby wrench. “First I need to get this filter working.”
“And then you’ll be set to hit the open seas?” The two had had this conversation a thousand times. He promised every summer he would have the boat ready, but inevitably there was always one more repair standing in his way.
He chuckled. “Right.”
She smiled, but it faltered as he sat up, wincing and massaging his temples.
Her heart dropped and she leaned forward, ready to move. “Are you okay?”
“Just a headache.” He made a vague motion toward the house. “Your mom found my stash of beer in the garage and was out here yelling at me about it.”
