The boat was called theReef Rascal II, though no Reef Rascal I had existed within living memory.
Hank claimed the number made customers trust it more.
It did not.
The boat had benches along both sides, a canvas shade, racks for tanks, and an engine Hank maintained with the tenderness most people reserved for pets or grandchildren.
Captain Pancake stayed behind because he disliked boats, water, wind, engines, and any activity that interfered with lying down.
Annie sat near the stern while I checked the equipment.
She looked calmer than she had the previous morning.
Still watchful.
Still noticing every person on the dock and every phone held too high.
But the tightness in her shoulders had eased.
There were no other students. Just Annie, Hank, and me.
Hank started the engine.
The boat pulled away from Pelican Key, cutting through water bright enough to look digitally enhanced.
Annie held the side of the bench when we hit the first small wave.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m deciding whether I trust this boat.”
“It’s reliable.”
“What happened to Reef Rascal One?”
“It knew too much.”
She looked toward Hank.
He gave no indication that he had heard.
“That answer made things worse.”
“It usually does.”
I sat beside her.
For several minutes, we watched the shoreline shrink behind us.
Pastel cottages.
Palm trees.
The café.
The old pier where I had kissed her while a gull supplied unsolicited commentary.
The memory returned with inconvenient clarity.
