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As she swept up the last of the glass into a dustpan and dumped it in the garbage can, Mark nodded at her. “We should go check on Timothy,” he said.
It took her a second to realize he was talking about the boat and not the boy. She nodded silently as her phone pinged.
“What is it?” Mark asked.
“Text from my sister. She’s worried about me.”
“So you two are talking again?” he asked.
Laura shrugged. “Sort of.” She showed him the text message feed, which was curt and to the point, asking only about whether or not she was okay. “There’s no apology in it, though.”
“At least she cares if you live or die,” Mark pointed out. “That’s probably more than I could say for Edward.”
* * *
MARK WAITED IMPATIENTLY in the slow line of traffic as cars and trucks flooded into the marina’s nearby storage facility with ship owners coming to assess the damage. With dread, he realized that half the roof of the building had caved in. Once parked, Mark jumped out of his truck, barely waiting for Laura as she followed him out.
Edward and Dave were there, and Mark realized they’d all picked the same storage facility. They were inspecting the Tanner, which looked to be in tip-top shape or at least with just minor damage. Mark pushed past them without a hello. He didn’t have time this morning to pretend he was glad to see them. All he could think about was the boat that bore his son’s name. Please let him be okay.
Mark ran past two sailboats sitting on a rack, and felt a sinking pit in his stomach as he marched through debris from the roof. Above him, he saw blue sky and clouds where a roof should’ve been. Timothy had to be okay. He just had to be. He skidded around the corner and jogged between boat owners, not able to see Timothy’s mast in the distance and suddenly feeling panicked. Where was he? Where… Mark turned the corner, moving past a crowd standing by a different boat and saw Timothy.
He skidded to a stop, his heart pounding.
For a full second, he couldn’t process what he saw. The boat was still upright, yes, but part of the roof had fallen on it. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The mast, a huge piece of tall timber, was broken in half like an upside down V, lying limp and useless across the side of the boat, the lines, loose and lying on the ground.
In that second, Mark felt all his hopes dashed. Timothy wouldn’t sail in the race. He might not sail at all.
“Oh…Mark.” Laura was by his side then, clutching his arm, but he couldn’t feel anything. His face had gone numb, so had his arms and legs. Timothy wouldn’t sail. Couldn’t sail.
“Tough break,” came a familiar voice—Edward’s—behind him.
Mark whirled, and seeing his older brother, he felt the undeniable urge to punch him in his smug face. “Go to hell,” Mark murmured instead.
“Mark,” Laura began, but then he shrugged off her touch as well. He couldn’t talk to her, either, couldn’t talk to anyone; the disappointment was so thick, so horrible, all he could do was retreat back to his truck. He could hear Laura running after him, calling his name, but all he wanted was to be alone. His whole future died with that boat.
* * *
MARK WOULDN’T TALK to Laura the whole way back to the condo. Laura watched him, clutching the steering wheel, glancing out dead-eyed at the road, not knowing what to say. Sorry just didn’t seem to cover the staggering loss. They hit traffic ahead, the tiny road covered in water as cars crept over low-lying curves.
“Can it be fixed?” Laura asked, voice soft.
Mark remained silent for a long second and Laura thought he might not answer her. Then he spoke, still not looking at her.
“There’s no way a new mast could come in time for the race, even if they postponed it a week,” Mark said. “Even if I could locate one, I’d need special equipment and many hands to put it in place.”
Laura nodded. “Maybe we could…try.”
Mark slowed the truck, as traffic up ahead of them ground to a stop while a small SUV crossed the water. He glanced at her.
“It’s over, Laura,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Nothing we can do now.”
Laura, however, wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. She knew what she could do.
* * *
WHILE MARK TOOK a shower, Laura borrowed his truck keys and set out for Tanner Boating. She’d called their main office on the way to check that they were still open post tropical storm, and a harried-sounding assistant assured her they were. Edward might not be there, but it was worth a shot. She’d go to his office first, then back to the marina and then, if she couldn’t find him at either place, she’d try stalking him at the Rusted Anchor. Maybe even try to find out where he lived. There weren’t that many residential neighborhoods on this island.
