Page 33 of Holding On

Jackson leans forward as Bryce is speaking into a police frequency radio.

“It’s The Winnow. Carlson’s boat. It’s slipped its moorings.”

Just as we pull away, Finn joins the other two men on the porch, points to me, and then to The Inn.

Bryce pulls the mic away from his face for a moment. “We need to bring her here if it’s bad.”

I didn’t need his translation. I got it. With the exception of George, I’ve lived all my life with my four sisters. Now, each one of them has a guy, a terrific guy, in their lives.

It’s why I’m surprised they summoned me.

***

By the time we pull up into the marina, it’s so dark and thick with cloud cover, the headlights cast dual tunnels of light that reveal rain pelting sideways. The moment the doors open, the wind catches on everything, surging and gusting, matching the immense swells. Waves are already crashing against the side of the pilings and wharf. A lonesome buoy rings, faint but persistent.

Jack Carlson’s green ’70s Volvo is parked right next to the pier, but I can’t see where he is through the driving rain.

But what I do see makes my heart lurch. Maya’s on deck on the low-slung boat, drenched, her little yellow slicker unbuttoned and blown open. She’s trying to toss the stern line toward the dock. She’s hunched over, bracing herself with every swell and drop.

A person I assume to be Carlson is waving her to toss the rope, but every time she tries, she staggers back as another wave crashes into the boat, sending water streaming over the deck.

Bryce, Jackson, and I hit the dock running. The wind tears the breath from my chest, and the rain instantly blinds me. I wipe my eyes and remember where the slick spots are. Every second lost, the boat drives further away from the dock.

The idea is to take it to the cleat on the bow side, wrap it once, wrap it twice, twist and hold it, and then do the same for the aft and the spring lines. It should have been easy. It should have just taken a minute or two, but between the rain and trying to pull the boat as close to the pier as possible, it’s almost impossible. The rain is relentless, and the boat is loose from the moorings.

Jackson slips once and nearly goes down. I grab his arm.

“Stay away from knotholes!” I yell. That’s where algae can grow, and it makes the wood as slick as glass.

The lights inside TheWinnow flicker in staccato, just enough for me to catch glimpses of her outline against the light.

Carlson whirls around and yells at us. “We have to get her off.”

She’s up on the starboard, waving and trying to toss a rope to him, but she doesn’t have the strength and keeps getting knocked down.

“She’s going to go over,” Bryce yells, and then to me, quietly, he adds, “We’re going in.”

But I’m already toeing off my running shoes while peeling off my hoodie. The buoy clangs louder—a warning.

The boats all up and down the marina are heaving and swaying, then there’s the horrible, sickening crunch of one crashing into another. The harbormaster runs along the shore, stopping for a moment to check if we need help. Bryce gives a thumbs-up and a wave. The guy continues down the boardwalk. He’d shit if he knew what we’re about to do.

“What’s your time now?” he shouts, a massive hand on my shoulder.

I lie. “Three minutes.”

“Check,” he says, and then he turns to Carlson and Jackson. “We’re going to her. You two be ready.”

“There are new lines,” says Carlson, pointing to the pilings. He’s got four set up.

Bryce nods. “Jackson, be ready to pull us in.” The words whip from his mouth.

Without a word, we both turn around and face a wall of sea looming in the dark. We both know the barge is balanced on the other side of it.

We dive together, and I hit the water an instant after Bryce.

The cold is a shock. The second I hit the water, it makes my head split, and for a moment, I think I’ve actually rammed into something. The Gulf Stream must have been ripped apart by the storm, and now the icy water from the North has swept in.

Coughing, sputtering, I rise to the surface, but another dark wave knocks me over.I don’t distance swim like Claire, but I’m a strong swimmer and never get disoriented. The swells are huge, and it’s a struggle to make sure we don’t get smashed against the pilings.