When the storm passed by they found another inlet on a different island where they could drop anchor. Brother stood at the chart desk and fiddled with the knobs on the depth finder. He was adjusting the sensitivity of the sonar; if you turned the sensitivity up too much schools of fish would light up red on the black screen, rendering it useless, but if the sensitivity was too low they couldn’t tell where the bottom really was. The screen blipped and flashed red dots and lines as Brother called out fathoms through the open door. They fought over who got to use the depth finder, like they fought over everything, but this time he won. Girl sat just outside the companionway, able to look down at the top of Brother’s brown hair and smudgy glasses. Her job was to relay the numbers to Father as he slowly guided the boat into the cove. Father had first gone over the charts with them, pointing out submerged rocks and calculating the depth of the ocean floor based on tides. They always needed at least two fathoms or they would risk grounding. The Ghost glided past the tall gray rocks at the mouth of the harbor.
“Do you hear that?” Father asked.
“What?”
“Listen to the water on the rocks. It sounds like there’s a hole in it, or a cave back there.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“We’ll take the dinghy over later. I’ll show you.”
Father slowed the engine to an idle, and Brother and Girl scrambled around the boom to the foredeck to release the anchor. The metal, V-shaped anchor hung under the bowsprit, and they loved to watch it sink, the gray steel chain rushing through the water. Brother got to the foredeck first, so he pulled the lever this time, and Girl lay on her stomach with her head over the rail, watching. When the chain stopped its downward rush Brother called back, “Set!” and Father pushed the throttle forward, reversing the engine until the anchor snagged deep in the murky bottom. He cut the motor and they ran below, packing up their tin pot with the blackened bottom and tight-fitting lid that Father always placed right in the coals of their campfire, a box of Rice-A-Roni, plates, and flatware. The wooden-topped galley counter had a flush-set flat ring, and Girl flipped it open with one finger and pulled off the entire top to reveal the darkly wet, refrigerated hold below. The smell wafted up, invading her nose with pungent odor of closed-up Styrofoam, seawater, and old milk. Girl pulled her shirt over her nose as she rummaged around for the chicken. Brother flipped up the companionway ladder, unlatched the hidden door to the large dry storage bay, and pulled out the rectangular grill top Father used to cook over the campfire. It didn’t take that long to assemble everything they needed to bring ashore, and soon Girl was pulling the yellow line to bring forward the dinghy they towed behind the Ghost. It was a twelve-foot wooden boat that Brother, Father, and Girl had made by hand the summer before in the garage of Father’s condo, without a single power tool. Brother and Girl each had a skiff; Brother’s was green and Girl’s was painted lavender, and both boats had matching deep-blue trim to match the lettering on the Ghost. Father lowered himself in first and secured the oars in their locks, and then they handed him down the bags one by one. Brother and Girl leapt in beside him, and Girl cast off the bowline.
Father was a fast and powerful oarsman. Brother and Girl sat side by side in the rear of the boat facing Father, who braced his feet on the children’s as he rowed backward. They cut quickly through the waves. Landing was the tricky part, and the surf was high today from the storm the night before. Girl always got nervous, but knew better than to say anything. Father hated nervousness almost as much as when they used the word can’t. They could say fuck, but they couldn’t say can’t. Father always said, “If you two stop squabbling and just listen you can do it,” but sometimes they cried because Father thought they were a lot more capable than they felt they were.
“Okay, this is going to be a little tricky. Brother and Girl, get in the bow and have the line ready. It’ll take both of you to pull the dinghy up onshore,” Father said.
They carefully maneuvered around Father, careful not to rock the flat-bottomed boat. “Ready?” he called, but as they prepared to leap off, the boat suddenly tipped to the
