Free The Great Wide Sea by M.H. Herlong

covering everything with the nauseating smell of diesel fumes.
    At six o’clock Dad crawled up out of the companionway looking old. He hadn’t shaved since Key West and his beard had come in scruffy and thin. When he was young, his hair had been blond, but now it was dark, and the gray showed more and more as it got longer.
    â€œHow’s it been?” he asked. His voice was normal—tired, but normal. I thought maybe he’d forgotten to be angry this morning.
    â€œGood,” I said. “No adventures.”
    He nodded. “Coffee?”
    â€œSure.”
    He disappeared down below and I sat with my heart pounding, waiting.
    He came back up and handed me a cup. I tasted it. He’d put in the sugar I like. I could hardly drink it. This was my old dad come back, just like that. Right up the companionway into the new morning.
    He sat down and sipped at his cup. I remembered that from home. The way he held the cup in two hands and brought it to his face like a bowl. He sipped. He paused. He sipped. Three times. Then he lowered the cup into his lap, took in a deep breath, and arched his back into a slow stretch.
    â€œSeen the light yet?” he asked.
    â€œNo. Nothing yet.”
    â€œNothing?” The edge of his voice sharpened and I felt something spinning away from me. Something it would have felt good to remember. It was gone and the small of my back felt tired and tight.
    â€œNo. Nothing yet.”
    â€œYou’ve held your course?” The lines were starting back into his forehead.
    â€œYes,” I said. “I’ve held my course.”
    â€œAre you sure? Did you fall asleep? You got tired. We’re off course. I know it. Go get Dylan up. We’ll put him on the bow pulpit to watch.” Dad was spilling his coffee as he twisted around, looking for coral heads.
    â€œDad,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “I’ve held my course. I did not fall asleep. Something’s not right with the engine.”
    â€œBut it’s been running all this time. I heard it.”
    â€œYes, but we’re not getting enough power from it. There’s a current through here with the tide and all, but—Well, I think something must be caught on the prop.”
    Dad nodded. I saw his jaw working. “Okay. Someone has to jump in and look. Go get on your swimsuit.”
    Of course. Just like the anchor in Bimini. While Dad turned off the engine, I went down below to put on my swimsuit. Gerry was still sleeping in his ball. Dylan lay with one arm thrown up, circling his head. I left them and found Dad securing a line on a cleat off the back of the boat.
    â€œYou can’t wear a life jacket because you couldn’t get under the boat that way. But I’ll float the life ring behind the boat so you’ll have something to grab if you need it.”
    I stood on the stern and looked over. The sun was up high now. Already the air was getting hot. I could see straight down. The bottom was clearly visible. Even the ripples in the sand showed. We drifted past a patch of brown turtle grass, and a fish flashed in a glint of light near the rudder. I waited a moment, the night and the sleeplessness crushing my consciousness to a tiny spot of dread at going over into the ocean with no land in sight. Then I jumped.
    The water was cool and clean. I came quickly to the surface and saw the boat already twelve feet away from me. I poured my energy into my strongest crawl, dragging myself through the water to the boat. Still it crept forward. I had closed the distance by only two feet. I was spent. I grabbed the line and let it slip between my fingers until I had the life ring in my grip. Dad was calling to me as I wiped the water out of my eyes.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œI can’t catch up. I can’t swim that fast.”
    Dylan came up behind Dad. The mainsail hung lifeless on the mast, but they moved to take it down too. The halyard whirred, the