THE TOPIC OF THIS CONTEST WAS:
The fishing pier was long, and narrow. It was late and she had to hurry before someone saw her. She clutched it tight as tears streamed down her face. When she got to the end of the pier, she looked out over the water and, with all of her might, she threw it in.
(Stories need only touch on this topic in some way to qualify.)
Before you continue reading, take a moment to consider where you would take that story…
The last-minute decision to sail from Charlevoix to Beaver Island on Lake Michigan seemed perfect. Though never excited to leave dry land, I knew the four-hour trip would be good for us.
Our boat, The Dreamer, was a 35-foot Hunter, low-slung with a drop-down centerboard, dive deck, small galley, four berths and a spacious head. The cabin door stuck, but overall, she was seaworthy. He’d named it after me. Called me a dreamer. I guess I was. I dreamed of a good job. Faithful husband. Nice house. Family—though that never happened. We’d bought Dreamer several years into our marriage. I learned to love the gracious silence of being aboard.
“Come on!” His voice was sharp. Restless.
Caution made me check the weather—again. Chauncey, our Black Lab, was already in the car. It was late when we loaded our supplies. I pushed off while Tim directed from the helm.
“Just the jib out of the harbor!” he barked. His voice harbored angst.
I knew the routine. Motor through the narrow channel. Jib at the ready to test the wind. Full sail once underway. Relax. I would, but I was always waiting for the next shoe to drop.
Lake Michigan frightened me. Unpredictable water. Ocean tides, known for sudden squalls. He grew up on the lake, knew the wind and water better than most. His confidence did nothing to squelch my fears, but I trusted him.
The late August afternoon was sweltering for Michigan—the water still icy cold. I stretched out on the bow, relishing sun on my skin. Glancing back, his bronze face and sandy blonde hair looked striking against his orange windbreaker. One tan leg extended, the other cocked beneath him, arm draped lazily over the tiller. I couldn’t help but love him. His crooked smile suggested innocence.
Two hours out, the boat suddenly tilted, almost tossing me from the bow. I’d dozed off. The sky to the West had darkened. I recognized water ripples cutting toward us meant trouble.
“Tim!” I shouted. “A storm!” Scrambling to my knees, I edged my way toward the cockpit. The boat keeled farther. The boom was tied in place, something Tim did to steady us as he chartered our course.
He was nowhere in sight. The wind pressed against the sail. The ever-changing angle of the boat made it difficult for me to navigate aft. I screamed again. No response. Jerking the taut line loose, the boom freed, jolting Dreamer upright. The released sail flapped angrily.
With little warning, the sky released its fury. Blasted me with coin-sized rain. A rush of cold air. The boat pitched left, then right. Tossed me like a salad.
Chauncey barked furiously from the hull, scratching the wood floor as though digging a grave. I tugged at the handle. It flew wide, sending me reeling. Chauncey raced past the helm before bailing overboard. Horrified, I understood. The sky glared like a canvas of purple and black bruises.
With barely time to react, I needed the engine. I fumbled to find the choke. Rain distorted my vision. I pulled—a weak tug worthy of no response. I pulled again. I knew every second counted. A soft purr and the smell of fuel rewarded me. Hand on the tiller, I steered Dreamer into a circle, doubling back in the direction I thought we’d come.
“Tim!” I screamed until my voice dissolved.
The rain relented, giving me slightly better visibility. A sharp bark on the starboard side caught my ear. Chauncey struggled to stay afloat. I maneuvered toward him. Cut the engine. Motioned him to the dive deck. Pulled him onboard. He collapsed in a heap.
Without notice, a rouge wave thrust the boom my way, knocking me unconscious. In my daze, the stars shone like a million crystals, brilliant and beautiful against a coal black sky. The lake’s anger rocked me in cradle fashion. Drifting in and out of darkness, I felt an irony in the peace.
My beloved husband was missing—most likely dead.
Tasting blood in my mouth, I realized no one knew where we were. How or if we’d be found.
Head throbbing, the light smell of fish caused my stomach to lurch. I swung my arm to my left. My hand struck what felt like glass. Tim’s iPhone. The screen lit up with my touch. I prayed for service to call for help.
Squinting, I struggled to focus on a message. Tell her this time. I won’t wait forever. Meet you Monday. My place. Love you.
The dizziness I felt had nothing to do with my injuries. Late nights and weekend work now made sense.
This wasn’t my dream.
Unexpectedly, Chauncey barked at the sea. I crawled to the boat’s edge. Peered into the blackness, my head spinning. Sixty feet away, Tim lurched with the violent waves. One arm flailed. A weak call for help. I checked my watch. He’d been in the icy water for an hour and a half. Death by hypothermia was imminent.
Struggling to my feet, I wrenched the main boom into place. Secured the sail until the boat lunged forward. Every second counted. Rain pelted my face. Rage tore through my heart.
Scanning the horizon, I heaved his phone into the sea. Watched it disappear.
Glancing back only once, I let his screams fade behind me.
