A sign caught her eye and she read it aloud. “Mat-e-cum-be.” She sounded it out with relish, chopping the word into four distinct and heavily accented syllables. The feel of the Indian name on her lips made her smile.

She slowed as much as she could as she passed the Lorelei, which Troy had mentioned, on her right, and the Hurricane Monument about a half mile farther on her left, enjoying how small and accessible everything felt.

On a whim she turned right at the sign for the Helen Wadley library, continuing past the white concrete structure. Behind the library a beautiful park with picnic tables, swings, and climbing equipment that Dustin would absolutely love was situated on a mangrove-lined inlet with a small dock and beach. If she could find an easy way on and off Mermaid Point, they could bring Dustin to the library to check out books and then let him burn off some steam in the park.

Hudson was waiting for her when she got back to the marina. He wore his baseball cap pulled low on his head. A pair of sandy eyebrows rose above his mirrored sunglasses. His arms were wiry, his large hands capable.

“Can I help you with the groceries?” His smile was laid-back.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll grab the rest out of the van.”

He loaded the bags into the boat then reached up to give her a hand. When she was settled, he pulled on something on the motor and it sprang to life, churning the water and throwing off froth behind them.

“How did you do that?” Maddie asked.

“Do what?”

“How do you start this boat?”

“You just pull the, uh, choke.” He looked at her as if she’d asked what the first letter of the alphabet was but made no further comment.

She watched his movements closely as he untied the boat. Other than the time spent renovating Bella Flora, she’d never lived on or even near the water and had never given any thought to operating a boat. But it occurred to her now, as he pushed off the dock and maneuvered slowly out of the marina, that if she could learn how to operate this boat, or even the smaller rubber one with the even smaller motor, they’d have a way on and off the island.

“So you keep the ropes with you?” she asked as they moved toward open water. “They don’t belong to the marina or anything?”

“They’re actually called ‘lines,’” he said. “And they belong with the boat. So you can tie up when you get back to your own dock, or to the next place you’re going.” She could tell he was trying not to smile.

He twisted something on the handle of the motor and the boat sped up. She raised an eyebrow in question.

“The throttle controls the speed,” he said.

She nodded again, not sure what to ask next.

“If you turn this clockwise it speeds up. Counterclockwise we slow down.” He demonstrated increasing and slowing the speed smoothly so she could see and feel the change.

When they were away from the marina he slowed so that the boat idled in place. She could see Mermaid Point in front of them, Bud N’ Mary’s behind. All around them was the Atlantic.

“Do you want to try it?” he asked quietly.

Maddie considered the channel markers that she didn’t understand, the shallows where she could clearly see the bottom, and the vastness of the ocean that made the boat look and feel like a bit of flotsam. She thought about all of the marine life, not all of it friendly, that undoubtedly teemed beneath the surface; but none of it mattered. She didn’t need to become the next Jacques Cousteau; she just needed to be able to come and go from Mermaid Point without waiting for someone to take her. Especially in case of emergency. “Yes.” She could see her smiling face reflected in his sunglasses. “Absolutely.”

Hudson turned off the motor and slid over so that she could sit to the right of the motor.

“Okay. Everything you’ll need once you get her started up is on this tiller.” He demonstrated the position for neutral, which she apparently needed to go into before changing direction, then forward and reverse. “You use it to steer as well,” he said. “You push it away from you to go right and toward you to go left; basically the opposite of the way you want to go.” He waited for her to nod her understanding. Then he turned off the motor. The only sound was the subtle slap of water against the hull.

“Okay, you see that knob right there?” He waited for her to find the rectangular knob protruding from the front of the motor. “You want to make sure you’re in neutral, hold onto the knob, and pull it hard to you.”

She pulled. Nothing happened.

“That’s all right. Brace your other hand on the top of the motor and pull quickly. If it doesn’t start pull it quickly again.”

She pulled two more times. On the third try the engine caught. “I did it!” She laughed.

“That you did,” he said. “Now, take us over that way.” He pointed toward the highway and the deep blue water between the markers. “That’s it,” he said approvingly. “Give it some gas and then move in between the red and green channel markers.”

Maddie rotated her hand so tentatively that at first nothing happened. She tried again and the boat leapt forward.

“Easy now,” he said in the tone a cowboy might use to gentle a horse. “Ease off the throttle just a little bit.” When she managed to loosen her grip enough to accomplish this, he smiled. “Good. Very good.”

They moved forward at a turtle-like pace. When she managed to aim it between the markers she felt a smile spread across her face. She was driving a boat.

“Very good,” he said approvingly. “Let’s head a bit to the right.”

Her teeth worried at her lip in concentration, but she pushed the handle away from her body and the front of the boat aimed to the right.

“I got the front to go right!”

He laughed appreciatively. “You did. And the front of the boat is called the bow. You’re sitting in the stern.” He gave her a moment to absorb this. “Why don’t you try the other direction? Just a slight correction.”

Carefully, she did as instructed. The front—the bow—aimed to her left.

“Good,” Hudson said. “You want to work on keeping your movements as smooth as possible.”

There were no other boats in the channel so she pushed the tiller away, then pulled it to her, unaccountably thrilled each time the boat responded. When he made no move to take over, she did it some more. Feeling bolder she rotated her wrist to give it gas and the boat jerked forward. “Whoa!” she said. Hudson didn’t look at all alarmed and she eased back slightly.

She knew it was silly to feel so satisfied because the boat was so small and the motor not particularly powerful. Nonetheless she felt a surprising sense of accomplishment.

“We’re at midtide right now,” he explained, “and this skiff doesn’t need more than a foot of depth or so, but you’re best off staying in the channel. At low tide it can be a matter of inches.”

Maddie nodded happily as her hair whipped wildly around her face and the sun beat down on her bare arms and shoulders. She couldn’t have held back her smile if she wanted to.

Hudson settled back and crossed lightly muscled arms. “We’re going to go under the bridge, cut south on the bay side, and come back through the next bridge to the ocean side. I’ll dock her this first time out.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, giving it more gas, tempted to pinch herself in case this was some sort of dream in which she, Madeline Singer, former full-time homemaker, was piloting a boat through the Florida Keys on her way to William Hightower’s private island.

Chapter Eleven

Deirdre sat at the banquette, a glass of freshly brewed sun tea in front of her, watching Maddie put away groceries and rearrange the minimal dishes and silverware. Maddie had been whistling and puttering around the small space since she’d gotten back with the groceries. Acting as if the cramped galley were a real kitchen, and the floating sardine can around it, a real home.

Maddie was hanging the brightly colored dish towel—one that Deirdre doubted had come with the rented houseboat any more than the large jar she’d brewed the sun tea in had—on the small oven door handle when Dustin, apparently just up from his afternoon nap, toddled into the living area of the cabin, his mother behind him.

“Would you like some juice?” Maddie asked.

“Duce,” Dustin said, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his fists.

“Coming right up,” Maddie said, smiling down at her grandson. “What’s the magic word?”

“Peees?” He clambered up onto the banquette across from Deirdre, his sturdy brown legs splayed out in front of him. Maddie placed a sippy cup and a plastic cup of Goldfish crackers in front of him then dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “And?”

“Tank too.” He lifted the cup and drank in big gulps like a sailor bellying up to a bar after a long stint at sea.

Kyra slid in beside him, munching on a handful of the fish-shaped crackers. Her mother brought her a glass of tea. “Thanks.” She smiled and yawned as Avery and Nicole came into the cabin. Nicole’s skin glistened. Avery had already sweated through her T-shirt.

“I can’t believe it’s this hot and it’s not even June yet.” Nicole accepted a glass of tea from Maddie and pressed it to her forehead. “Can you turn down the air-conditioning?”

Avery went to the thermostat. “It’s set as low as it goes.”

“That is not a good sign,” Nicole said. “I mean, it feels like it’s a hundred degrees. I don’t want to think about how hot it’s going to get here.”

Avery held her glass of tea to her neck, which was slick with sweat.