“Nice recovery. You were about to get a stale beer hat,” she said, lifting one of the empty beer bottles over his head. “There’s one!” she said, pointing. “Move your chairs, kids. They come out of Perseus Constellation. You can barely see it above the trees. The quicker we each spot one, the sooner we can get away from these mosquitos.”
“We’re catching the tail end of the shower, so it might take a while,” said Alex.
Just as he finished his sentence, two near simultaneous flashes traversed the sky, appearing to head west over the coast of Maine. He was surprised that they had seen this many in such a short period of time. The Perseids typically peaked one week earlier, as the earth passed through the densest part of a debris field left by the comet Swift-Tuttle, on its 133-year orbital journey around the sun.
“That’s it for me. You can watch the rest of the show from the boat if you don’t mind being eaten alive,” said Kate, putting an end to the land portion of their evening.
“It just started,” said Alex.
Kate shook her head. “It’s past midnight, and I’m done. We’ll have to get out a week earlier next year.”
Ten minutes later, they plied the calm, moonlit waters on an eight-foot, inflatable rubber dinghy, pushed through the silky black cove by a four-horsepower, outboard motor kept at low throttle. Alex loved navigating the dinghy at night, relying on little more than instinct to bring them back to their sailboat, a dark mass anchored in the middle of the tight cove.
They never bothered to display their anchor light in this snug harbor. Aside from the occasional late arrival in the anchorage, the cove in the northwest corner of the island was protected from marine traffic on all sides, except for its entrance. Any boats entering the cove at night would proceed cautiously enough to spot a boat anchored in these waters. Nine boats now lay at anchor within it, and only the two larger sailboats near the entrance displayed mast lights.
Alex pulled the motor’s tiller into his body, taking the dinghy to the right of an illuminated luxury powerboat. They slid past the boat at a distance of fifty feet, giving the occupants as much privacy as possible. Inside the topside cabin, Alex could see four adults watching television. As they pulled astern of the monstrous cabin cruiser, he heard raucous laughter ripple across the water.
They came all this way to watch a stupid sitcom. What a waste.
Watching television or movies was not on the Fletchers’ list of permitted activities once they left the mooring field back in South Portland. The boat’s digital navigation plotter was the only screen onboard, and it didn’t stream a damn thing other than their current GPS coordinates. Kate and Alex insisted that everyone unplug on these trips, with the exception of e-readers. Reading, in any offline format, was highly encouraged. Card games were unavoidable. And conversation was compulsory. Sailing had little to do with the destination for the Fletchers, and everything to do with reconnecting as a family in a natural environment. Sparsely inhabited islands, pristine beaches, quiet coves and mesmerizing sunsets took them all down a notch, closer to their true nature, which was quickly obscured by the multitude of electronic devices and distractions that ruled their lives back on land.
He eased the dinghy alongside the Katelyn Ann and placed the throttle in neutral, grabbing the nearest rail to keep them from drifting away. Ethan stood up and gripped the toe rail with both hands, walking the dinghy back to the fixed swim platform a few feet away along the boat’s stern. He helped Alex keep the dinghy in place as Kate and Emily stepped on the swim deck and entered the cockpit area.
“Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate the help,” said Alex warmly. “I’m glad you decided to come along on the trip.”
“I’m glad I came too. This is really cool. Kevin would really like this,” said Ethan, stepping onto the platform.
“We’ll get everyone out next year, before college starts,” said Alex.
He tied the dinghy’s bow line to one of the cleats attached to the stern of the boat and climbed onboard, surprisingly tired from a day of leisure. Being out on the water always drained a good portion of his energy, especially during the first few days of any trip. Even in calm weather, the constant movement of the boat took its toll, readying him for bed at sunset. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was at least an hour past his nautical bedtime. He turned and stared into the northeast sky, hoping to catch another meteor. Nothing.
“Who’s planning to sleep under the stars and watch the Perseids?” Alex asked.
“Not me,” said Kate. “The mosquitos got enough of my blood tonight. Wake me if the meteors really pick up, and I might watch from inside the cabin.”
“Emily?”
“No way. Your mosquito net contraption doesn’t work,” said Emily.
“Ethan?”
“Don’t let him talk you into it, Ethan,” Emily said. “You’ll be eaten alive unless you bury yourself in the bag. Then you’ll overheat. It’s a lose-lose situation. Seriously.”
“It’s really not that bad. The net covers your face, and as long as you stay tucked in the sleeping ba—”
“I think I’ll trust the women on this one,” said Ethan, stepping into the cabin.
“Smart man. The earlier you start listening to them, the better,” said Alex, swatting at the swarm that had already found them.
“I heard that,” said Kate. “Close the hatch, Ethan. If he wants to sleep outside, he can keep the mosquitos to himself.”
Alex stared into the sky. “The love is gone.”
A few moments later, the screen door opened, and his sleeping bag was dumped into the cockpit, along with a water bottle and a can of bug spray.
“The netting is inside the bag. How can you say the love is gone?” she said, quickly closing the screen door.
“Don’t I get a kiss?”
Kate pressed her lips against the screen, and he gave her a quick kiss through the thin plastic mesh. He turned his head and pushed his cheek against the barrier, feeling the warmth of her face.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you more,” she replied.
They held their faces together for a few moments before Kate pulled away from the cabin door.
“I can see the mosquitos swarming your head. Good luck out there.”
“You’re gonna miss the show,” he protested, swatting at his arms.
“Not worth the price of admission. Holler if you need anything else, like a blood transfusion,” she said, eliciting laughter from the cabin.
“I’ll be fine. I have a plan.”
“Just don’t fall overboard, okay? I do not feel like taking a midnight swim.”
He smiled and went to work. A few minutes later, he nestled into a sleeping bag suspended over the cockpit by a hammock. He lay still for a moment, trying to gauge whether the contraption would work. Previous attempts to hang the hammock had resulted in a series of spectacularly embarrassing failures he didn’t care to repeat. Suddenly striking the fiberglass deck at two in the morning was guaranteed to provoke laughter and a well-deserved string of “I told you so’s.” He’d tested the new hammock arrangement at their club mooring with a few mid-afternoon naps and felt that tonight would mark a new era in sleeping comfort aboard the Katelyn Ann.
He adjusted his arms inside the sleeping bag and contemplated the empty cockpit. This would be the first time he had slept out here alone. Ryan never turned down an opportunity to sleep outdoors, especially on the boat. Before the hammock idea took hold, they slept opposite each other on the cockpit benches, watching the stars and talking for hours, mosquitos be damned. He was going to miss having Ryan around.