I couldn’t see much, but I could see enough. I knew the route so well it would be easy to slip into mental autopilot when making the trip, always a dangerous thing on the water. I stuck close to the shoreline and listened to the foghorn, bleating its warning from Dinkums Light. I came through the mouth of the outer harbor into the Atlantic Ocean. Because of the fog, I stayed close to Westclaw Point. I followed it until I could see Morrow Island. As I came up to the inlet across from our beach, a new house loomed out of the fog. Built of dark gray granite and glass, it seemed thrust up by the boulders on which it stood. The house was massive and sleekly modern, more appropriate to Malibu than coastal Maine. But I didn’t hate its looks. The building seemed oddly at home in its environment. I spotted Morrow Island across the water and headed for it. I was happy to be heading out to the island before Etienne and Sonny. I needed to spend some time alone. Not alone, actually. I assumed Gabrielle would be there, but she usually stayed close to her house or her vegetable garden when she wasn’t working.
