She had been born by the seaside, had learned to swim before she had walked, and spent her entire life with boats. She’d never been seasick in her life. She felt like absolute hell now, tempted beyond all measure to throw herself over the side of the speeding launch. She didn’t move. She didn’t like Mike’s shadowed expression, not one bit. She didn’t want to think of herself as being a coward, but at this moment she was. What a mess! Al, back there somewhere in the sand. Mike, furious. Nancy Denver having come upon the whole scene. Oh, God! How could she have hurt her mother-in-law so? “Oh, you macho idiot!” she suddenly raged. “It was your fault! The whole damn, humiliating thing was your fault!” The tail end of her shout filled her ears like ringing bells; she hadn’t realized that they were so close to the island, and Mike had cut the motor. “My fault?” he said in a deathly quiet voice. The dinghy scraped bottom. He leapt past her, landing neatly in the damp sand, pulling the dinghy high onto it before reaching out a hand to help her from it.
