I lean across the cockpit bench and check the RPM indicator. I keep the throttle at about twenty-four hundred RPMS, fast enough for speed, but not so fast as to use up all our fuel. In contrast to the last couple of days, it feels like a giddy pace. At first when I tried to start the engine, it turned over but too slowly to catch. Then I remembered to switch to the starter battery. It was that fast, my remembering, and the engine started as smoothly as if it had just been waiting, saying, Come on, what’s taking you so long? Let’s get out of here! The engine means I can charge the battery, which means I can use the autopilot. I can leave a soft light on in the cabin. When I need to go below, I can take my time, prepare something to eat, check Mom. Check and check and check Mom. Sometimes her sleep seems almost normal, and I swear she stirs when I touch her. Other times, it’s like she’s dead. When I got out of the water after clearing the prop, I rewarded myself with a hair wash.
