The journey had been long, and they were all tired. Because they had to shout over the roar of the engines, after a while they stopped trying to talk and leaned on each other for support. Susan wrapped her arms around herself and rested her head on John’s shoulder. The dear old man was like a father to her, so he wouldn’t mind. Though her body automatically braced for every bounce of the waves, Susan felt herself drowsing in the humid warmth. She drifted back to Houston, where she lay on a shaded chaise beside her pool and gritted her teeth as rap music pounded from the house next door— Her eyelids fluttered open when the music—and the boat—stopped. Disoriented, she lifted her head. Mark was standing, his shirt rippling and the legs of his shorts snapping in the wind. His eyes were focused on the horizon. Kevin was staring in the same direction; so were John and Lisa. The engines continued to rumble, though the boat was barely moving. Slowly, Susan turned and saw that the horizon had gone the color of pencil lead.
