Page 30 of Unmoored

As I clear the building, every paddle stroke seems to carry me further. Holy shit, I’m actually moving the way I wanted to! I rub the sweat away from my forehead with my arm, finally glancing up to gauge how close I am to the ferry dock.

Shit. A handful of people are coming out of the restaurant door—and they’re waving, cheering me on like they’ve been watching me this whole time.

Just kill me now.

I’m dissolving into a puddle of sweat and mortification. Turns out thereissomething worse than being mocked by a sea otter, and it’s being overheard talking to said sea otter.

“You made it!” a pink-haired guy exclaims in a thick Irish accent as I approach the dock. “You must be exhausted.”

I don’t even have enough breath to answer. I nod, trying to grab the cleat on the dock, but a little wave tugs me just out of reach. I lean further—to a chorus of “No!”s.

The boat’s tipping over.

“Shitting fuckballs…!” I yelp. I grab the edges of the dinghy and brace myself for a cold shock. But the boat steadies itself instead, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. I’m already wet enough, thank you very much.

Once I can hear them properly over the adrenaline, there’s just friendly laughter and encouraging advice. They’re pointing to the front of my boat—and the rope attached to a cheap plastic ring on the front of it.

“Oh, right.” I groan and lean forward, untangling the soaking wet rope from around my ankles. Then I throw it to the dock, and someone catches it midair.

They’re pulling me in, and I feel like I’ve been lost at sea for days.

“Stand up slowly?—”

“The ladder’s right there, grab the railing?—”

“Here, I’ll take your paddle?—”

Hands grab my shoulders and arms, helping to pull me up to the dock. Then they slap my back and squeeze my shoulders, passing me water and even a little bar towel. Secretly, I feel so…alive. I never felt a rush of accomplishment like this from crossing the road in Vancouver to the overpriced, underwhelming chain grocery store.

Granted, I also didn’t have to worry about how many canned goods would sink my home. But hey, nowhere’s perfect.

“Thank you,” I mumble, mopping the worst of the sweat from my face and hair. “Holy shit, I’m never doing that again.”

There’s more friendly laughter. “Give me a hand, Alph,” someone says to another guy wearing a short-sleeved shirt with the Sunrise Island Ferry logo. Together, they wrestle the dinghy from the water up to the dock.

Then Alph straightens up and winks at me. “Technically, this isn’t a public dock. But all things considered, it’s probably safer to have you on dry land.”

I crack up at his good-natured grin. “Sorry—thanks—I mean—” I pant, waving a hand as I stop for breath.

“Don’t rush it. Take your time,” another guy urges me, stepping forward to grab my hand for an enthusiastic handshake despite my spaghetti arms. He looks and talks like the kind of guy who’d get voted in as mayor. “Welcome, welcome. I’m Berty, president of Sunrise Island Residents.”

“I’m Eden.”

“We weren’t sure you’d make it over here,” Berty says. “You know that thing’s a pool toy, right? Did you see it say that on the box?”

What?“I… don’t remember reading the box, actually.” Everyone’s laughing, including me. “I guess that explains the beer holders.”

Berty claps my arm. “You did a great job getting over here, son. But it’s easier in a real dinghy. Reminds me of the first time Doug and I went kayaking?—”

“So what brings you here?” Alph interjects hastily.

“Groceries.” The look on everyone’s faces makes my heart sink. “If they’re still open…” I bury my face in my hands. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.

“Not to worry!” Berty exclaims, making his way back to the restaurant door. “Justin’s here. I’ll go get him!”

“Oh, uh?—”

There’s not a chance to get a word in edgewise. Berty’s already disappeared inside.

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