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questions.”
    Liam chuckled. “I hear you.” He walked over to push the top button next to the boathouse doors and the winch clicked and groaned. “I just have to push her out,” he explained, trying not to appear as nervous as he felt. He slowly guided the boat outside and then stood by the door, waiting for the railcar to make its way to the water.
    Cadie stood next to him. “It looks like the sun might break through,” she said, pointing to a ray of light shimmering through the mist.
    â€œIt’s supposed to,” Liam said, stopping the winch. He walked down to the dock, dropped the fenders over the sides, and secured the boat’s forward line around a dock cleat.
    â€œReady?” he asked.
    Cadie nodded and Liam helped her in. “I just need to lock up,” he said, walking back up to the boathouse, but then he heard his uncle’s truck pull in and wished they’d been able to push off before he’d gotten there so he wouldn’t have to endure any more questions . . . or warnings. Oh, well, he thought, looking up at the boathouse, waiting for Coop to appear, but after several minutes and still no sign of him, he told Cadie he’d be right back. He peered into the boathouse and saw him, sitting at his desk, sipping a cup of coffee.
    â€œMorning,” he said.
    â€œMornin’, kid.”
    â€œWe’re heading out.”
    He looked up and smiled. “Have fun!”
    Liam frowned. That’s it? No dire warnings or entreaties to behave? No questions about where they were going or when they’d be back? He shrugged. “Okay, see you later.”
    Coop waved and Liam, still shaking his head, walked back to the boat.
    As he untied the lines and climbed in, Cadie searched his face. “Everything okay?”
    He nodded and pushed the starter button. The motor rumbled throatily to life, spraying water from its tail pipe.
    Liam was seven the first time Coop took him to Tuckernuck Island, and he’d fallen in love with it immediately. It was secluded and beautiful, and even as he’d grown older, he’d never tired of hiking its sandy vistas and bars, digging for quahogs in its shallows, fishing off its shoals, or diving into its clear, cold water. And even though Coop hadn’t let him take the boat there alone until he was in his teens—warning him that the tide between the islands was swift and unpredictable—by the time he was sixteen, he’d made the trip so many times, he felt he could do it with his eyes closed.
    Tuckernuck Island is a pristine stretch of land two miles west of Nantucket. Its scraggly, low vegetation is similar to that of Cape Cod—scrub oak, pitch pine, bayberry, beach plum, salt-spray roses, and long, swaying beach grass; its wildlife include flocks of terns, piping plover, harbor seals, and the long-tailed duck; it has two salt ponds, each named for their location—North and East ponds; and crisscrossing its pristine landscape are sandy trails and rutted roads that connect neighbor with neighbor and private dock with private beach. There are thirty or so houses—all powered by generators and lit with kerosene lanterns. Stepping onto Tuckernuck is like taking a step back in time . . . and anyone who has had the good fortune of spending an afternoon, a week, a month, a summer, or a lifetime there knows just how blessed they are.
    â€œI still can’t believe you own a Chris-Craft!” Cadie said loudly so he could hear her over the motor.
    â€œYou should’ve seen her when we first got her. Coop found her in an old barn on the other side of the island; he paid next to nothing for her. He said she was all mine if I paid for the material to restore her. The body was in really rough shape and the motor was frozen, but she was all there . . . all original. There are before and after pictures in the boathouse. I’ll show you when we get back.”
    Cadie watched Liam steer the boat,