Read The Great Wide Sea for Free Online Page B

quadruple-checking the depth and looking over to port, where the chart said the water was two feet deep and we could see the bottom shining up from the sandbar just under the waves.
    A seaplane landed in the harbor just as we slid in. “Dylan!” Dad shouted. “Check the chart. We can’t anchor in the run-way—or whatever you call it.”
    â€œSplashway?” I offered.
    â€œBe quiet,” he snapped.
    â€œFine.” I stood up. “I’ll go get something to eat.”
    â€œYou can wait.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œWhen we’re anchoring, we’re all on duty. We’ll eat when we’re done.”
    â€œBut Gerry—”
    â€œGerry is five.”
    I sat. I stared at this place, which wasn’t at all what I had imagined. This was just a flat little island scattered with a collection of ragged buildings and old docks limping into the water. I turned my face into the hint of breeze. Gerry shifted as he rolled Blankie into a ball clutched under his chin. Dylan sat by the depth finder and called out changes. The sun got hotter. My stomach got hungrier. Chrysalis inched farther into the harbor. Then Dad said, “Here.”
    We knew how to anchor. We each had an assigned job. Gerry went below. Dylan watched the depth finder. I let out the anchor. Dad handled the engine and did the yelling. We all did our jobs pretty well that morning, especially Dad. He did some outstanding yelling on our first morning in the Bahamas.
    When we finally got the anchor down to suit him, I headed straight to the galley to find something to eat. My hands were shaking when I ripped open a package of crackers. Then he was calling for me again.
    I dragged myself halfway up the companionway ladder. The pain swelled in my head. Dad and Dylan had launched the dinghy and Dad was on his knees in it, trying to get the motor started.
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œCome help me with this anchor.”
    â€œWe already set the anchor,” I said.
    â€œWe need another one at a hundred-and-eighty-degree angle to the first. The current runs through these harbors. We can’t trust just one.”
    I dragged myself into the dinghy, still clutching the package of crackers. Dad motored us to a spot maybe 150 feet from where our first anchor had dug into the bottom. He dropped the second anchor overboard into the milky harbor water. It sank in a rustle of bubbles and hissing of line.
    â€œNow,” Dad said, “dive down and make sure it’s secure.”
    â€œYou think I’m just going to jump over and swim to the bottom right here in the middle of the harbor?”
    â€œI know you are,” Dad said. “I told you to.” He reached out and took the crackers. “Go.”
    The rush of blood to my brain made me dizzy and hot. I couldn’t look at Dad. We were about two swimming-pool lengths from shore where there was an old marina. A wooden dinghy drifted on a slime-browned towline next to a finger pier rotting into the water. The island looked no wider than the row of tall casuarina trees growing behind the peeling cinder-block building that must have been the marina office.
    I sat for a second, then rolled backwards into the water. I held on to the anchor line and pulled myself down. The water was full of light all around me. The anchor was easy to reach where it lay in less than nine feet of water. I felt the flukes quickly where they dug into the sand and pushed myself straight back up.
    Dad was looking at me as I broke the surface of the water. “Well?” he said.
    â€œIt’s set.”
    â€œYou actually touched it?”
    â€œI touched it.”
    Dad grabbed the anchor line and tugged. The anchor held tight. He held out his hand to help me back on board. I looked at it for a second, then swam around to the other side of the dinghy and climbed on by myself.
    I heard Dad drop his hand down on his thigh. I heard the silence while he looked