Close up, the Tardis is elegant and streamlined, perfectly white with bright blue trim that has a slight sheen. The boat is smaller than I expected; more the size of a charter fishing boat than a yacht. Manny waves to us from the raised bridge area; it’s high enough that I assume the galley he mentioned fits beneath it. The stern has royal blue cushioned seating for six people, though there’s not much room to maneuver because all the space is taken up with ivory-colored, twenty-pound propane tanks.

Wyatt wears a bright orange vest. He stands on the edge of the boat, reaching down for me. I grab his hand, and he yanks me up. I teeter as the boat rocks. It rocks again when Trey leaps aboard.

“Ever been on a boat before?” Wyatt asks, noting my imbalance.

“Does a paddleboat count?” I ask.

He frowns. “This way.” He leads us to one of the bench seats. It lifts up on a hinge, revealing more bright orange gear. “Lifejackets,” he says. “Required, so don’t argue.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Trey says, pulling a lifejacket over his head and adjusting the straps. It barely reaches halfway down his chest.

“Sorry, that’s the biggest one we have,” Wyatt says. “You can swim, though, right?”

“Yep.”

“Paige?” Wyatt asks as I strap into a lifejacket of my own. It’s a snug fit. A few weeks ago, before my coma, it would have been way too small.

“I’m a champion dog paddler.” At his skeptical look, I add, “Kidding! I can swim just fine.”

“Okay, good. Let’s go see Manny.”

The boat jerks as Manny hits the throttle, and I nearly lose my balance.

“You’ll get used to it,” Wyatt says, leading us up a short set of metal stairs to the bridge.

“Welcome aboard the Tardis!” Manny says, but he barely glances at us; all his attention is focused on edging away from the dock. He sits on a padded stool with a short back. His control panel seems strange and complicated—multiple gauges, a steering wheel, a hand throttle, and a screen showing black and gray lines. Manny’s eyes keep shifting to it as he steers us away from the dock. It hits me that he’s checking the lake depth as we go to keep from running aground.

“Any trouble getting here?” Trey asks. “Any sign of dragonflies?”

“It was perfect, easy sailing,” Manny says. “But the wind is picking up quite a bit. Look at that chop!” He indicates the water, which is starting to froth with waves. “Erie can blow hard, so we’ll have to be careful.”

Once we’re a safe distance away from the shallows, he increases speed and aims us toward the barge.