On her instructions, Slaton got out and stood at the midpoint of the starboard float, clear of the idling propeller. Ten yards from shore Magnussen killed the engine. Slaton moved forward, jumped into knee-deep water with his backpack in hand, and then pushed and pulled until the Cessna was pointed back out to sea.

Magnussen called through the open door, “Remember, tomorrow we have to fly in the morning if we’re going to beat the weather. Eleven o’clock, here?”

Slaton gave a thumbs-up, and after a final shove the engine chugged to life and Magnussen added power. Already running into the wind, the little airplane skipped nimbly over the waves and rose into the sky.

Slaton turned ashore, and as soon as his feet hit sand he broke into a jog. The terrain was rough—rock and brambles and fallen timber. A mile that would have taken six minutes over level ground took fifteen. When the western shore came into view he didn’t see the boat, and for a terrible moment he feared she might have gotten under way to a new anchorage. Finally, closer to shore, he spotted the white hull.

And then he saw Christine.

He could barely see her face, but there was no mistaking his wife’s willowy build and upright posture. She’d come ashore, probably having seen or heard the seaplane. The boat was moored close to shore, an anchor off the stern and a bow line secured to a fallen tree. Christine was standing on a patch of rocks and searching the sky.

Slaton ran faster, battering through brush and vaulting boulders. The noise drew her attention, and finally they locked eyes.

Only she didn’t move.

Christine stood her ground and let him come to her. Slaton didn’t care—after five thousand miles what were a few more yards? When he came near she didn’t raise her arms, and he stopped a few steps away. Slaton stood completely out of breath and tried to read her face. He saw hope and pain and worry. Finally, Christine cocked her head ever so slightly and leaned toward him. Arms at her side, she virtually fell into his chest.

Slaton caught her and held on, her body conforming to his like clay in search of a form. They were still for a long, long moment until the inevitable came. Her uncontrollable sobs began welling into his chest. He began to kiss her, first the top of her head, and then her upturned face. She pulled him down and soon they were on their knees in the sand, just holding one another.

Hanging on tenaciously against the spiraling world.

*   *   *