I hung up. Chris may have thought that I couldn’t do anything without his help—and my phone call wasn’t going to dispel that at all—but I wasn’t worried. After my confrontation with Dad, I was feeling pretty fearless. What could Peter Fairchild really do to me now?

I was probably better off not thinking about it. The top of my foot, which I’d once broken on the back of Luna’s head, throbbed at that thought.

It was a beautiful day, and the marina was hopping. I always loved the way the boats looked, all lined up and bobbing in the waves. Their names, printed proudly on their sides, beckoned me in colors and textures that dazzled my brain. I loved the smell of the sea and the cry of birds and the hum of engines as boats came and went, their ocean adventures calling to them. It was a place where my synesthesia wasn’t a burden. A place where I could let go and enjoy the show.

But today it was a place where I had to pay attention. There were about five thousand boat slips, and after just a few minutes, they all started to look the same. Fortunately, good old Caroline the Realtor had spilled the beans when she said she thought Peter Fairchild just liked saying he lived in Tahiti. Tahiti, a foamy tangerine word. Also the name of one of the basins.

Still a lot of boats to comb through, but definitely less than five thousand. I started walking, barely glancing at the smaller boats, the sailboats, the fishing boats, the pontoons. I craned my neck as I passed every houseboat, trying to get a look inside, or at least on deck. Trying to find their names. Hoping for a Luna or Peter or SS Fairchild.

BuxtonTudor III

Norfolk

Alligator One

Loyalist

Claudette

Celeste

I stopped. Celeste. Midnight with star pops of light. Not celestial, but close. The Celeste. I was suddenly uneasy but unsure why. There were probably a million Celestes in this world. Just because Celeste Day worked for Peter Fairchild didn’t mean a boat in his marina named Celeste had anything to do with her. Right?

Slowly, I went back to scouring the marina.

Saga

Gallion 10

Experiment

Bob’s Babes

No Peter. No Luna. No Fairchild. Not even a Hollywood Dreams.

I got to the end of the marina and started back, rereading all the names, even though I knew I hadn’t misread or missed any of them. I even read the names on the sides of sailboats just to be sure that Caroline hadn’t gotten it wrong, or just had a very different definition of yacht than I did.

Actually. I stopped and turned slowly, trying to ignore the minutiae for a moment. Trying to see the boats as a whole. Very few would actually be big enough to be considered a yacht. I focused on those as I walked back.