By eight o’clock, the hellish rain is only a drizzle, and the island is swarming with five boats: the lighthouse keeper’s fishing boat, two harbor patrols, one coast guard, and Lucky’s parents, who brought my mom along in their tugboat.

We are rescued.

There’s no place for anyone to dock except for the returned lighthouse keeper—who was actually “gone fishin’,” spotted our boat adrift, and radioed the harbormaster. He’s tied up his small fishing vessel somewhere on the other side of the lighthouse, so all the responder boats are bobbing in the water, shining blinding lights onto the shore, talking to us on megaphones and rowing in on smaller rescue boats.

It’s a complete shitshow, to be honest.

After we’ve explained what’s happened with the lightning strike and the pier and the Narwhal to the lighthouse keeper, harbor patrol, and coast guard—can this get any worse?—and when we finally, finally make it onboard the Karrases’ tugboat, Lucky’s father is shouting instructions to Lucky about circling the island to go get the Narwhal, and Mom hugs me.

She hugs me way too hard for way too long, telling me that we scared her half to death, and joking that I’m never leaving the house again. She holds me by the shoulders and looks at me a little strangely. Then she reaches for my hair, trying to fuss it back into place.

“Stop,” I complain, pushing her hand away.

Her eyes go wide, and she inhales sharply. And that’s when I realize: She knows.

She knows what Lucky and I have done.

“Oh, good God,” she says. “You’ve got to be joking. Your best friend?”

“Mom, please,” I hiss, using my body as a shield to block her as I lean over the railing and look into the dark water below.

She snorts and mumbles near my ear, “Hope it was worth it.”

I don’t respond. Of all the times for her to want to communicate openly with me, she chooses this moment? Invisible wall button … where are you? Pressing button now. Press-press.

But she doesn’t get the hint and instead uses it as an excuse to scoot up closer to me on the tugboat’s railing, shoulder to shoulder, before tossing a glance behind us to ensure no one’s listening. “I hope you were safe. Please, Josie. Tell me you were safe.”

Ugh. “We were.”

Her shoulders relax. “Okay, but I also hope it was worth throwing your life away.”

“I didn’t throw my life away. Please don’t be dramatic.”

“Sex can ruin your life, you know.”

“That’s … super healthy, Mom.” Especially for someone who does it on the regular. I mean, come on. Is she trying to ruin her own life with sex? That makes no sense.