“What are you doing?”

Grandad smiled.

“You’ve got to know when to let go sometimes, son.”

Gracie looked across at Marty.

“But there’s no one steering…?” she said.

Grandad nodded, pulled his hat down tighter on his head.

“I know.”

He said this as if it were entirely normal to rush down the Seine in an out-of-control pumpkin.

“You can fight it all you like,” Grandad said, “but we won’t win this one. We’ve got to just trust we’ll be okay.”

Then they spent what seemed like hours bobbing about in the choppy waters, the crumpled sail lying between them.

“Do we need to call anyone?” asked Gracie. “Are we in trouble?”

Grandad smiled.

“I don’t think so.”

By around five in the afternoon, the river had evened out a bit. Grandad had actually taken a snooze, and when he awoke, he popped his head over the side of the pumpkin to see where they were. Marty looked up at him and watched as a wide grin spread on his face. Then an almighty darkness rose above them.

“No way!” said Marty, smiling. “It’s the bridge! We’re in Le Havre!”

Grandad smiled again.

“’Course we are. It’s tidal, you see, the Seine. I always knew we’d end up here…”

Grandad winked, and even though Marty wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not, he smiled back anyway.

That night, they tethered the pumpkin in the harbor and went to buy some food at a little restaurant. They didn’t have much money left, but as they were on the last night of their adventure Grandad suggested blowing it all on mussels with fries and some ice cream. They ate outside, wrapped up in their coats, watching the dark English Channel on one side of them. Marty laughed as Grandad dipped his bread into his sauce and dribbled it over his chin, and Gracie had double helpings of ice cream since she hadn’t been able to eat anything else after all the queasiness. Marty was quieter tonight. Glad that they had gotten this far and knowing they were on the home stretch.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said carefully. “I think, I think I know what I want to be.”

Grandad looked up at him and dried his fingers on his trousers. Gracie looked over. Marty looked down. Embarrassed.

“I think I want to be an architect.”

Grandad looked at him in silence. Marty’s brow was furrowed now as he focused deep down inside. “I want to think about how we live. The space we take up in the world. I want to dream things, amazing things that are bigger than us … and make them a reality…”

Gracie smiled.

“Well,” Grandad said, wiping away a tear, “I think that’s terrific. Absolutely terrific.”

THIRTY-TWO