“I heard you were in the water during that storm and your father had to go in after you. Is that true?”

“Heck no. But my father did go in after some other kid who drifted out on his inner tube and couldn’t make it back in. I didn’t see it, but it was pretty hairy, I guess. The kid’s mother cried all over my dad, and now they’re calling him Gutsy Gale instead of Gusty. Which he hates. I mean, hates.”

I can see how Ronan feels about it. “That’s cool. You must be proud, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He laughs. “But don’t tell him I told you. You’d think he robbed a bank the way he wants to keep it a secret.”

I laugh. “Okay. I won’t.”

“Man, but the storm was wild, huh? Freaky.”

“Wild, yes. I loved it!”

“Most people would take a sunny day, you know. You’re kind of alone on this.”

“I’ve always loved wild weather. When I was little, I used to like watching the wind out the window pushing things around the yard. It seemed like magic for things to just swirl around by themselves. And my papa loved weather, too. We put up our own weather station, and we’d go out every morning to check it. He got me lots of weather books, too, so I could read about what makes the wind and stuff.”

“Yeah,” he says. “So, what causes wind, then?”

“Air moving in and out of different pressures. But all the while, the earth rotates underneath. So the wind gets pushed around. I used to wonder if the wind would get annoyed by that.”

“Yeah, the wind gets mad. That’s when you get a hurricane.”

“Funny, Ronan, but no. You need really low barometric pressure for that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course you do.” Then he shakes his head. “But it’s pretty cool how smart you are, Delsie.”

“Thanks for noticing,” I say.

“So,” he says, “have you been down the other end of the beach? There’s something kind of cool. You want to see it?”

I nod.

After Ronan assures Grammy that there are no power lines down near us, we jog toward Seagull Beach. As we run through puddles, water splashes all around us like it’s raining up from the ground. Everything but the tops of our heads is soaked when we get there. There is a small crowd of people. And a boat.

“See?” Ronan says. “An abandoned boat. Since you’re into that kind of thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, don’t you take pictures all over the place of things left around? Towels and stuff?”

He’s noticed that? I’m embarrassed. That is, until I recognize the boat. It’s the only multicolored fishing boat that’s ever pulled up to Chatham Pier.

“Oh no!” I yell. “That’s Henry’s boat!”

“What?” Ronan looks at the boat again. And he looks worried.

“Henry?” I yell. “What’s happened to Henry?”

“Well, he can’t be on the boat with it on its side like that, right?”