Willa looks into the distance at the last two bridges before Dinner Key, then picks up the chart book. “If we leave right now and sail all night, we’ll be in Bimini by morning.”

Taylor pushes the tiller and the boat makes a hard left, turning into the deep channel that runs along the Port of Miami—where a line of enormous cruise ships waits to sail—and out into the ocean. Once they’ve cleared land, Willa raises the sails and Taylor turns off the engine. Her stomach flutters with an excitement she would have never expected.

While they still have daylight and Wi-Fi, they quickly look up the immigration and customs regulations and where they are allowed to anchor. As much as they love Captain Norm, his book has no information for an unauthorized detour to the Bahamas. They have to do this without him.

Taylor texts her dad. Willa and I are going to Bimini.

I don’t remember this being part of the original plan.

A lot of things aren’t part of the original plan.

True, but . . .

If you were 18 and the Bahamas were only 50 miles away, what would you do?

Have fun, Taylor.

They’re not far out from Miami when a pod of bottlenose dolphins appears near the boat and swims alongside them. A couple of the dolphins show off for each other, leaping high out of the water and doing flips. Willa manages to catch a flip on video, but Taylor’s favorite subject is the baby dolphin drafting along in its mother’s wake as she swims beside the boat. Taylor can hear the little puff of air from its blowhole whenever it surfaces. The pod stays with them for more than an hour, playing in the waves that break from the bow, then leave just as suddenly as they arrive, peeling away to go where dolphins go.

“That was incredible,” Willa says.

It’s on the tip of her tongue to say Finley would love this, but Taylor is learning that it’s okay to experience things without running it through that particular filter. Finley would love this, but what really matters is that Taylor loves it.

Willa

WILLA HAD BEEN EXCITED ABOUT going to Canada, but crossing part of an ocean to reach a tropical island is almost more than she can stand. As Whiskey Tango Foxtrot passes into inky-blue water, the depth gauge goes bananas, flashing 9999 and 6666 and—inexplicably—LOL. Even as she and Taylor crack up laughing, Willa understands what the depth gauge is experiencing. The idea of thousands of feet of water below the keel has scrambled her programming too.

Not long after, they enter the Gulf Stream, a current that runs north like a river through the ocean, and smooth sailing turns a little bit choppy. Before they left Miami, Willa plotted a course for a point south of Bimini, counting on the Gulf Stream to push them exactly where they want to go.