By car it would have taken them a little more than an hour to drive to Cleveland.

It takes them the entire day to sail there.

“Can you get some dock lines ready?” Willa asks as the lights of Edgewater Marina come into view. Aside from a terse thank you when Taylor brought her food, these are the first words she’s strung into a full sentence all day. “Or you can drive and I’ll do it.”

Maybe on a sunny day, Taylor wouldn’t be afraid of falling overboard, but the deck is wet. “I’ll drive.”

Willa tells her to aim for the Terminal Tower, an easily recognizable landmark on the Cleveland skyline. As Willa moves steadily across the cabin top, tears blur Taylor’s vision. It was unrealistic to think she could have done this by herself. She doesn’t love sailing the way Finley did. The way Willa does. Taylor struggles to keep the boat pointed toward the lights of the skyscraper.

Willa, she thinks, must really hate me right now.

Once they pass the breakwall into the protected marina, the waves subside. Taylor’s mother and Mrs. Donoghue are waiting on the dock, huddled under giant golf umbrellas. Taylor rushes to tie the dock lines, wanting to get off the boat as soon as possible. She tumbles into her mother’s waiting arms, leaving Willa to double-check the knots.

41.4993° N, 81.6944° W

Music is good for the soul.

Willa

“WILLA, HONEY, COME GET OUT of the rain!” Mrs. Donoghue beckons from under her umbrella. “We’ve got dry towels and a table reservation.”

“I’ll be right there,” she calls back, retying a knot that Taylor got wrong. The fingers on Willa’s right hand are cramped from nine hours of holding the tiller, and her bladder is about to burst. All she really wants is to collapse on her bunk and sleep, but it would be rude to refuse. And the cherry on top of this shit sundae is the fact that Willa was the one who wanted to leave Sandusky in the rain. Would it have killed her to wait one more day? Would it have killed her to be nice? She wipes her face with a wet hand, jumps off the boat, and runs to catch up with the others.

The dining room inside the yacht club is warm, and Willa feels practically naked after wearing her weather gear all day. Her curls have become a wild mass, and she envies Taylor for having the kind of hair that dries straight without any styling products. It’s not that Willa doesn’t like her curls, but she’s never been able to walk into school with wet hair and have it look great by second period.

“So, what are you girls doing tomorrow?” Mrs. Donoghue asks. “Will you keep moving, or spend the day in Cleveland?”