She weighs the idea of sailing back across the lake and entering the Erie Canal at Buffalo. Like she said in her video, Finley will never know what they choose to do or not do—and it would make Taylor more comfortable—but Willa wants the challenge of the Welland and she wants to be able to say she sailed on two Great Lakes.

“Finley wouldn’t take shortcuts,” she says as they pass between the breakwalls into the harbor. “She wouldn’t want this to be too easy.”

Taylor sighs again. “I know.”

“It’s been a long day,” Willa says. “Let’s crash here for the night and see if things feel different in the morning.”

“She still won’t be here,” Taylor says. “She’s never going to see any of this.”

“Then we’ll have to see it for her.”

Willa radios the marina office on the handheld VHF, and she’s given the okay to dock in one of the empty transient slips. Once the boat is tied up, Taylor calls home, while Willa uses a special videophone at the marina to notify the customs office of their arrival. Mr. Nicholson had warned them that Canadian officials might want to inspect the boat, but the man on the screen just verifies that Willa and Taylor are properly documented before welcoming them to Canada.

“Your mom called mine, wondering why you haven’t called home,” Taylor says as they meet back on the boat. “I told my mom you accidentally dropped your phone in the lake.”

“Not completely a lie.”

“You can borrow my phone, if you want.”

Willa shrugs as she gathers her toiletry kit and towel. She’s not ready to talk to her mom yet. “I might.”

“She’s probably worried,” Taylor says.

“I said I might.”

“I just think—”

“God, Taylor, leave it alone,” Willa snaps as she steps off the boat onto the dock. “This is none of your business.”

In the shower, Willa thinks about how whiplash fast she and Taylor can go from friendly to fighting. It was never that way with Finley. They debated pizza toppings or which movie to watch on Netflix, but they only ever had one big blowout. It came after a regatta at Indian Lake, during which everything that could go wrong, did. They were on the wrong side of the racecourse. The spinnaker halyard got tangled up. Finley blamed Willa, Willa blamed Finley, and they spent the two-hour ride home not speaking. Except that fight had ended with remorseful tears and sniffly apologies, not the giant, festering mess of a “friendship” Willa has with Taylor. The bad blood between them should have been laid to rest with Finley—and Willa wonders if it will ever die.