ATLANTIC CITY SHOOK WILLA TO the core and she ran from it, putting distance between herself and the monster who’d stood in the casino, snarling and greedy for something that didn’t really belong to her. They sailed all night to Cape May, topped off the gas cans at first light, and sailed up Delaware Bay to the eastern end of the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal. They divided their days into four-hour shifts, and Willa’s interactions with Taylor were of the ships-in-the-night variety, sharing information about weather and wind conditions. Never anything personal. And certainly not what happened in Atlantic City.

Now the boat is tied to a dock at the Delaware City marina, and Willa doesn’t want to confess that she watched the CASINO STAFF ONLY door with the unwavering stare of a junkyard Doberman. That when the slot attendant came out, he brought a security guard. That Peyton was correct about what happens to underage gamblers. That being escorted to the front door and told never to return was the single-most embarrassing moment of Willa’s life. That she’d left her fake ID and most of her dignity at the Tropicana.

So she says nothing. Instead, Willa puts out fenders and double-checks Taylor’s knots. Docked in front of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is a big bulky trawler called What’s Next with a Great Loop flag fluttering on the bow. An older woman with a tiny Yorkshire terrier waves. “Hello! Are you Loopers, too?”

“Um, sort of . . . ,” Willa says. “We’re on our way to Key West from Ohio, but we’ve basically been following the Great Loop route.”

The woman’s cheeks form plump dumplings as she smiles. “I’d say that’s close enough to count.”

It isn’t strictly true—only people who have completed the entire loop get a flag—but if this lady is a typical Looper, then Captain Norm wasn’t wrong about them being friendly people. She has happy eyes and her hair color matches her dog’s. Willa wonders if it’s deliberate, like Finley’s neighbor who dyes her hair exactly the same tawny gold shade as her Afghan hounds.

Taylor comes up on the bow as the woman asks, “Are you girls making this trip all by yourselves?”

“Yep,” Willa says. “We can’t do the whole loop because we start college in the fall.” She doesn’t want this lady to feel sorry for them, so she omits the part about Finley.

“A few years back we met a couple of gals who were sailing the loop together, but they were older than you,” the woman says, then speaks into a two-way radio. “Norm, honey . . .”

Taylor’s eyebrows shoot up and she whispers, “Norm?”

Statistically speaking, there are thousands of men in the United States named Norm, but this is the Great Loop, which means the probability of this Norm being the Captain Norm is higher than in the ordinary world.