“Don’t be ridiculous,” Irene says. “If I do go home, I will mull this over, and what good will that do? I’d much rather be on the boat.”

“I feel exactly the same way,” Huck says. “Even if these people are difficult.”

Irene holds the ropes, smiling, as the Goshens approach. What she told Huck is true: She is tough. This family can’t throw anything at her that she can’t handle. But when she sees them, her heart sinks. There’s the mother, a pretty but sour-looking woman—blond, thin, midforties. She’s followed by a teenage daughter, a younger, prettier, angrier version of the mother. Trailing behind them with a bounce in his step is the son. He’s maybe thirteen or fourteen years old and he’s completely bald.

The mother’s name is Galen Goshen, the daughter is Altar, and the son is Niles; Niles, Galen announces, has just finished eighteen rounds of chemo. He has leukemia, Galen informs Irene, and this last round of chemo is either going to put him in remission or it isn’t. She says this right in front of Niles, who shrugs.

“I want to catch a fish,” he says. “A big one. Something I can hang on the wall.”

“He’s frail,” Galen says.

Yes, Irene can see that. He’s white as chalk and his arms and legs are like sticks. His blue eyes are sunken on his face but they’re bright and lively and he hasn’t stopped smiling.

Huck says, “Four to six feet today.”

Four to six feet isn’t terrible, but going into the wind, it will be a jarring ride. Even Irene hasn’t gotten used to the teeth-rattling that occurs when the boat smacks the trough of a wave. More than once she has gone home sore from tensing her muscles for so long. She can’t imagine this kid surviving the ride to the drop-off six miles south. He’ll be broken into pieces by the time they’re ready to cast a line.

But if they stay inshore, they won’t catch a big fish. Nothing big enough to mount, anyway.

“Four to six feet is too big for an offshore trip,” Irene says. “We’ll stay inshore today and catch plenty of fish.”

Niles seems happy with this and Galen and Altar look like they couldn’t care less.

Galen says, “Certainly you have a life preserver for Niles?”

“Life preservers are under the seat behind me,” Huck says. “We have one to fit the boy, though for an inshore trip, we won’t go faster than ten knots, so he probably won’t need it.”

“I was clear with the woman on the phone—” Galen says and before she can finish her sentence, Irene is pulling out a life preserver for Niles. D is for difficult.