Page 2 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

As Royce navigated the boat further out to sea, Marty ushered the kids out of the cockpit and into the fresh open air on deck.

Marty noticed the fog had thinned out in places, opening up a chance to unveil the scope and size of the wide-open sea. On the starboard side was the vast expanse of ocean, enraged and churning as far as the eye could see.

Marty ignored the choppy water, pointing out the silhouette of some nearby boats, much to Willie’s delight. The boy leaned over the side, watching the water rush by, taking in every movement, the sights and sounds, as if he didn’t want to miss anything.

Trying to ease his own fears, Marty plopped Hallie on her feet so she could get used to the sway and rhythm of the boat. Holding her tiny hand in his, he felt a sense of peace wash through him, if only for a moment. In that short span, he decided he’d made the right decision. This would be their best Christmas they’d had in two years.

They left land behind, sailing further into the open sea. Miles from the coastline, Marty began to breathe a sigh of relief despite the doubts creeping in. Swallowing his own fear, he glanced at Willie with pride. His son showed no signs of apprehension or alarm.

But Marty, Marty had always been cautious, especially in the last two years since losing his wife. Her death had shown him how quickly life could change. He couldn’t back out now. He only had to see the joy on Willie’s face to realize that going back now would be a major disappointment. He’d promised the kids an adventure, and he wasn’t about to panic. As the boat chugged through the water, the fog began to thin out, revealing a faint glow of orange to the east. Streaks of sunlight danced on the deck. Willie let out a whoop of delight at the sight. Father and son exchanged broad smiles as they watched the sunrise together.

Hallie teetered as the boat rocked. Unsteady on her feet, she lifted her arms so her father would pick her up again.

Marty obliged as the four-year-old gripped onto her father’s neck.

“Will we see Christmas lights?” Hallie whispered.

“You bet we will. We might even go ashore once we reach Santa Cruz. How would that be? I hear they have a fantastic boardwalk where you can ride a magical sea dragon.”

“A dragon?”

“That’s a kiddie ride for girls,” Willie chided from the railing. “I bet I’m tall enough to ride the roller coaster.”

“We’ll see about that,” Marty told his son. “The point is, we’ll spend Christmas Eve riding the rides, playing games at the arcade, and go to a candlelight concert in the park before Santa finds you and Willie on the boat.”

“To fill our stockings,” Hallie finished, clapping her hands at the idea.

By the time they were miles offshore, Marty’s first bundle of nerves had begun to dissipate. But when the fog finally drifted away, Marty watched the sunshine disappear behind a slate of ominous storm clouds hanging low on the horizon. Like a slow-moving stone wall, the skies darkened. Thunder rumbled overhead. Flashes of lightning split through the blackish-purple squall surrounding the boat.

“Rain moving in fast from the west,” Royce shouted from the cockpit as he adjusted their course. “Don’t worry. It might get a little bumpy, but we’ll outrun this storm.”

“Wait a sec,” Marty cautioned. “I read about this. Instead of increasing our speed to outrun the weather, shouldn’t we drop the sails, anchor, and stay put, maybe ride it out stationary?”

“Dropping anchor isn’t an option,” Royce snapped. “We need to head for the nearest harbor. There’s a small town less than two hours from here. That means gunning the engine and outrunning it.”

But Mother Nature had other ideas.

A gust of wind howled across the bow, whipping the boat to its side like a feather. The rigging on the mast rattled, metal against the metal. A bolt of lightning hit the hull as the skies opened up. For several long seconds, the air sizzled with electricity.

Marty yelled out, “I’m taking the kids below deck.”

Caught in a crosswind of churning ocean, he tried to keep his balance. He managed to grab Willie by the arm, steering him toward the steps in the downpour. Before he could make it below deck, thunder boomed overhead. It was so loud it sounded like a blast going off inside the hull. The deafening detonation rocked the boat about the same time a forty-foot wave came out of nowhere, yanking it upward and tossing it into the air. Veils of ice-cold rain beat down as the waves tossed the sloop into another trough.

Between foam and fury, Marty battled the mountain of water and made it to the cabin in time to secure Hallie and Willie into one bunk. “Stay here,” he demanded. “I’ve got to help Uncle Royce keep us afloat.”

He took one last look at his frightened children and shoved past the door. Taking the steps two at a time, he stepped back onto the deck, his heart pounding. The wind lashed at his skin like a thousand tiny whips, and the rain made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of him. The boat pitched and heaved on the monstrous waves, threatening to capsize with each passing moment.

He made his way to the cockpit and found his brother clinging to the rudder for dear life.

“We’re not going to make it, Marty,” Royce yelled over the din of the storm. “The engine is flooded, and we’re taking on water!”

Marty knew he had to act fast. He took a deep breath and headed to the engine room, the water sloshing up to his knees with each step. He worked quickly, doing his best to pump out the water and stem the flow. But it was no use. The storm was too fierce, and the damage too much.

Racing back to the helm, he saw Royce battling to keep the boat from sinking.

Marty grabbed the nearest rope, tied it around his waist, and secured the other end to the rudder. He tossed another cord to Royce, shouting, “Tie yourself down. We don’t want to get swept overboard. We have to ride this out.”

The storm raged on as the brothers fought the wheel together. At times, the boat lurched violently, tossing them into each other. Marty noticed his hands were numb. He’d held the rope so tightly that his hands were bleeding into the cording.

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