Page 155 of The Love Haters

“I called yesterday,” I said, wincing at how ridiculous I sounded as I finished with, “while being swept out to sea in a houseboat near Key West?”

My voice sounded weirdly hopeful. As if she might remember me.

She did not. She wasn’t even the same person.

“What is your location?” she asked.

“That’s the thing,” I said. “I really did get swept out to sea. That wasn’t, like, a metaphor or anything.Literallyswept out to sea. I was out here all night in the hurricane in a homemade houseboat… but I lived. My friend’s dog and I both lived, in fact—though he cut his paw on a broken lamp. And now we are… adrift? And I’m not seeing much land nearby? And the other wrinkle here,” I went on, never a fan of giving bad news, “is that the boat we’re on now seems to be sinking?”

My voice kept going up at the end, as if my entire life was nothing but questions.

A solid pause from the dispatcher.

That couldn’t be good.

I rushed in with some more info, lest she decide I was hopeless. “This houseboat belongs to Tom Hutcheson, who’s a rescue swimmer for the US Coast Guard. Except he goes by Hutch. Isn’t that the sexiest name you’ve ever heard in your life?” This wasn’t helping. My brain was jumbled.Focus!“He’s not with us—on the boat. It was docked at the Sunshine Marina on the west side, but lightning destroyed the dock it was moored to, and the boat drifted off. With us on it. Me and the dog—not me and Hutch.” I looked around. “But I really don’t know how long it’s been. Or how far we’ve drifted.” I looked around one more time. “And I’m really not seeing much around us other than—you know—floating trash and the ocean.”

Another pause. Was it hopeless?

Come on! We could put a man on the moon, but we couldn’t findone bedraggled lady and one very stubborn Great Dane off the Florida coast?

“Hello?” I asked.

“I’m initiating a search and rescue.”

“Oh, my god, I love you,” I said.

“What is your weight?” she asked next.

Seriously?

I made up a number and took off ten pounds as a gesture of self-care. Then I added back two for all the pennies I’d be bringing with me.

“And you have an animal with you?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “A Great Dane. With an injured paw.”

“What is the animal’s weight?”

“One hundred and seventy,” I said, assigning George Bailey my ten missing pounds.

“Can you describe your craft?”

My craft? “You mean the boat?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s a houseboat namedRue the Day. Smallish, but cozy? It used to have hanging bulbs and Adirondack chairs on the back deck—but they’re long gone now.”

She interrupted. “Ma’am. I meant something identifying. For the search. Color?”

“Oh. Got it. Kind of a Cape Cod gray?”

“And you said the craft is sinking?”

Ah. “Yes. I think so. It’s a pontoon boat, and I think one of the pontoons was damaged in the storm. It seems to be taking on water. We’re definitely… tilting.”

I’ll tell you something. This lady wasn’t going to win any personality prizes.

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