The intermittent breeze was an icy indication of how cold and dangerous the familiar water had become. The captain and his two passengers looked out to sea to distract themselves, gazing at a mirror of blue upon blue. Momentarily, the water was eerily still. The only movement was the quiet exchange of ambiguity and hope between the three: father, life-partner, daughter.

The father and daughter had fallen out and stopped all communication. In the years that followed, he built a beautiful life with his partner. They never had children of their own, but their days were filled with love, support, and a quiet kind of excitement.

He always insisted his daughter would never return, but his partner knew better. “She’ll come looking for you, you’ll see,” she reminded him over the years.

Thirty years after their last encounter, his daughter finally made contact. “Daddy, I’m back,” were the only words her father needed to hear. “I’ve always hoped for this day,” he sobbed. They embraced and promised to rebuild what could still be restored.

The daughter was hesitant, distant toward her father’s partner. She wanted to isolate her father, to reclaim some of the control she once held over him. But too much time had passed, and the couple’s bond was unbreakable, the kind that only decades of loyalty, work, and quiet devotion could forge.

Just weeks after their reunion, the captain invited his daughter out on his boat. It was the only day that promised to be windless, sunny, and free of rain. His partner packed a lunch of sandwiches, homemade sweets, and essentials for a chilly day on the water: hot tea, blankets, and extra fluffy socks.

After anchoring the boat, the captain turned to the women and said, “If I died today, I’d die a happy man. I have everything I want right here, right now.” His smile was contagious, but only to his partner. She smiled as she wiped away a threatening tear.

“There’ll be no talk of death on this beautiful day! How about a sweet treat and some hot tea?” she said as she reached for a thermos and three mugs. Then, she pulled out a container filled with homemade chocolate-chip cookies and brownies, her partner’s favorites, and poured steaming tea into a mug.

“I’m not very hungry right now, and I don’t eat sweets anyway,” replied the captain’s daughter as she walked toward the bow of the boat, wrapping her scarf a little too tightly around her neck.

The captain mouthed sorry and shrugged at his partner. She mouthed back more for you, returning his smile.

As the woman watched her partner walk toward the front of the boat, toward his daughter, she felt a chill deep in her bones like never before. She poured the tea back into the thermos and stored away the sweets. A piercing breeze warned her against removing her jacket as she reached for her camera.

From the stern of the boat, she zoomed in and took a few photos. The captain had his hand resting on the small of his daughter’s back. She captured their bodies, his hand, her scarf lifting slightly in the wind that was beginning to pick up again.

The captain turned, feeling both the absence and the presence of his partner behind him. “I knew you’d be taking pictures.” He turned his daughter around and held her hand, just as he had so many times, so many years ago. “All right, now you may do the honors.” He was beaming beside his daughter, who barely managed a smile.

“The wind is really picking up. I think I’ll have a little tea now,” said the daughter as she slowly let go of her father’s hand.

“Sure, I’ll fix you a hot mug. Can I get you a pair of socks? They’ll keep your feet warm,” said the woman as she walked toward the back of the boat, holding the rails as it began to rock. She received no answer.

“You ladies go ahead. I’ll check the radar and be right there,” the captain replied, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Damn weatherman! It’s the only job you can be wrong a hundred percent of the time and still keep your job.”

The daughter sat down and watched her father’s partner carefully maneuver the thermos and mug. She didn’t think to ask if she could help. Instead, she turned away and removed her scarf to readjust it. As she did, the wind picked up again, and her scarf lifted, then dropped into the water between the two motors.

“Oh no, my scarf!” The daughter watched as it wrapped around one of the motors. “Do you have something I can pick it up with?” she asked, not moving from her seat. “I got it in Paris, it’s Chanel!” she cried.

“What happened?” The woman looked up, out into the angering sea. She closed the thermos and handed the younger woman the hot mug. “Here, drink this. It’ll keep you warm. Sit tight; I’ll get your scarf,” she said.

Cautiously, she crossed over the short door, holding onto the top of the motors as the boat began to rock in the swelling water beneath a graying sky.

As she reached down, the boat rocked hard to the left, and the woman fell overboard. She was shocked by the freezing water but fought hard to reach for something as the current began to pull her away from the boat.

“Daddy! She fell overboard!” screamed the young woman as she neared the motors. “Dad!” she yelled as she got on all fours and reached her hand out toward the scarf.

“Go back, it isn’t safe!” yelled the woman. “Just get your dad, please,” she managed as the freezing water began to numb her body.

The captain ran toward the back just in time to see his daughter nearly fall into the water as she desperately reached for the scarf.

By now, the wind had picked up fiercely, and hard, stinging rain struck the deck. Hurriedly, the captain grabbed two life vests.

The captain neared the motors and shouted at his daughter, “Move out of the way, Goddamnit!” before pulling her back into the boat and shoving her into a seat.

“God, Dad, what’s wrong with you?” she yelled back.

The most sour of memories, their last encounter those thirty years ago, flashed before his eyes: her sobs as she hurled demands at him while he lay in bed, recovering from surgery.

He turned, gave her a stern look, and jumped into the freezing water, clinging to the life vests. The shock almost broke his concentration.

“I’m coming! Please stay with me, I’m almost there,” he whispered desperately as the freezing water carried his breath away and pulled him closer to his partner.

Trembling, he looked back at the boat and saw his daughter pulling out her scarf. “Daddy, come back!” he thought he heard her cry as she waved the wet scarf in the air. Then the wind picked up again, the boat rocked hard to the side, and he saw her fall into the water.

“Daddy, please! Daddy, this way! Help me!” she screamed again, struggling to stay above the water.

The captain heard her but no longer cared to look back.

His daughter’s arms flailed desperately as the current pulled her in the opposite direction. She gulped and gasped until she could fight no more. Her scarf drifted free from her grasp as the clouds began to break and the sun emerged.

The freezing water had grown calm. Reaching his partner, the captain pulled her body close and gasped his last breaths. “Why, dear God, why?” He looked at his partner’s blue face, then up toward the sun. As a cold tear ran down his face, his final thought was of Don Juan’s words to Carlos Castaneda, which he had read so long ago: “You insist on explaining everything as if the whole world were composed of things that can be explained.”

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I spend a lot of time on the boat, reading and imagining. Recently, I finally finished reading A Separate Reality by Carlos Castaneda. To say the books I read influence me is an understatement. I suppose this story carries some element of truth, shaped by a great deal of imagination. Here, mostly, I wanted to write something that balances realism with myth, and human frailty with the vast indifference of nature.