“A couple more feet. Come on, come on.” Dr. Horatio Morris, Madison’s father, gestured as Ian backed his truck down the boat ramp. He put a hand up. “Halt. You’re there.”
As the tall, lean physician hurried to help Ian unload our boat, I glanced around at the chaotic scene. Onlookers and other paddlers milled about, preparing for the start of the cardboard boat race under the direction of someone using a bullhorn. The creative boat designs included a dragon, a Viking ship, a race car, and a big yellow duck.
“This is fun,” Dr. Zadie Morris said into my ear. “I’ll be rooting for you and Madison.” Although not as tall as her husband and daughter, Zadie was also trim and athletic. She wore the standard summer uniform of Capri pants, T-shirt, cotton sweater tied around her shoulders, and sandals on her feet.
“Thanks. Madison is hoping we win the grand prize.” I rolled my eyes. “Fat chance. I’ll be happy to make it across the harbor without swimming for it.” The thick life jacket was biting into my waist, so I pulled it into a better position. The wet suit wasn’t too uncomfortable, though, despite my fight to tug it on. An hour later, I had almost gotten used to wearing something resembling a rubber swimsuit from the 1920s.
“That’s it,” Madison said, directing her dad and Ian as they carried the boat to our spot in the lineup. “Put it right here.” They set the boat gently onto the cement ramp, the bow in the water. Once the race started, we’d push off and climb inside—volunteer pushers would give us a boost to send us on our way.
“Is that an apron you used for a sail?” Zadie asked, lifting her sunglasses for a better look. “The whole thing is very clever. A real catboat.” She turned to smile at Grammie, who was coming to join us.
“The design was all Madison,” I said. “And the apron is to promote the store.” We’d painted S.S. RUFFLES & BOWS across the stern (even though we were using human power, not steam). The thought of steamships made me think of Claudia again. I planned to start researching tomorrow. Right now I had to survive a boat race.
Ian came up beside me and gave me a kiss on the lips. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be waiting with a couple of cold ones after.”
“Awesome. I’m looking forward to the clambake.” Down on the rocky beach, people were already tending the seaweed-heaped underground pits holding lobsters, clams, and corn on the cob.
“You look cute, by the way,” he said, pushing back a strand of my hair. His arm was warm around my (very corseted) waist.
“Thanks.” I snickered, plucking at the skintight neoprene. “I hope I can get it off later. It’s welded to my body.”
“All right, teams,” bellowed the man with the bullhorn. “Are you ready?”
Paddles in hand, the teams gathered around their boats. Grammie and Zadie retreated to stand with other spectators while Horatio and Ian prepared to push us. Both wore shorts and water shoes so they could wade in up to their knees.
“Three … two … one … GO!” the caller yelled.
Gripping the side of the boat, I stepped into the water, the icy temps immediately freezing my calves. But my toes were still warm in the booties. Amazing.
“Get in,” Madison called, holding the boat steady.
I more or less fell in, almost braining myself with my paddle, then struggled to a seated position and crossed my legs. Ian and Horatio held the boat for Madison to climb inside, in the back. As the more experienced paddler, she was going to steer us.
With a mighty shove from our pushers, we glided out into deeper water. So far, so good. No leaks.
“Paddle,” Madison said. “On the left.”
I dug the paddle in, working feverishly to move us toward a course marked by yellow buoys. We had to weave our way through them and then across the harbor to another landing.
Shouts and screams erupted to my right and I looked over to see a boat taking on water and sinking, forcing half a dozen people to drop into the water. Worse, they were blocking other boats right behind them, almost like a traffic jam.
“Bummer,” Madison said. “They must have had too many people.”
“I hope that was it,” I said, still not confident that the cardboard boats would hold up long. To check how far we’d gone, I glanced back at the shore. From his position next to Grammie, Zadie, and Horatio, Ian waved. I waved back by lifting my paddle. A short distance from Ian, a figure in a blue windbreaker was snapping pictures of the scene. When he lowered the camera, I saw it was Theo. He started weaving through the crowd, headed toward the other side of the harbor. He probably wanted to take pictures of the winners, I figured.
“Paddle on the right,” Madison called. We were on a collision course with another boat, and with laughter and deft movements of our paddles, disaster was averted.
Now, finally working together in a rhythm, we circled the first of the buoys. “One more down,” Madison said, as behind us another boat floundered, the crew unable to coordinate their movements. Then they started laughing, which made them even more helpless.
“Yahoo!” I called when we deftly whipped around the next buoy, bringing us into the lead. I glanced at the shore to see if Ian noticed. He did, giving us a two-handed victory shake. Then I saw Theo, strolling along a deserted dock—and a figure in a black hoodie right behind him, walking with hood up and head down. What was that about?
“Look out, Iris!” Madison called. We were about ready to hit the next buoy.
“Sorry,” I called back, paddling furiously to correct. “I got distracted.”
We finally made it through the gauntlet of buoys and were on our way across a stretch of clear water to the landing area. People were gradually filtering over there, eager to see who would win the race. I looked for Theo but didn’t see him. But the person who had been following him was now heading swiftly up the dock toward Main Street. How strange. I hoped Theo was all right.
A cold trickle of water brought my attention forcibly back to the boat. With a thrill of alarm, I noticed a trail of water seeping in from the front corner. In fact, I was now sitting in a puddle. I would have noticed sooner but the wetsuit had insulated my rear. “Madison. I think we’ve got a leak.”
“No way,” she scoffed. “We taped this boat up good.”
With a chuckling gurgle, water started coming in on my left. “Uh-oh. We just got another leak.”
Madison made a disgusted sound. “You’re right. It’s coming in back here now.”
I started paddling faster, hoping we could make land before the boat took on too much water. But the trickle soon became a stream of ice-cold salt water, and right in front of my eyes, the pieces of the boat started to come apart. “We’re not going to make it, Madison.”
“I see that. Help!” she shouted, waving her paddle. “We’re going under.”
I copied her, waving my arms. On shore, people starting pointing and talking to each other. Ian put both hands around his mouth to yell, “Hang on! Help is coming.”
The water was lapping around my waist. It felt like sitting in a cold bathtub. But oddly enough, I wasn’t freezing cold. The wetsuit must be helping.
A motorboat engine started over by the docks and soon a skiff nosed out into the harbor. I recognized Jake’s red brush cut at the helm. “Yay, Jake is coming to save us.” He buzzed toward us, not too fast since he didn’t want to make a wake and swamp the other boats, which had passed us. It was every team for itself out here in the dog-eat-dog world of cardboard boat racing.
Jake’s engine throttled down as he came alongside us. With his help, we managed to climb into his boat. In my case, it was more like rolling over the gunwale and plopping inside like a beached porpoise. The cardboard boat came into the real boat with us. We couldn’t leave it in the water, like floating garbage. I held the mast with the apron still attached, now a flag of surrender.
“I don’t understand why it fell apart,” Madison said as the boat hummed back to the docks. “I built it just like they said.” Judging by what Madison told me, many videos had gone into the building of that boat.
“Me neither.” I shifted to a more comfortable position, the water inside my suit squishing about. I couldn’t wait to change. Dry clothing would feel heavenly.
As we approached the shore, the crowd began to cheer and clap. To ham it up, I waved our apron flag. “The mariners return,” I called. “Saved from the deep.” More cheering greeted my cry. I waved the mast again and grinned, thinking we might make it into the newspaper. They always printed two pages of shots from the festival, plus more on their social media pages. Cameras clicked away and I spotted Lars in the crowd, but I didn’t see Theo anywhere, which was surprising since he’d seemed to have his camera at the ready.
Ian moved toward the shore, ready to help us disembark. “What a disaster,” he said, gripping the bow of Jake’s boat and tugging it onto the shore. “You were doing so well.”
“Don’t remind me,” Madison said with a groan as she jumped out of the boat into the water. “That spa day was within our reach. But now it’s been snatched away.”
Grammie and Madison’s parents hurried up. “My heart was in my mouth,” Grammie said. She gave us both a hug, careful not to touch our soaked lower bodies.
“I could tell the boat was sinking,” Zadie said, also embracing us. “I was worried hypothermia would set in and you would drown.”
“That’s why they were wearing wet suits and life jackets, dear,” Horatio said. “Plus there was a harbor full of boats ready to come to the rescue.” He nodded at Jake. “Like the gallant Jake.”
“True,” Zadie said. “But a mother is always going to worry.” She put a hand on Madison’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”
“No, Mom, we’re fine,” Madison said, shaking her head. “I’ll see you at the clambake in half an hour or so.”
Grammie gave me another squeeze. “See you there, Iris.”
I kissed her cheek. “Sure thing, Gram. Save me a few clams.” We both adored fresh Maine clams.
“What do you want to do with the cardboard?” Jake asked after Grammie and the Morrises walked away. “I can drop it off in a dumpster.”
“Nice of you to offer, Jake, but it’s our mess and we’ll take care of it,” Madison said. She grabbed one end, and indicated for me to take the other. Ian stepped into the water to support the sagging middle, and the three of us awkwardly conveyed the whole shebang to dry land.
“Thanks for saving us,” I said to Jake. Gosh, he was cute with his freckles and wide smile crinkling his eyes. How could I get him back together with Sophie?
“Any time, ladies, any time,” he said with a dip of his head. “Want to give me a push?” he asked Ian, who gave the skiff a mighty shove, sending it out into deep enough water to start the engine.
After Jake roared away, Madison and I stared at the heap of soggy paper that had been our prize-winning dream. Wanting to better understand what had gone wrong, I bent down and examined the front corner. Hmm. That was odd. “Did you put another piece of tape on the seams?” I showed her the spot, where a second piece of tape was curling away from the one underneath. It looked different than the roll I remembered using, actually. It wasn’t as wide and the color was slightly different.
Madison frowned. “No. We only put on one layer of tape. I don’t know where that came from.”
I pulled off a piece. “Look. It’s definitely different. Not as wide.” But the color was a close match, which was why we hadn’t noticed it.
Our eyes locked and I could tell by Madison’s expression she was thinking the same thing I was. But it was Ian who spoke. “Someone messed with your boat,” he said, his eyes flashing with anger. “They wanted you to sink.”