Intense morning light stabbed into Mitchell’s eyes.

"On the sloop there! Anyone aboard?"

In green bikini underwear shot with holes Andy stepped quickly over the cooler and climbed the ladder.

Mitchell rubbed his eyes. "This should be interesting."

"Yeah?" Andy was in the cockpit.

"You’re on my mooring," a voice growled.

Through the companionway Mitchell saw a huge aluminum mast and the grey hair of the boat’s skipper.

"We were told this mooring was abandoned," Andy said.

"It’s my mooring. Who told you to use it?"

"The captain of the Island Lady."

"Moorings are twenty dollars a day. How long have you been here?"

"I’ll move the boat." Andy reached into the cabin to start the vents.

"Top of the morning," Mitchell smiled.

Andy moved the boat to a vacant mooring then climbed below through the forehatch. He pulled on a pair of baggy orange shorts and stepped through the head into the cabin. "We better get moving." He pulled a threadbare purple tee shirt down over his chest. "That guy circled us before he moored. He was looking for our registration numbers."

"Nice to see things picking up where they left off."

Mitchell changed his catheter. Andy quickly changed the dressing on the pressure sore and they hurried on Mitchell’s pants and the safety harnesses under his arms and legs. Andy hauled on the sheet, curling Mitchell into the harnesses, he slid shirtless and barefoot across his berth. He pushed off the ladder rungs until his ass thumped out onto the cockpit sole. His legs hung over the ladder into the cabin. Andy climbed past him to move the sheet aft on the boom. Then he hoisted Mitchell up and into the helmchair.

"He’s still aboard." Andy eyed the other boat. "His dinghy is tied to the stern." He strapped Mitchell’s hand to the tiller.

"He has a radio," Mitchell said. "Let’s go."

Andy started the engine and walked casually to the foredeck to drop the mooring pendant. Then he blew his act by hurrying aft. Mitchell turned the sloop and steered down river. "Let’s look at the chart," he said. "It puts a hell of a cramp in our morning when we don’t."

Past the river bend and well out beyond its mouth the ocean was ablaze in yellow-white sunlight flashing far as the curve of the horizon. Andy climbed up from below and laid the chart on Mitchell’s lap. "It’s five and a half miles out to this sea marker." He dragged his finger to the top of the chart. "This northern water is wide open. Or there’s Kennebunkport up the coast. Here."

"Just us and the president and all those secret service folks. Great place for an unregistered sailboat," Mitchell laughed. "Christ there’s nothing like being on the run in the morning. Beautiful. Just beautiful."