"Muscle spasms. Big ones. Let go of the tiller. I’ve got it."

Andy hesitated.

"Let go goddamnit."

Andy released the tiller. The bridges passed overhead as shadows.

"How much farther?"

"A little more than a mile. We want the second channel to starboard. The second flashing marker. That’s us."

Mitchell watched yellow light ahead glowing above the inland towns as spasms rippled and shook and pulled tight across his abdomen. Fatigue’s weight pressed into his eyes and his head and pushed his shoulders down, but his body quaked with cold and he knew rest was impossible. He steered past the Coast Guard station and the Canal ended.

Andy glanced back. "Do you see the marker?"

"I see it. Hell of a day, huh?"

"Do you want that blanket?"

"No. Slow our speed. Let’s get in here and anchor."

Mitchell turned the sloop between the markers into Onset Bay and his right arm collapsed again as his body jerked wildly in muscles spasms. Andy grabbed for the tiller but before he could get a grip Mitchell forced it inboard, steering out of the channel and heading for the mast lights above two hulls silhouetted at anchor.

"Stay about three boat lengths off their port," Andy said. "There’s good depth in there."

"Cut the throttle."

Mitchell surrendered to powerful contractions in his bicep. His arm collapsed and the tiller slammed into his chest. The sloop shattered moonlight on the water. Andy cut the throttle and shifted the engine into neutral. He stood watching Mitchell struggle to force the tiller amidship.

"Get to the foredeck and drop the hook."

Andy hustled on deck while Mitchell worked his left arm out from under the armrest lashings. He leaned backward over the helmchair to stretch his lower back and his legs flew up and banged down. He slid his hand off of the tiller.

Andy stepped from the deck to the bench and down into the cockpit to kill the engine. "Are you ready?"

Mitchell looked around. "This was the best day of my life," he said. "I’m all yours."

Andy hoisted Mitchell out of the helmchair and down to the cockpit sole. He moved the sheet forward and climbed below to switch on the cabin lights. Hauling on the sheet he guided Mitchell’s descent to the couch where they stripped his jacket and shirt and pants. They stared dumbstruck at the grey-white discoloration of his nakedness.

"Hypothermia," Andy breathed.

"Stay calm," Mitchell said and hurried to a sitting position.

"Should we get help?"

"You’re the help, remember? Get some towels."

Andy yanked a tangle of laundry from the quarter berth. He shoved a towel at Mitchell and they rubbed hard against the hypothermia and the fear. Andy gripped Mitchell’s calf. "It’s like ice," he said and shook his head. "Don’t ever do this again without foul weather gear."

Mitchell laughed aloud and Andy grimaced, eyes dark with contempt and wonder.

"I was out there," Mitchell said. "To hell with the small stuff."