"That’s your problem. We can talk about anything."

"I don’t understand why we couldn’t go around the ledges."

"There was no wind and we were low on gas without a gauge. If we ran out we’d be dancing on Fiddler’s Green. I made a decision and I know how you felt. I’ve been in the passenger’s seat at the mercy of assholes. I’m not an asshole. I’m good at what I do. Don’t let my paralysis make a fool of you like it does most people."

"It’s your boat and I know it took you a long -"

"It took me everything."

"You make all the decisions."

"You’ve been handing me the decisions since day one. So here we are. But we can talk about whatever you want and you know it. Inside you know it."

"I wanted to go around the ledges."

"How much gas do you think we lost when we were laying on the bottom in Provincetown?"

Andy shifted his hands on the hatch above and leaned his head on an arm. He looked at Mitchell with poignant eyes, conceding further argument.

"Listen," Mitchell said. "I’m just older than you. I’ve been in tight situations and I have more experience. That’s life. Now what about the boat? I say it has to be moved. What do you say?"

Andy lowered his arms. "We’ll move it but let’s eat first. I need to rest my hands."

"Your hands are going to cramp. If the wind builds in a hurry we’ll be in a bad spot."

Andy tore a piece of bloodied skin from his palm. "Okay," he said.

They anchored the sloop in the lee of a gigantic dome of ledge alive with the piercing yawks of gulls perched on its height or wheeling above the waters. Laughing aloud to himself Andy walked aft along the starboard deck.

"What’s so funny?" Mitchell asked.

Andy shook his head and stepped down into the cockpit then climbed below. The putrid smell of guano overwhelmed the sloop. Mitchell’s stomach turned. He lowered his head.

"Are you ready to come down?" Andy asked from deep within the cabin.

He thinks I deserve this. Mitchell pushed the tiller away. So let him have it. Maybe I do.