No rib-eyes for the aging Hamhorst siblings tonight, at the Yacht Club.
As if there were yachts, in these woods.
Ken bee-lined it to his boat. Val and Gregory trailed behind.
It rocked relentlessly as they boarded. Ken commanded the wheel and frowned.
Val and Gregory parked by the cooler, nursing disappointment.
Ken checked his watch. His daughter had been gone twelve hours now.
The boat slid back and onto the great lake. Lights on.
Boulders glowered from the shadowy shore like giants’ heads.
Ken spat starboard. Never trust a boy with a boat.