I'm hard at work on a story that is overdue, so I can only offer an excerpt from it, and a not very good one at that:
Maurice pulled Gail onto the boat first. She let out a little cry as the boat rocked beneath her and leaned into Maurice for support. She straightened up quickly, composed and embarrassed.
My father was already on board, surveying the controls and picking around the stack of maps that lay on the dashboard. Lorrie went on next, taking small steps down the stairs and across the deck, looking back at the first mate with lowered eyes. He pretended not to notice.
Maurice held his hand out to hoist me onto the boat. His palm was pink and rough as pavement. When I was standing squarely on board, the first mate let go of his post and nudged me towards Gail and Lorrie who were seated at the rear of the boat on little squares of blue vinyl cushions. His fingers were long and spindly and touched my back with the weight of an insect.
Maurice steered us out to sea with my father standing next to him. My father was much bigger than Maurice and had to duck down and hover over the dashboard to keep skimming his head on the canopy. Maurice was barefoot and wore a straw hat like the ones sold in every tourist shop.The brim of it whipped in the wind but the hat somehow stayed put.
