The sound was swallowed instantly by the engine’s roar. I stood there, adjusting the lapels of my jacket, my breathing steady. I picked up my cane from where it had fallen. I walked to the railing and looked down.

The Athena was moving at a steady twelve knots. In the dark water, a white shape was thrashing wildly. Greg. He had surfaced, sputtering and screaming, fighting against the current of the wake.

“HELP! ARTHUR! DAD!” his voice was thin, high-pitched with panic. “I CAN’T SWIM! HELP ME!”

I looked at him. The moon, the one he wanted me to see, illuminated his terrified face. He was already drifting further away.

I reached for the lifebuoy mounted on the bulkhead next to me. It was a standard, orange and white ring, sturdy and reliable.

“Catch, son!” I shouted, my voice strong and clear, shedding the raspy falsetto I had worn for months.