I threw the buoy. It was a perfect throw, landing just a few feet from his grasping hands.<\/p>\n
Greg lunged for it. He hooked his arm through the ring, clutching it to his chest like a lover. \u201cI got it! I got it!\u201d he sobbed, relief washing over his face. \u201cPull me in! Pull me in, Dad!\u201d<\/p>\n
He waited for the jerk of the rope, the tension that would tether him back to safety, back to the boat, back to life.<\/p>\n
But the jerk never came.<\/p>\n
As the yacht continued forward, the rope unspooled from its casing\u2026 and then the end of it simply flopped onto the water, trailing uselessly behind the buoy. It wasn\u2019t attached to the ship.<\/p>\n
Greg stared at the severed end of the rope floating in the black water. He looked up at me, his eyes bulging.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe rope!\u201d he shrieked. \u201cIt\u2019s cut!\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned over the railing, looking down at him as he grew smaller in the distance.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d I called out. \u201cI saw you yesterday afternoon, Greg. You were down here with a knife. You spent ten minutes sawing through that rope. You were worried, weren\u2019t you? Worried that if I fell over, I might grab the buoy and save myself. You wanted to be sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
The realization hit him harder than the cold water. The trap he had built, the failsafe he had engineered to ensure my death, was now his coffin. He had sealed his own fate with his own paranoia.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were thorough, Greg,\u201d I said, my voice carrying over the widening gap. \u201cToo thorough.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDAD! PLEASE! STOP THE BOAT!\u201d<\/p>\n
His screams were becoming faint. The orange buoy bobbed in the moonlight, a tiny speck in the vast, indifferent ocean. He wasn\u2019t going to drown immediately; the buoy would keep him afloat. But the water was cold, and the nearest land was fifty miles away. And the sharks\u2026 well, they were always hungry.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t run to the bridge. I didn\u2019t hit the \u2018Man Overboard\u2019 alarm. Not yet.<\/p>\n
I turned away from the railing. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a calm, cold clarity in its wake. I walked back into the salon, the cane tapping rhythmically on the deck.\u00a0Tap. Tap. Tap.<\/i><\/p>\n
I went to the bar and poured myself a generous measure of scotch. I held it up to the light, admiring the amber color.<\/p>\n
I would call the Coast Guard. Of course I would. It was the proper procedure. But first, I needed to finish this drink. It was a good scotch, aged twenty-five years. It deserved to be savored.<\/p>\n
I took a sip and looked out the window at the empty, moonlit sea.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe looked at me and saw a senile old man,\u201d I whispered to the empty room. \u201cHe forgot that before I was old, I was a killer whale. He wanted me to sink, so he cut every lifeline. Now, he has his buoy, and I have my peace.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down in the plush armchair.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe sea is always fair,\u201d I mused. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t care who is old or young. It doesn\u2019t care about debts or inheritances. It only cares about one thing: who knows how to swim.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took another sip. Ten minutes. I\u2019d give him ten minutes. After all, I was an old man. It took me a while to react to things.<\/p>\n