The Smiles Family - Novelized

NOVEMBER 27, 1994

For as long as Michael could remember, his father, Albert, had always been glued to his desk, typing away at some article or story for the local newspaper. Albert was a writer, known in their small town for his thoughtful pieces on local events and occasional human-interest stories. His life revolved around his work, and that often meant long hours spent collaborating with other writers, exchanging drafts, or discussing future projects.

Over the past few months, a new name had entered their household conversations: Robert. At first, Michael had dismissed it as just another one of his dad's colleagues, someone he'd never meet. But Robert wasn't like the others. There was a peculiar kind of energy that came from the man's name every time Albert mentioned him. Apparently, Robert had taken a strong interest in Albert's work—so much so that the two began talking regularly, their conversations evolving from work-related exchanges to personal ones.

Michael didn't think much of it until one day, his father started rummaging through the old shed out back and emerged with their dusty, long-forgotten motorboat.

"Do you remember how to steer this thing?" Albert had asked him out of the blue, brushing off the cobwebs as if the boat hadn't sat untouched for years. "You'll need to know, just in case."

At the time, it felt random, almost bizarre. Michael had no idea why they were suddenly talking about boating—Connecticut wasn't exactly known for ocean travel, at least not where they lived. But Albert seemed unusually focused, insistent even. He started taking Michael out to the nearby lake to practice steering and docking, going over the basics again and again. When Michael finally asked why, his father just smiled in that cryptic way of his and said, "You'll see soon enough."

And then, one evening over dinner, it all made sense. Robert had invited them—well, specifically Michael—to visit his house on Hallam Island. Albert had jumped at the opportunity, despite knowing little about the man beyond their months of correspondence.

"I think it'll be good for you," Albert had said. "You need to get out more, especially with your sister off at college now."

And that was how Michael found himself navigating a small motorboat through the salty waters of the Connecticut coastline, heading towards a remote island. The ocean spread out in every direction, vast and imposing, while the rhythmic chugging of the motor kept his nerves at bay.

  Michael hated the ocean. With every wave that slapped against the boat, he muttered it to himself. The ocean sucks. The ocean sucks.

Michael tugged at the collar of his green jacket, a stark contrast to the white t-shirt underneath. His black, curly hair was tousled by the salty wind, and he found himself wishing he had worn something more suited for this trip. Michael hated how out of place he felt on the water, his discomfort as evident as the chill of the ocean spray against his skin.

His eyes focused on the docks ahead, a narrow path leading up to the house perched on the island. From the boat, the place looked imposing. He glanced to his side, double-checking his position. There, on a jagged piece of land, was a small sign, lightly illuminated by the setting sun behind it.

HALLAM ISLAND.

Great, Michael thought, his face scrunching up at the scent of saltwater thick in the air. It was as if the ocean itself was invading his lungs. He stopped the boat at the dock, silently thanking every boating lesson he'd ever taken. The journey had been rough—Connecticut was bigger than he imagined, and the saltwater lakes were vast. To his surprise, he hadn't thrown up yet.