I sat huddled in the bottom of the dory boat, my knees drawn up under my shaking chin. I could feel the ominous weight of the car pressing the boat down into the water. I was terrified to move. Whenever the boards holding the two dory boats together creaked as they twisted, my father’s voice rang out chastising my teenage brother, telling him to keep his motor running the same and in the same direction.

I looked wildly around as I grasped the torn shoulder of my blue ski jacket. He was gone and he’d taken the gift. The handmade quilt I had worked so hard on. He had taken it. I could feel the tears welling up and I knew I had to squash those emotions. I had to think, but the images kept flying around, bashing into my brain, squeezing through the cracks in my skull, driving themselves in like rivets into my mind.