text: The wind blows the small boat from side to side. Windows shudder in their frames. Alfred doesn’t even look at them, his clenched fists hold the steering wheel in place, fighting the current underneath the boat. A wave slams Augusta down and Alfred’s knees burn as if on fire. He doesn’t even hear his screams over the roaring wind. The dense rainfall limits his view, but far off in the distance, he spots the lighthouse of Fischer’s Eve. He should have listened to her. This was no weather for Augusta. The light in the cabin flickers on and off. It jumps up and down, occasionally hitting his head. A vicious wave yanks the wheel out of his hands and he tries to grab it with all his might. Its rotation slows down, before rapidly spinning the other way. He puts his hand on one of the knobs but it gets hit with a strong blow. He has lost control. Without hesitation, he turns off the motor and braces himself on the bolted-down table. After fifteen minutes, the wind lessens and the waves drop. He grips the wheel again, turns the motor back on and leads the boat back to port. A small layer of water has accumulated in the cabin. Alfred sighs. On the pier, the woman from the fish stall stands. Her sou’wester is drenched. Thin streams of water fall down from her hair onto her boots. She shakes her head when Alfred ties a rope around a bollard. “You’re as stubborn as a cod, you know that?” “Leave me alone, Mollie.” He walks back inside and takes the key from the ignition. The captain’s hat rests on top of the table. “I don’t want Augusta to get beaten down. She might be yours but she’s still a part of Fischer’s Eve.” “I wish she wasn’t. I wish I wasn’t.” “Don’t say that, Alfred. We still care about you. But maybe it is time for you to stop-” “Stop sailing my boat? Is that what you want? So she can rust in this port ‘til the end of her days? I care about her, Mollie.” “You used to care about more than her. You cared about Lauren,” she mumbles. Alfred starts walking down the pier. “Alfred, I...I didn’t mean to.” She tries to catch up with him. “I said, leave me alone.” He fastens his pace. “Don’t be like this, Alfred. We care about you.” “I don’t.” He steps onto the boardwalk and walks home. Small puddles lead from the front door to the bathroom, where Alfred is taking off his clothes. He turns on the shower and lets the water fall on his face. Another sigh. He remembers the first time he turned on the shower, thirty years ago. Lauren had always complained about the size of the one in her apartment, so when she finally moved in with Alfred in her new house, she couldn’t wait to try the new one. She had turned around in the shower and stretched her arms out, hitting Alfred. She never could stop saying sorry when she hurt someone. It took him five minutes to assure her that he was fine, before grabbing the showerhead and spraying all over his fully clothed fiancé. The lightbulb in the bathroom blows and the only thing he can perceive is the water falling down on him. He fumbles around, looking for the shower handle. With the flick of his wrist, the shower turns off. In the pitch black, he walks around, his hand against the wall until he finds the doorknob and twists it. He takes a towel from the ground and starts drying his face while walking around. A small cupboard hits his leg and he hears glass shatter. He tosses the towel aside and looks down at the thing that has dropped. It’s a small oval-shaped photo frame, containing a black and white picture of his wedding day. The corner of his mouth slightly curls upwards, before he puts it back.