Dad set down his coffee. “I really wanted to sail from home, ya know. All the way around the point.”
Julian fixed her gaze on the breakfast table as if it were a map. She saw the point to which he referred—Leelanau State Park, where Grand Traverse Bay became one with the great Lake Michigan.
“Yeah,” she said. She was seated in a breakfast booth but stood on decks of teak, tethered to the rail, taking readings in foul weather gear. Kitchen smells to her became spray from the bow. And her head actually rose and fell—almost imperceptibly— in time with her imagery craft.
She returned to the table only when assured of her correct lat and long.
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