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Six of us piled into the dinghy. After a day on the large boat we'd rented for the week, we were anchored and ready to head into shore. Every year we can, our family does a boating adventure with other families and cousins. It's a lot to manage, and it's a lot to finance, but the family time and the memories are worth it. Our four daughters have gotten older and live in various cities; time with them is scarcer and precious.
Julia and I debated swimming for the dock, but we'd done a lot of swimming over the course of the day. My shoulders were ready for a break, and the dock was a long way away. I wish I could tell you the length because it matters as to what happened next. Suffice it to say a solidly 20-minute swim.
Clare stood on the larger boat and contemplated getting on with us.
"There's not room," she said.
"Of course there's room," we said.
She decided to wait for the next trip in, a choice she'd regret.
My husband, Garth, had not been on dinghy duty thus far, and he was happy to be at the till. At least for half of the way there. At least until the engine stopped.
The five of us on the dinghy looked at him, ready to blame him for faulty captaining.
"We're out of gas," he said.
"You're joking," Julia said.
"Paul told me to remind him we needed gas," he said. "I guess we waited a little too long."
Our choices felt a little like one of those if...then puzzles or brainteasers as we bantered around our options. The boat and the dock were about the same distance from our gasless dinghy. If we tugged the dinghy to the boat, it would still be out of gas, and twelve of us would be stuck on the boat, as opposed to the six that were there now.
Larkin and Julia jumped in and started towing the dinghy, while Garth and I jumped off and pushed. We waved to some anchored boaters who were watching us.
"We're your entertainment for the night," we said.
"We're out of gas," Garth said.
Concerned for our safety, they offered to help. We weren't far from the dock when they pulled up alongside of us, threw out a rope, and tugged in almost to the dock. Boaters are like that. They look out for other people on the water.
We thanked them, tied the dinghy, and unhooked the empty gas tank. No one on the boat answered their phones, so they'd have to figure out why their ride wasn't heading back their way. When they finally did check their texts, they all had to swim the full distance from the boat, Clare in a t-shirt since she'd sent her bathing suit with her backpack on the first dinghy ride.
As we walked up the hill toward the house we'd rented, Julia and Larkin couldn't stop laughing.
"This could be the best story we've ever had," Julia said. "A core memory."
Isn't that what it's all about, anyway?
