Ramón’s eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep as he conned the cruiser between the channel markers.

Chipita set a steaming mug of coffee at his elbow and squeezed his shoulder. “What can I do to help?”

“Look for a sign that says Harbor Master or Marina Office. We want to get a slip near the middle where it’s crowded.”

She nodded. “I’ll tell them we’re looking to store it for the winter, maybe.”

He started laughing, the tension making it almost maniacal. “Except that it’s May, Chipi.”

She laughed too, then grew somber. “Will we be safe here?”