The boat had three separate decks and a radar tower.

The name Sea Star was painted in bright gold letters across the stern.

It looked exactly like the crayon drawing Emma had made in her bedroom.

The blue hull gleamed under the winter sun.

“That vessel is seventy feet long,” Carl said in his formal, lawyerly way.

“It requires a commercial license to pilot and carries a substantial maintenance tax.

The marina charges three thousand dollars a month just to keep it tied to that slip.”