Stranded
His name, he said, was Nuke. Of course, I thought. He sure looked the part—a regular nuclear meltdown. His pants and shirt were disheveled. It seemed as if he hadn’t shaved—or bathed—in days. He tied up his old boat next to ours. Just the sight of him made me uneasy. Here we are, Bill and I, stranded on an old wooden dock in the middle of a remote state forest on Lake Michigan, with a crippled sailboat and no electricity or phone. Now comes this crazy person on top of everything else!
Much as we needed help, we
