Chapter 7 - The First Day of Spring
Two years later.
The ice on Lake Superior had melted into clear, deep blue water, sparkling under the bright April sunshine.
Along the commercial docks of Ashland, Wisconsin, giant lake freighters sat moored against the concrete piers, their red hulls rising thirty feet above the waterline as heavy cranes loaded grain and iron ore into their cargo holds.
I walked along the elevated wooden catwalk of the dock authority building, wearing a bright yellow hardhat, a dark blue work jacket, and carrying a digital tablet containing the morning logistics schedule.
As Head of Regional Fleet Operations for Sterling-Vance Logistics, I managed the daily schedules, fuel routing, and maintenance budgets for fourteen commercial freighters across Lake Superior and Lake Michigan.
My phone chimed in my pocket.
I pulled it out and tapped the screen. It was an email from the Illinois Department of Corrections notification system:
BE ADVISED: INMATE #884920 (STERLING, JULIAN) HAS BEEN TRANSFERRED TO MAXIMUM-SECURITY CORRECTIONAL FACILITY FOLLOWING PAROLE DENIAL. NEXT REVIEW ELIGIBILITY: 2031.
I read the message once, clicked "Archive," and slid the phone back into my pocket without a single rise in my heart rate.
He was a ghost from a life that belonged to someone else.
I walked down the catwalk stairs to the lower dock level, where a new shipment of shipping manifests was being prepared for loading onto our flagship freighter, the Evelyn Marie—a vessel my uncle Marcus had officially renamed six months ago.
Standing near the edge of the dock was my father, wearing his iconic flannel coat, showing a seven-year-old Leo how to tie a proper bowline knot on a heavy nylon mooring line.
Leo wore his own small hardhat, his dark eyes focused intensely on the rope, his small hands working the knot with a skill and patience that far exceeded his years.
"Bring the loop through the hole, buddy," Arthur instructed gently, his large hand guiding the boy's fingers. "Then around the tree, and back down through the hole. What does that give you?"
"A knot that won't slip," Leo declared proudly, pulling the rope tight with a sharp tug. "No matter how hard the storm pulls on the boat!"
"That's right, son," Arthur smiled, patting Leo's shoulder. "No matter how hard the storm pulls."
I walked up behind them, placing my hands on my hips, looking at the massive steel ship resting against the dock, its engines humming with deep, steady power.
Leo looked up, saw me standing there, and beamed with pure, radiant pride.
"Mommy! Look! I tied the mooring knot all by myself!"
"I saw it, sweetie," I smiled, kneeling down beside him to inspect the tight, perfect loop of rope. "That knot could hold an ocean liner in place."
My father looked at me over Leo's hardhat, his gray eyes filled with a quiet, profound peace that had settled into our lives like a permanent foundation.
"Everything running on schedule with the morning fleet, Evie?" my father asked.
May you like
I looked out across the wide, open expanse of Lake Superior, where the clear blue water met the bright, limitless horizon.
"Everything is right on schedule, Dad," I said, my voice strong, clear, and completely free of fear. "Everything is exactly where it belongs."
