“It’s difficult to explain,” Martha responded. Robert was reminded of  Martha's last supernatural claim: “There’s a ghost in the lighthouse!”  

“On the second morning, what did I eat?” Robert challenged. He had told  Martha he was going on a fishing expedition but didn’t take the old dragger. He went out sailing alone to see if he could still tackle the sea.  

“All but one small bite of a tuna fish sandwich wrapped in Sunday’s paper,  which you threw high for the seagulls to pick at,” Martha replied.  

“I always do that,” Robert rebutted.  

“You asked the question. If that didn’t prove it, ask another.” She uncrossed her legs and stared at Robert intently.  

“On the third night, were the waves large?”  

“Larger than any waves you’d seen before.” Robert furrowed his brow.  

“What did it sound like when they beat against the hull?"  

Martha recalled the sound of the porch floorboards when Robert rose from his morning coffee: “a thump and then a groaning creak.”  

“Waves sound the same hitting every ship,” he grumbled. Robert was not the same sailor he used to be, and the seas were unforgiving. Admittedly, he went out too far. “How about that same night, in the peak of the storm, what did I think of?”  

“You thought of William.”  

“That’s it, Martha. I won’t entertain this any longer. If you saw the size of those waves you’d stop all this blabbering and let me rest. My back aches wretchedly. By God, I could barely pull my pants up in the bathroom this morning. I almost tumbled over and knocked my head, but caught the door handle at the last second. A true stroke of good luck. How often does an old man get to escape death? Let’s drink to it. I’ll head down to the cellar to grab some rum. Can you get two glasses out of the cupboard, dear?”  

“I think of him, too.” 

“Oh, Martha! Won’t you drop it already? It's too much.”  

Martha continued calmly, “You and William took the rowboat out in the bay.” Robert knew what came next. The sun would set beneath the horizon, as William leaned over and rested his pea-sized head in the arch of Robert’s neck. His golden hair would tickle Robert’s overgrown stubble. The welcome scent of algae  and sea salt would creep into Robert’s nose. He’d turn to kiss William on the forehead, but it’d be too late. William was already gone. The last sliver of sun  would tuck behind the ocean, and Robert would be left in darkness. He’d cry out  for William. Plead with the silence. 

“I see him in my dreams,” Martha said. “In case he can hear me, I call out to  him. I want him to know he’s not alone.”  

Robert paused.  

“I thought of no such thing.”