The voices came first, carried like a low gift across the sea. I was standing at the end of the pier, watching the fog gather into density, and for a long moment I could hear the men; their disembodied voices relaxed and comfortable, the casual intimacy of well-heeled friends. The yacht assumed its shape slowly and I wondered if the men on board could see me standing at the fog’s periphery.
Their words arrived clear and confident. What could I do but listen?