“To my best count, I have been in this rowboat for forty-four days…”
I pause, unsure of myself now that I’ve begun.
“…give or take the most severe storms when I couldn’t tell up from down, let alone day from night. I have run out of food and fresh water more times that I’d like to recall. There were days when the sun beat down with such ferocity I felt like I was being baked alive. Followed by nights spent chilled to the bone.”
I’m speaking more to myself than him, the words barely more than a whisper.
“But always, always, just when I would resign myself to capsizing or starvation or hypothermia, relief would come. Every single time.”
