Wishful Thinking Read Online Free PDF Page A

she really slept on the boat all night long? It must have docked overnight, but how many trips across the bay had she made while asleep?
    Hazel ran her fingers through her long, stringy hair, working through tangles near the back of her neck and squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She ached all over, partially from being wedged between a column and the side of the boat’s metal bars, but mostly from remembering the night before.
    Scenes and faces flashed behind her closed eyes: the couple at the buffet, the little girl with daisy clips, Rosanna’s picture, frozen in a frame …
    Hazel sighed and carefully lifted herself up to shaky feet, placing her hands on the railing and looking out across thewater. She was disoriented and glanced quickly over both shoulders.
    Was the ferry heading to Marin, or back to San Francisco? She craned her neck in both directions, but couldn’t see either one. Not the hills of Marin, with the tall, extended point of Mt. Tamalpais stretching out in the distance. And to her other side, not the port, or anything resembling the jagged formation of buildings that made up the city skyline downtown. In fact, there was no land to be seen at all. Which was pretty much impossible, since the bay between the Port of San Francisco and Marin was spotted with islands, and there was always at least one bridge visible at all times.
    She scooped up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, searching the cabin of the boat for the door. But in the very spot where the door should’ve been, there was only a solid wall.
    Hazel glanced around the unfamiliar deck, a strange whooshing sound suddenly echoing in her ears. There was no question about it. She was on a different boat.
    It was similar to the boat that ran from Larkspur to the city, but about three times as big. And where the Larkspur ferry was mostly open deck with a small, rounded cabin in the middle, this boat was boxy and completely covered, except for a narrow walkway around the perimeter.
    How had she not noticed last night?
    Hazel scanned the deck for somebody in an official-looking uniform, hoping to find the boat’s captain. The crisp spray from the ocean misted the tops of her cheeks. Out in the distance, the shadow of land was sharpening into view. There was still no skyline, no port. Only rolling dunes and a cluster of white-shingled houses.
    Where the hell was she? And how was she ever going to get home?
    Hazel was about to start back around the other side of the boat when she heard a crackling overhead. She looked up to find a small loudspeaker wedged above a window, and moved toward it.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking,” a gruff male voice boomed through the speaker. He had some kind of accent that Hazel recognized but couldn’t place right away. “In just a few minutes we’ll be arrivin’ in Oak Bluffs.”
    Oak Bluffs? Hazel had never heard of it. Was she north or south of Marin?
    “Drivahs, please return to your vehicles; all walk-off passenjahs, please make your way to the stah-board side of the ship.”
    It was a Boston accent, Hazel realized with shock.
    “Thank you and welcome to Mahtha’s Vin-yahd.”
    Static hissed through the loudspeaker before the microphone clicked off. Hazel stared at it dumbly, swaying back and forth against the big, rounded window.
    Martha’s Vineyard?
    She wasn’t sure exactly where that was, but for some reason, all she could think of was tennis courts and presidents. Wasn’t Martha’s Vineyard where rich people went on vacation?
    And wasn’t it on the East Coast?
    Hazel turned back toward the water. The harbor was inching closer and she saw that it was dotted with sailboats. At the center, a rickety old wooden dock was lined with rows of cars, waiting to drive onto the next boat.
    A crowd had gathered at the top of a narrow staircase.
Must be stah-board,
Hazel thought, and opened the door to wait inline. Wherever she was, she couldn’t stay on a boat forever.
    Hazel stood at the