In return, the town gives the bay what it asks for. Not often. Just enough. A lost kayaker here. A solo sailor there. Every few years, a stranger who doesn’t read the signs. And every single time, the bay takes them cleanly, without fuss, without evidence. The Coast Guard calls them “missing, presumed drowned.” The families grieve. The town holds a memorial. The water goes still.
The silence holds.
Instead, she writes a note for the morning shift: New shipment of rope and anchor chain coming in on Tuesday. Check the ties on Slip 12. And repaint the sign at the pier. It’s fading. baysafe