“You did good, Makayla. I’m proud of you,” Henry was saying several hours later.
Tyrell listened as Makayla talked to her grandfather on the radio. The storm had passed, moving toward the west. They could still see the dark clouds and flashes of lightning from where they were. The waters were still rough, but nothing like they had been. Once it was safe, he retrieved his cell phone and the Canon that he had placed in a waterproof bag and strapped to the console to record the storm.
He lifted the camera and snapped several pictures of the retreating storm, before taking several pictures of Makayla still dressed in the bright yellow foul weather gear. Sunlight streamed in narrow bands through the clouds as they parted. He set the camera down and picked up his cell phone, turning it toward
