Sammy walked into the Bar and scanned the regulars , his eyes stopping on a woman deep into a glass of wine.
"Hey there, Sammy!" shouted Sean O'Cleary, the barkeep.
Sammy nodded at Sean and approached the woman. He touched her shoulder. The woman turned in her seat, face blotchy, bloated with drink.
"Ma... Pop's been in an accident."
She didn't recognize him and shrunk back in fear, her normal evening performance.
Normally, he came with his father, Michael (or Mick. That's what she called him). His father was a professional at towing her home.
He was too young to be there by himself, too young to deliver such news, but no one in the bar seemed to care.
It was a sea of sinking ships. And he wanted no part of it.
"Ma... Pop's dead."
The woman smiled and patted his face. "There, there, Mick, I'm just having a little fun is all."
Sammy swallowed hard.
His father would have kissed her, then helped her stumble to her feet. His father would have supported her with his ready body the whole way home.
He wasn't his father.
So he left her there to find her own way.
The problem is that a disabled ship will go adrift in the sea.
But, to Sammy, that's how it should have gone a long time ago.
No push to shore. Just leave her there to sink.