I still have her voicemail from exactly one year ago. She says she can't do long distance anymore.
I've listened to it maybe a hundred times. I tell myself I'm keeping it for the date stamp, like a bookmark.
Today is the anniversary. Nobody on the towboat knows. I don't say a word.
My transit card has exactly one ride left. I use it to get to the marina at 5 AM. The water is flat and gray.
The captain says, "You look like you're carrying something heavy." I just shrug.
That night, I sit on the dock with my phone. I press play one more time.
Her voice says, "I hope you find what you're looking for out there."
I delete it before the beep.