Solly’s phone rang. “Hello, Smita,” he said. “Mamie and I are walking with the dogs along the river. What’s up?”

“Mamie’s there, too? I’ve got a story.”

“Sammy and Cooper are trying to jump into the river. A story is a welcome distraction,” said Mamie.

“You remember the propeller?” asked Smita.

“The one your in-law Harold called and asked you to buy from survivalists in Macon, Georgia, on the way to Florida?” asked Mamie.

“Yes,” said Smita. “We left it with our Florida friends. The propeller traveled back to North Dakota with them. Harold drove up from South Dakota to get it, but there’s more.”

“Oh, good,” said Solly. “Does it involve enjoying the miseries of others? I love a story with schadenfreude.” 

“It does,” said Smita. “The Dixon side of the family had a ‘re-you’ scheduled.”

“A ‘re-you’? What’s that? Cooper, stop lunging for the froggies!” Mamie yelled.

“Sammy!” cried Solly. “That’s NOT food!”

“A reunion.” Smita sounded like her teeth were grinding. “Harold’s wife’s family was having a Minnesota reunion.”

“Were you and John invited because you got Harold the propeller?” asked Mamie.

“Probably, but we couldn’t come. Anyway, Harold brought his boat with the new propeller to their favorite Minnesota lake and ferried the 25 attendees to the island for a cookout.”

 “Sounds nice,” said Mamie. Cooper lunged for the water. Sammy knocked him in. Solly hauled Cooper out.

“The boat was overstuffed with people, but complete with food, drinks, cutlery, paper products, and blankets,” said Smita.

“Did anyone offer Harold gas money?” asked Solly, trying to throw a towel over Cooper.

“Likely getting the ride was enough,” said Mamie.

Smita continued. “After a fabulous picnic, Harold’s son Barnaby, also a boater, ferried half the group to shore, then motored back to the island for the rest. Harold boarded last.”

“No disasters yet,” said Solly, shaking the towel at Sammy.

“Wait for it,” said Smita. “Harold had just set up his new phone with a GPS tracker. Out in the middle of the lake, somebody bumped him. The phone sailed over the side, sinking into 30 feet of water.”

“Yikes,” breathed Mamie. Cooper shook droplets on them all.

“Harold dove out of the boat after his phone, but he got partway down and ran out of air.”  Smita took a breath. “Up he came, gasping, swam to the boat, and clambered onto the deck.”

“What about the phone?” asked Solly.

“Harold snatched up somebody else’s phone to call a free-diving, buddy-in-a-wetsuit-with-a-boat to race over before dark and find Harold’s phone at its sunken GPS coordinates,” said Smita.

“Barnaby kept piloting the boat, right?” asked Mamie.

“Sure,” said Smita. “But later, it slowed way down.”

“Was the propeller mired in seaweed?” Solly asked.

“Nope,” said Smita. “Barnaby checked, but the propeller was just gone. Somehow it detached itself from the shaft, then gravity took over.” 

“So, the propeller was now resting comfortably on the bottom of the lake somewhere between where Harold’s phone had leapt toward freedom and where the boat was currently drifting,” said Solly.

“There was also a 30-mph wind blowing the hapless boat toward the wrong shore near docks, houses, and a reef,” said Smita.

“Oh, no,” said Mamie.

“When the boat got near a dock, Barnaby jumped out to tie it up. All the terrified swimmers and non-swimmers, elderly, adults, and toddlers exited the boat and staggered up to a zillion-dollar home and rang the doorbell.”

Mamie looked horrified. Cooper whined.

“A man opened the door,” said Smita. “His wife gave snacks to the kids. The husband organized rides to the right shore. These people were terrific. The reunion attendees all got driven to their cars except Harold, who was taken in a speedboat to meet his diving buddy.”

“One of the daughters asked for the dock couple’s names for a thank-you note. Are you ready for this? The homeowners’ names were John and Smita! We were there in spirit despite not being able to attend!”

“What happened to the phone and the propeller?” asked Solly.

“Stay tuned,” said Smita grimly. Sammy growled.

Linda Lemery llemery@gmail.com welcomes reader comments. *This piece continues the narrative begun as A Propeller on Vacation, published in the June 2025 issue of Evince.