We sailed proudly into the marina in Port Isabel that would be my home for at least the next month. I’d give it that long to decide if this was where I wanted to stay. No motoring in for me. It was a point of pride I’d probably regret one day. But not today. The marina was smaller than my place in Seabrook, but the few people aboard boats seemed friendly enough. We found the only vacant slip and pulled in. Cliff tied her up, and Michael and I folded the sails and wound the halyards. A weather...