To make matters worse, the slow, steady grind of the refit throttled back even further when we were forced to look for employment after burning through our meager life savings. We found work aboard charter catamarans, and for the next year split our time between making money and working on Atticus. We needed a reminder of why we were doing this, and that happened when we received our new sails from Super Sailmakers. The overhauled rig was up, the new running rigging all in place, and we were eager to take Atticus sailing for the first time. We bent on the stiff new Dacron and motored out the channel toward the Atlantic. Two years of expectation and dreaming hung over our nervous bodies as we made ready to hoist the sails. As with any benchmark experience, Desiree and I were so full with anxiety and anticipation that we lost ourselves in mindless bickering. But as Desiree steered Atticus into the wind, I looked up to the portion of sky around the masts that, for the last two years, had stood as a great blue reminder of how much further we had to go, how much more work we had ahead of us. As I began to raise the sails, those taunting sections of blue were slowly replaced by the blinding white of fresh Dacron. The moment felt alien, as though it were my first time sailing, to have Atticus finally appear so complete. I looked over to Desiree, an expression of overwhelming incredulity on her face.