Martin and Joyce parked their blue hatchback on the lower deck of a car ferry.
Martin noted the location carefully.
“Blue deck, row four, beside a white van.”
Joyce pointed out that the entire deck was blue and contained six white vans.
“That is why I also remember row four.”
During the crossing, they had coffee, watched the coast disappear, and bought a magnet shaped like the ferry.
When the arrival announcement sounded, passengers returned to their vehicles.
Martin led Joyce down two staircases and stopped.
Their car was gone.
In its place stood a silver estate car with a roof box.
“This is row four,” he said.
Joyce looked at the large yellow number painted on the wall.
“It is row fourteen.”
“The one may be decorative.”
They walked to row four.
There were three blue hatchbacks.
Martin tried his key beside the first. Nothing happened.
At the second, the lights flashed.
He opened the passenger door and found a bouquet, a cream jacket, and a card reading TO THE BRIDE’S FATHER.
Joyce closed it.
“That is not ours.”
“The key opened it.”
“You pressed the button. The owner opened it from inside.”
A startled man rose from the driver’s seat.
Martin apologized.
They tried the third hatchback. It contained two sleeping dogs and no driver.
One dog opened an eye.
Joyce said, “Ours contains one sleeping map and no dogs.”
The loading officer announced that everyone must enter their vehicles.
Martin waved.
“We have temporarily misplaced ours.”
The officer asked for the registration number.
Martin remembered the first half. Joyce remembered the second half. Unfortunately, they disagreed about the middle.
They walked the deck while other cars started engines around them.
A wedding party in matching lavender ties gathered beside the first hatchback. The bride’s father recognized Martin.
“You found my jacket.”
“I nearly wore it,” Martin said.
The ferry ramp opened.
Vehicles began leaving in order, but rows four and five could not move because Martin and Joyce were standing in the lane arguing about whether their car had a roof aerial.
The officer checked the manifest.
Their blue hatchback was listed on deck two, not the lower blue deck.
Martin insisted they had driven downward.
“You did,” said the officer. “Then staff moved you up before departure because your handbrake was not fully engaged.”
Joyce looked at Martin.
“You said that rolling sound was the ship settling.”
“The ship was also moving.”
They climbed one level.
Their car waited alone near the ramp, held in place by two bright orange wheel chocks.
Martin recognized it immediately.
“There it is.”
Joyce asked how he could suddenly be certain.
He pointed to a scratch on the rear door.
“That mark is distinctive.”
For three years, Martin had claimed the scratch was dirt, a reflection, or something Joyce imagined.
Now it had become proof of ownership.
The officer removed the chocks.
Martin started the car, but the wedding convoy had already driven away. He followed the nearest vehicle wearing lavender ribbons.
Joyce asked whether the road signs pointed toward their hotel.
“The wedding party probably knows a shortcut.”
They followed the convoy for twelve miles and turned into a country house.
A photographer directed their car into a line beside the entrance.
Before Martin could reverse, a bridesmaid opened Joyce’s door and handed her a basket of confetti.
The bride’s father arrived.
“You again.”
Martin explained they had followed the wrong blue car.
The bride’s father laughed and invited them to stay for one drink because the ferry delay had made everyone late.
Joyce threw confetti. Martin ate two sandwiches. Their ferry magnet became an emergency wedding gift after Joyce wrote GOOD LUCK FINDING YOUR WAY TOGETHER on the packet.
At sunset, they finally reached their hotel.
The receptionist asked whether the journey had been easy.
“Perfectly straightforward,” Martin said.
Joyce placed the car key on the desk.
“He lost the car, joined a wedding, and used body damage as navigation.”
The next morning, Martin bought a bright orange ribbon and tied it to the aerial.
On the return ferry, they parked on green deck, row seven, beside a red van.
Martin photographed the wall, the row number, the car, the stairwell, and Joyce pointing at all four.
When they docked, the car was easy to find.
Unfortunately, Martin had left the key in their cabin.
Joyce waited beside the scratch.
It had finally become the most reliable part of the car.