Beneath the enclosed canopy of the Lady D, concerned passengers fall silent as they face each other from two benches running the length of the vessel. One strong gust lifts the port pontoon right out of the water, tilting the vessel alarmingly, Andrew's father, Edward Roccella, recalls later. Someone screams as passengers from the starboard bench rush to throw their weight portside to help right the boat.
The sudden squall is too much for the small boat. The water taxi is more than 100 yards from shore when the captain veers to try to return to land. As the vessel comes round, a powerful gust catches it broadside, flipping the two-ton craft upside down as if it were a paper boat. Corinne and Andrew, sitting on the starboard bench next to a small boy, flip over backward into the water. The cabin, suddenly submerged, fills with icy water. Passengers and crew tumble helplessly like laundry in a washing machine.
Our Father, who art in Heaven . . . Karen finds herself silently praying as the cold, black water engulfs her. After 55 years of weekly Mass, the familiar prayer comes unbidden.
She wills herself not to take another breath. If she breathes, she tells herself, she dies.
Years of scouting, water safety talks and contingency planning come back to her now as a single thought: air pocket. Karen struggles upward in search of a pocket of trapped air where she can safely draw breath. She feels the top of her head hit what had been the cabin floor. There is no air, only dark water surrounding her face.
She knows she has to go down and find a window to get out. Adrenaline is surging through her body, making her heart beat faster, pumping more blood to energize all her muscles.
"Don't breathe," she orders herself. "If I pass out, I pass out. I'll go that way," she thinks. "But I am not going to breathe."
All around her, passengers trapped in the submerged cabin struggle to find their own way out. Karen can't see them. She can't see anything in the black water.
She feels her way along one wall until her fingers find a window. It is closed. She tries opening it, but it doesn't budge.
Struggling not to submit to panic and the urgency of her lungs, Karen bangs on the window. At 5-foot-1, Karen isn't physically strong, but she is determined. She alternately shoves at the window and kicks as she prays.
"I remember telling myself and God, 'This isn't the way I want to go. I have too many things in my life I have to do yet. So help me get through this.'" Karen's daughters are grown now, but they still need Mom. Karen shoves at the window with all her might.
She has a husband who loves her and has kept her safe through 33 years of marriage. She gives the window another shove.
