In those days, our daughter would bang her head on the floor. She would bite us, hold her breath until her face purpled like a blood blister. Her shrieks would pierce the neighborhood, carry outward into other neighborhoods, into downtown Spokane and over to Idaho and Montana, Seattle and Canada, up and out of the atmosphere, all the way to the former planet of Pluto. Everyone told us the fits wouldn’t last forever, but I became certain these people were lying. That they were in on it with her. After all, how could she take us hostage, without accomplices? She was only 3. I would flee the house and eat cheeseburgers. Make up any excuse. Read the Mini-Nickel with a Big Papa burger and a tub of tots and eat until it hurt, and that was how I first saw the 2013 Crestliner Kodiak, a deep-V 16-footer with a live well and outdoor carpet. It looked nicer than our house. I took an afternoon off work — “sick” — and drove to Republic. The moment I saw it on the trailer beside the garage, dimly silver and scythe-like, I began plotting its purchase. I could hear my grandmother’s voice in my head, hear her as she sat in the car at the public beach, window cracked and smoking, talking bitterly about the people with their boats, just another way she had of seeing the world as against her. “Must be nice,” she would say, in her most hateful voice.