18
As soon as I was onboard, Devon followed, and then Elizabeth. She didn’t take her eyes off Eric as she walked onto the boat. It was like she was daring him to drop her into the water.
I helped Devon lay my mom down on the deck, moving rocks and garbage out of the way.
“Typical New Yorkers,” Eric said, punting the beer cans and burger wrappers overboard, “tossing things into the river and not worrying about what the river will do to them in return.” He grabbed a rope I hadn’t noticed before, leading from the bow to the shore before disappearing into nothingness.
“But didn’t you just kick garbage into the river?” Elizabeth took off her bag and knelt, wedging it under Mom’s head as a pillow.
Tears burned in the corners of my eyes.
“Occasionally, when one is fleeing for one’s life”―Er
