{This is chapter 14 of my serialized, illustrated novel. You can read previous chapters here. For the curious, here is a synopsis of chapters 1-11: Sarah, 16, lives in Manhattan decades after an event that depopulated the city. Two other young people, Joe and Carmen, arrive from up the Hudson. Together, the three explore the city, hunting ducks and turtles in Central Park, wondering about the spiritualists in Radio City Music Hall, and becoming quick friends. They spend an evening with Terence, an illiterate librarian, who fills them in on all that has happened, and where they might want to go in search of Sarah’s parents, who have disappeared.}
Joe and Carmen sat together in the bow of the boat, talking about traveling as their ducks roasted on the wood fire.
“I'm not even sure I want to go with Sarah after all,” said Carmen.
“What?”
“I'm not sure it’s the right thing for her. It’s dangerous and there’s no promise she’ll find her parents.”
“But you said that’s what we’re for – to help and protect her.”
I know, I know, Carmen thought. That’s what the spiritists told me. She hadn’t wanted to tell Joe about that, cause then she’d have to tell him they’d told her she might lose him. She thought about the evening. They’d also talked about a cat -- they said not to be surprised by a very large cat. But she didn’t even like cats. Weird. She didn’t tell Joe the rest.
Vapor rose off the river in the cooler evening air. A fish jumped clear out of the water to do a little flip, as if in appreciation for the day that was ending. The flow here was a thick mix of salt water from the harbor tide and the fresh water from upstream, like primal liquid.
“I love it here,” she said. “I love being away from home. I’d like to travel forever.”
As they talked, Joe coiled lines, out of habit and perhaps a little residual fear – their father had beaten it into them that shipshape meant ship safe.
“Yup,” he said.
In moods like this, thinking of his father, he feared sadness. He feared that more than anything, because when their father was sad he and Carmen could see his fragility, his humanness, they could see the fact that someday their father would die. And then he did. He really was dead. More than anything, that was the reason that whenever someone asked how they were doing they said, “All good.”
Joe stood up and walked over to the galley entrance, stepped down, and got the rest of dinner going, some buckwheat and greens they’d picked along the shore.
“Hey dad,” he said to himself, and to the ghost of his father he imagined was listening. “You ready to eat?”
He still talked to him, often, the old bastard.
“Just take Sarah up the Hudson and drop her off,” his dad’s voice said. “That’ll get her a head start and then you go on your way.”
Joe came up top with the buckwheat and greens, and Carmen shredded duck and onion and asparagus to put on top. They melted duck fat in a pot and heated it up.
“Beautiful,” he said, looking at the glowing charcoal. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Joe glanced quickly at Carmen, who averted her eyes.
“Is this our last supper in the big city?”
“For a while,” Joe said.
“For a while,” Carmen said. “So let’s enjoy it.”
Joe put the buckwheat, duck and greens into the hot oil and stirred it quickly -- a rich, fatty smell filled their noses.
“I think we just take Sarah upstate and drop her off,” Joe said. “ We shouldn’t go near the wall -- it’s just not safe .”
They sat on the deck and spooned the duck over the fried grain, with a sauce made of hot peppers pickled in vinegar, and relaxed with the rocking of the water.