Julian shot me a sideways glance. A hint of a smile? In the darkness, hard to tell. But I sensed a faint easing of our mutual animosity. I settled back in my seat and retreated into my memory scan: what about my father? Where was he? Right away, like it had been lurking close to the surface, I found the day he lost a final argument about it being our last chance to evacuate, how there was no future along the coasts. My mother saw no future elsewhere. We had to stick it out till things got back to normal. Normal! My dad’s fists knotted in rage and frustration as he was reduced to incoherence, but he was not a violent man. Soon after, he took the motor launch out for a supply run and never came back. The memory didn’t totally kick me in the stomach, so I must’ve had time to get used to his desertion before Abel rolled in. But when I tried to picture his face close up, he’d be in silhouette, or there’d be a flash of sun off the water, and his features would be lost in a burst of light.

Daniel nudged me out of my reverie, pointing ahead. “Is it always that bright?”

A flickering glow heated the low clouds south of the Stuy Square Marina to a warm gold. “Oh, no! That’s Unca Joe!”

Julian eased the stick forward.

“Don’t go straight in,” Daniel said. “Go to 6th and cross. Around the back.”

“That’ll take forever!” I was sure we’d find Unca Joe up in flames, the boats burning, denfolk leaping into the water, but passing 7th, we could see west to the sprinkle of bow lanterns on a crowd of watercraft clustered across the Lagoon, and the many torches flaring along the walkway.

Giddy with relief, I stood up in my seat to peer ahead, like all my confusion and upset could be sorted out if I could just get home. “Must be the meeting’s still on.”

“Down, before you fall in!” Daniel grabbed at my shirt. I sat.

Sentries hailed us on the corner of 6th and Third, passing us on to a checkpoint, two war canoes stretched across the downtown end of the Lagoon, a well-armed Smith in each bow.

“Be good, Jules,” warned Daniel.

Julian sighed, dropped to idle, and let us drift. I knew one of the crew vaguely and another recognized Daniel from his visit to the Mess. They waved us on. Julian threaded Sea Sprite through the crush of boats to pull up neatly alongside the book barge at the Lagoon’s western edge. I was into the stern pit with the bow rope before Daniel could untangle himself from Sprite’s rear seat.

“Don’t tie up,” Julian told me. “I’m gone soon as you get that peapod off my deck.”