What about the walls of Yankee Stadium? The raspberries crushed in my palm were so alive, so fresh. Bright as new blood. “Things are that bad on the Mainland?”

“Have been for a while now.”

“Worse than here?”

“No one wants what I have here . . . at least not until recently. There’s four or five families squatting in that house, my sister tells me. She gets around more than I do. Says they’re cutting down all the trees again, to build shacks and palisades.”

Wanted to ask about the unnamed sister, how she ‘got around.’ Another hint at his uptown roots. But . . . not the time for it now. “Then why are we all still hoping to go there?”

He relaxed into a slouch. “Everyone needs a dream. Easier to believe the beautiful lie than face the darker truth. But nowhere’s going to be good or safe for a long, long while.” He set another full box of berries on the tray and wiped juice-stained palms on his pants, dark, close-fitting, and full of pockets. “It’s going to be fortress mentality from here on, unless by some miracle, they figure out a climate fix, that is, if anyone’s still looking. And even miracles rarely arrive in time.”

“You’re just full of good news today.” I’d reached overload with darkness. “That why you’re all in black? You look so . . . serious.”

“I’m a serious guy.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He grinned, then glanced at the sky, the gathering clouds, the sun sinking behind the taller buildings across the Avenue. “Listen, I didn’t come to drop doom and gloom all over you. I need to ask a favor.”

“Okay . . .”

“I’m heading out for a few days, me and Julian. Figure if I tell you ahead of time, you won’t come chasing after me.”

He laughed. I didn’t.

“In fact, best not to even notice I’m gone. Except I need you to watch my boat.” He fished an old metal key ring from a pocket and dangled it in front of me. “You could even open up for sales, if you don’t take too big a cut.”

His making light suggested this trip would be just the opposite. “More family business?”

“You could call it that.”

“When will you be back?”

“When I’m done.”

“What if people ask about you?”

“Off on an errand. Book prospecting.”

I looked away. “Everyone’s leaving but me.”

“It’s called holding the fort. Just as important.” He shook the ring so its two keys swayed and jingled. “Do we have a deal?”

Resigned, I reached for the keys.

He drew them back a little. “You never asked her name.”

“Who?”

“My boat.”

“Not the Book Boat?”

“That’s just for fun. She’s the Melville.” He wrapped his hands around mine, flattening the metal against my palm. “Glim . . . Lizzy. Promise me you’ll stay put this time?”