William sipped his beer and smiled. “I’m going to just admit something to you because I’m not any good at keeping secrets.”
“You stole this boat?” Patrice said. He’d already finished one beer, downing the whole thing in two gulps, and was on to the next. Two six-packs sat on the table. The bottles sweated their chill.
William barked out laughter. “I didn’t steal it! But it’s not mine.”
Here he leaned back as best he could in the tight squeeze of the seating and slipped out his phone. He set it on the table. Patrice leaned forward to gaze at the screen. The boat rose and fell faintly. An icon of a small dinghy in splashing waters glowed on the phone.
“This is called Afloat. It’s like Airbnb, but for boats.” He tapped the app, and it bloomed like a flower. A picture of Child’s Play appeared on the screen and, beneath that, a timer. “I rented the boat for two hours.”
Why bother with all this? Apollo wondered. Making them take the train out here. Driving them out to a boat. The theatrics played against William’s low-key suburban dad style, but maybe some people just liked putting on a show.
“You planning to take us somewhere?” Apollo asked. “Because I have to be back in Flushing by five.”
William picked up his phone and put it back into his pocket. “I don’t even know how to drive a boat,” he said.
“So why rent it at all?” Patrice asked, on to his third beer. Maybe guilt was making him throw them down.
“It’s my app,” William said. “I wrote it. If I don’t use it, who will? Besides, I don’t get much company these days.”
“How many boats do you have signed up?” Apollo asked.
William patted the table. “One,” he said. “So far.”
“You’re a coder,” Patrice said. Then he reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He opened to a photo and held it toward William. “Check out this rig.”
William cooed. “You built it yourself, didn’t you?”
“If I’d bought it, they’d charge me eight times the price!”
“I built my older daughter’s first laptop,” William said.
“You have pictures?” Patrice asked, warming to William for the first time.
Apollo couldn’t guess if Patrice wanted to see photos of the child or the laptop. William scrolled through his phone, then held the screen toward Patrice.
“Beautiful,” Patrice said.
“Put a Core i5 processor in her,” William cooed.
Apollo warmed to both these tech geeks but knew he’d better change the subject quickly or they’d spend the next two hours exactly like this. Apollo pulled the book out of its bag. That worked. William looked away from Patrice.
“You wrapped it? That’s nice. It was meant to be a gift anyway.” William picked it up after drying his hands on his pants. He brought the wrapped book so close to his face, Apollo thought the guy would sniff it.
“I guess I hoped to see it before I bought it,” William said. He looked from Apollo to Patrice. “But that’s okay. I feel like I can trust you guys.”
“Give that to me,” Apollo said. He took the book and laid it flat.
“No, no,” William said. “It’s okay.”
Patrice finished his beer and reached for his fourth but stopped himself. No matter how guilty he might feel, he was not going to risk having an open beer near a book meant to sell for so much money. A few droplets along the page edge, and William could cut the offering price by ten thousand dollars.
“You are about to pay us seventy thousand dollars for this thing,” Apollo said. “I want you to be able to say you saw it first.” He set the book down and worked the tape up with the tip of his mailbox key.
“You said it was a gift,” Patrice slurred.
“It’s for my wife,” William said. He watched Apollo work.
“It’s her birthday or something?” Patrice asked. He held on to that fourth beer, squeezed it tight.
William dropped his head. “We’re estranged.” He stopped and sighed. “My wife moved back to her parents in Bay Shore. I’ve been on my own for eleven months.”
Apollo lifted the book. “Here it is.”
William took the book and held it close to his face. He opened the covers. He read the inscription on the first page.
“This is perfect,” he whispered.
A look of relief passed across William’s ruddy face. A few tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. From just the littlest bit of information—an estranged wife, the family moved out—Apollo saw the outlines of a moving story forming.
“Gretta’s father used to read this book with her when she was little,” William said. “That’s my wife. Gretta Strickland. Her father was Forrest Strickland. They were from Alabama, just like in the book. A city called Opelika.” He spoke so softly that the waters slapping against the hull nearly drowned him out. Apollo had to lean closer so he could hear.
William closed the book and looked at the cover. “It’s just a story about a good father, right?” he continued. “Nobody could live up to it, not in real life, but I think her dad used to read it to her just to give her a model, something to strive for, you know? She never forgot it. And then she married me, but I wasn’t Atticus Finch.”
“Neither was he!” Patrice said, much too loudly. William looked to him quickly, but then back to Apollo. “You know,” Patrice muttered. “Because of the other book.”
William spoke to Apollo directly. “I’m about ten years older than you, I think. I was one of the last waves of men who thought all you had to do was work, work, work and that made you a great dad. Provide. Provide. Provide.
“But you know what happens when you do it like that? You look up after twenty or twenty-five years, and your wife doesn’t know you. Your kids might respect you—might—but that other thing, the happiness, you aren’t close enough with them to share it. You understand? Your wife doesn’t know you, and neither do your kids.
“Then guys your age get a whole new data set. It’s not enough to make the money, and besides you can’t make enough to cover everything, not on your own. Your wife might want to work or she might not, but it doesn’t matter—she has to work. When I was starting out, you got by on one income, and that was enough, but these days you’ve got to be poor or rich to survive on one income. You want to stay afloat in the middle, and you both are hitting that nine to five.”
William returned the book to Apollo, who rewrapped it with a new reverence. It was not simply an expensive sale anymore—it was soon to play a part in one family’s history.