CHILD’S PLAY WAS docked at the Locust Point Yacht Club in the Bronx. Why was it in the Bronx instead of Long Island? Well, a round-trip rental turned into a one way, and then the card used for billing turned out to be a card reported stolen, and things only got messier from there. William didn’t sound too pleased, but still he agreed to help Apollo. William thought they’d better travel under cover of night because their route might be too conspicuous to Coast Guard or NYPD boats during the day. William texted an address and meeting time and a smiley face emoji.
Apollo spent that whole day inside his place, and only a near-mythic level of self-restraint kept him from traveling out to Brooklyn to find Kim Valentine and burn her building to the ground. But if Kim could squirrel her sister away from the city just hours after Emma murdered her own child, then why wouldn’t she warn Emma now? Even if he showed up with a phalanx of FBI agents and police, what would stop Kim from sending one last message to her sister? RUN. Apollo had to weigh the short-term satisfaction of confronting his sister-in-law against the chance of finding Emma on that island. Really there was no contest. So he stayed away from Kim. The only revenge he took was to call his bank and cancel the check he’d written her. Small consolation.
He tried watching movies, but he couldn’t watch movies. He tried to eat but couldn’t taste a damn thing. He checked online to find the next Survivors meeting—it would be at the JCC of Staten Island. He marked that he’d be attending. He’d claim there’d been some mix-up if his PO asked, but at least he’d have shown the intent to go. But being online, and with hours to wait until he met William, only led Apollo back to the “Tribute to Baby Brian” page. As soon as he got there, he told himself to log off. As he scrolled through the comments, he told himself to log off. He did not log off.
Which is how he came across a comment, posted just the day before, by a prolific poster who used the name Kinder Garten. Another obviously fake account. Really only Kinder Garten and Green Hair Harry posted with any regularity anymore. Kinder Garten wrote terrible shit. Cruel. The newest post might’ve been the worst one yet:
“Dinner plans tonight. A meal inspired by Baby Brian. BOILED VEGETABLES!”
That was it. That was enough.
Apollo logged off.
—
Locust Point Yacht Club sounds pretty damn fancy, but its members were not what some might expect. Mechanics and truck drivers; building supers and nurse technicians. The club sat behind a tall, rusted gate. The words LOCUST POINT YACHT CLUB were painted in red letters on the side of a gray railing just inside the fence line. The clubhouse looked like a crab shack. Weeds grew up through a boat hull that had been abandoned in the dirt. A series of old fishing boats bobbed and bopped in the water. William Wheeler stood on the deck of the Child’s Play. He waved his cellphone, and in the dark the bright display glowed like a lantern. William helped Apollo onboard, and then he turned on the engines.
“There’s a life jacket on top of the livewell,” William said. When Apollo only watched him quietly, he pointed to the stern. “There at the back.”
Apollo grabbed his life jacket, and the boat’s engine guzzled and chugged. Apparently this was a good sound.
William returned to the console. “Now you’re going to cast off the bow and stern lines. There and there. Untie them from the dock. Current’s pushing us away from the dock, so that should be all we need to do.”
William said it and it was so. The boat drifted as the engine idled. Once the boat had floated an arm’s length from the dock, William shifted and slowly left the shoreline.
“You made that seem pretty easy,” Apollo said.
William looked back and laughed softly. “You remember how hard it is for me to lie? Come here.”
Apollo joined him at the console, an iPad perched beside the gauges. William let go of the throttle and tapped the screen. A video began. Silly synthesizer music played, then a woman in a striped black and white shirt appeared.
“Welcome and congratulations on joining the wonderful world of boating,” she said. “I’m going to take you through the steps of casting off from a dock. First be sure…”
William tapped the screen, and the woman stopped midsentence. “I’ve been here since about noon,” he said. “Teaching myself how to drive a boat.”
“Thank you,” Apollo said quietly. “Really. Thank you.”
William waved off the words, half sheepish and half proud. He guided the sloop into Hammond Creek. They’d have to ride out past SUNY Maritime College, on the tip of the Bronx, then come back around, under the Throgs Neck Bridge to enter the East River. The lights of the Bronx receded behind them, and in the far distance Long Island’s low-slung landmass appeared as a far shadow in the night. Apollo scanned that distance and thought he saw, for an instant, a green light, but he turned away from it, dismissing it as an illusion. He faced forward instead. The sound of their engine emptied into the dark, open sky.
“We could still turn back,” William said. He sounded as if he hoped Apollo would say yes.
Apollo didn’t speak to William. That’s all the answer he would get. As they chugged forward, Apollo raised his left hand. He wore the red string on his middle finger and his wedding ring on the next. He turned his wedding ring twice, and then, with a twist, he pulled it off. He casually tossed the ring into the river. The red string his only vow now.
THE THROGS NECK Bridge lit up like a constellation, it loomed like a god. Both Apollo and William held their breath as they approached it. William cut the motor low. Apollo felt, viscerally, why ancient people stood in awe before mountains and glaciers. To strain your neck, looking up that high, and realize you weren’t seeing all of it, couldn’t see all of it. The instinct to worship overcame him, and he lowered his head until they’d passed under the bridge. Once they did, William kicked the motor higher, and they continued.
“Let me ask you something,” William said. Wind made his hair fly back from his face, so Apollo could see his bright eyes. “Did you tell anyone we were coming here?”
“I told Patrice you were getting us a boat,” Apollo admitted.
“You need to see something then,” he said.
Still holding the steering wheel with one hand, William tapped at the iPad again. The server loaded slowly. Understandable since there wasn’t much coverage on the East River. Eventually the Facebook app opened, right to the Baby Brian page.
So William did know about it. When had he found out?
William scrolled down. “There,” he said, pointing to a new post.
Stay safe on them open waters! Our wish is that you come home safe.
The post had been left by Green Hair Harry.
“Patrice?” Apollo whispered.
“And then there’s this,” William said.