An F150 towing an old pontoon boat came to a stop on a rundown gravel slipway. There wasn’t anyone around for miles since it was dark and cold. Lizzie backed up until her dad, Victor, called out for her to stop. Victor has days where he’s not his old self but the boat and the water seem to bring him back. He moved to unhitch the boat from the trailer but after grunting at the ties for a few minutes, Lizzie hopped out and waded into the water to pull them for him. Lizzie left her daughter with her boyfriend when the call came in—another drug-drop on the river. They’d been coming in so often that he’d started keeping a place made up for the child to sleep.
Victor pulled out onto the water while Lizzie drove downriver a few miles to park under cover of some trees and wade out to meet him. As he slowed down to approach the shore he reached under the dash to fiddle with a secret compartment. He felt the reassuring curve of a gun and his purple notebook, Everything in place, like always just in case.
The pickup goes smooth and unnoticed. The Mississippi is wide and experience helps them know where to be and who might come by. At this hour, the majority of traffic on the river is commercial. Barges heading upriver move slow against the current so they wait until the one with the right lights goes by. As it does, Victor fumbles his flashlight and drops it to roll away on the deck, so Lizzie lifts hers, ready to cover for him. Despite knowing the sequence of flashes, Victor repeats them to her as she signals the tug in the back of the barge group. After twenty minutes and no sign of interest, Victor guns the motor.
The boat jerks out from the shadows along the bank and into the moonlight to search for the float left behind. There are several bags attached, but as Lizzie begins to haul them in, Victor relapses and starts pulling away. “Dad! What the hell?” He looks back at her. In the stark glare of her flashlight she can see he’s puzzled, but he cuts the motor. “Did you forget I was still here?” His face changes to recognition and then anger and says back, “You should have been done with that already.” For Lizzie it’s just more bullshit. They always check the bags before going—it was his way and he knows that too. After a moment he comes astern, looking ashamed and offers to help.
Eventually they get everything counted, stowed and then underway. But soon, Lizzie realizes they’ve drifted much further south than usual—patrols get thicker near St. Louis. She calls out, but Victor doesn’t seem to hear. Suddenly the boat splutters and the engines die. “Dad.” Despite the new quiet, he still doesn’t acknowledge her. “You were supposed to fix that shit,” but after casting around for the toolbox, she realizes that he must have taken it off the boat and then forgot to do anything with it. Without a way to fix the problem and the shore still a long way off, there was only one choice, to drift.
And so they did. Lizzie sat, thinking about her daughter, and getting caught with a boat full of drugs—and gave into being overwhelmed. Victor watched as the bright lights of the city grew thick around them. He could have been reliving any version of himself, over a whole lifetime working the waters. “We’re going to see the Arch at night” he called back. Lizzie just ignored him.
Eventually they did see the Arch gleaming over the bridges and buildings they hadn’t passed yet. Then they saw the patrol approaching from the docks. Victor shook himself and looked at his daughter with clear eyes and urgency. “They’re going to see us.” Lizzie just looked over and snorted—and then he lunged at her. She dodged, but without much space to move in, they collided. Despite the age difference, he was still strong and he managed to push her overboard.
After the shock of cold and still spluttering, she caught glimpses of him lunging along the boat, being deranged. He started throwing things off board and Lizzie realized it was time to choose between him and her daughter. She found something that floated and used it to start swimming away, heading for shore. Waves of relief and sorrow came with tears, but she kept moving until she heard him yell out. Looking back she saw him waving his arms but couldn’t understand when a fierce spotlight lit up the boat.
After Lizzie started away from the boat, Victor waited until the patrol was almost on him. He was holding back a wave in his head that had been trying to claim him all night but there was one more thing to do before giving in. He reached into his compartment and drew out the flare gun. Lizzie sprang back into his mind so he turned toward her and the shore and yelled, “For your baby!” As the spotlight lit up behind him, he opened the fuel door, pointed and pulled the trigger.
The explosion outshined the city for a moment before settling down into a dull blaze on the water. By the time Lizzie got to shore it was lost among circling boats that had come to see. She glanced at her float—a seat cushion, with a ziplock bag taped to it and a purple notebook inside.
Another Day on the Mississippi River
