I’m drifting, same as the dead leaves on the river passin’ along the white hull of the New Ila. The leaves turn in the foam of her stern wheel, trapped before they’re spit out to drift down the river, not knowing where they’re headed. My dreams churn as well. I see Ma and ...
There was a sense of anticipation. It floated on the air, a dust suspended. I breathed it in, exhaled, felt it swirl around my skin. The ladder had been waiting on the porch when I’d gotten home from Hatteras Village. Paul had dropped it off earlier than I’d expected, but it was only a six-foot s...