Page 7 of The Rivers Edge

Would have. Also past tense.

I didn’t ask. Whatever’d become of his sister was none of my business. Besides, the moment was past, and now he was frowning at the slip of paper as he scanned it.

He swallowed hard, met my eyes, and said, “It sounds just like her.”

“Your sister?”

“No…my mom.”

4

The slip of paper trembled in Shane’s hand. He cleared his throat, cleared it again…and read.

“Make peace with it. That’s what everyone says when they show up with their casseroles and their empty platitudes, only to wait five minutes, then take off back to their happy little families until the dust settles and they can pretend nothing ever happened. Your father’s working late again, and here I am in this empty house, all alone. Wondering…what have I ever done to deserve this?”

“It’s not from your mother,” I said.

Shane blinked. “What?”

“It can’t be. You said yourself, she threw out the other bottle. When you werea kid.So why would it wash up on this riverbank with a message from her, way out here in…wherever we are. That don’t make a damn bit of sense.”

Shane turned the dirt-crusted bottle around in his hands. “Maybe not. But, Gino…it really does sound like her. It’s exactly the sort of thing she said when Heather—” He choked back a sob before the worddiedcould get out, but I heard the shadow of it anyhow.

But he’d also said my name. And I felt shitty for liking the way it sounded coming from his mouth.

And then he said it again—but this time, with a lot more confusion. “Gino….” Shane held up the paper. “It’s blank.”

He handed it to me. Our fingers brushed. And the second the paper was in my grasp, it fucking disintegrated. Not to ash—to nothing.

“Goddamnit!” Shane hurled the salad bottle toward the river. It hit the water with a dull splash. The water wobbled. And then, like the paper, the bottle was gone. No ripples, no rings, no nothing. As if it had never been there at all.

“Listen,” I said, “take it easy.” I grabbed him by the shoulders—he let me—and I gave his upper arms a squeeze. Through the structure of his suit coat, he felt wiry and slim. “There was no message. Just something messing with your head.”

“Oh, and now I’m delusional? Or gullible? Or—?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“No one believes me. No oneeverbelieves me.”

“That’s not the point—something ain’t right here and we both know it.”

“I know what I saw.” Shane pulled out of my grasp. “But I can’t imagine why I thought you’d give me the benefit of the doubt. So we just watched a big group of people climb into a boat that should only be able to seat six, tops. So what? Surely I’m incapable of recognizing a letter from my own mother—”

I’d never had much of a temper. Couldn’t afford to. Going off half-cocked because you took offense was a sure way to get yourself in hot water. There’s enough ways to get in trouble without inviting more by being pissy. But Shane was young for his age—almost thirty—and calling him a liar really set him off. Whether that was what I’d actually said or not. “Look, kid, if you just cool down a sec—“

I reached for his arm and he jerked away. “Stop patronizing me—I’m not a kid. You don’t believe me? Fine. I was getting sick of you slowing me down, anyhow.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode off down the riverbank.

You can’t force someone to use their common sense, and so I let him walk. Gravel crunched underfoot for the span of a dozen or so steps, then the footsteps died away. Because he’d stopped? Or because the hazy river swallowed the sound, just like it had the bottle?

I wanted to go after him so bad it felt like a fist had closed around my heart and given it a sickening squeeze. But running after him would only make it worse. His mind was made up. Once he cooled off, if he wanted to turn around and come back, he would. If not, no amount of I’m-sorrys would change his mind.

In other words, people do what they’re gonna do. Expecting anything different would only leave you disappointed.

Take my ma, for example.

Somehow managed to “fall down the stairs” every time the old man knocked her up. But once, it didn’t take. And along came me.

Things settled down after that. Probably because she’d bought herself some time by having a son. But before long, he went back to his old ways. Ma tried to make a game out of living with him—let’s see how quiet we can be—as we crept around the apartment while he brooded in front of the TV with his Schlitz. But now the old man had two easy targets to smack around.

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