American Styx
I was only eight years old when I rode the riverboat Twilight. That day Dad picked me up early from school. It was right before show-and-tell. I had been ready to show off two pennies that I had pressed flat on the South Side tracks when the school’s secretary, Ms. Richardson, poked her head into the classroom.
“Lillian, honey? Your daddy’s here.”
I whined in frustration but shoved the pennies into my pocket and said goodbye to my best friend, Rebecca Moyer. We made plans to meet up later to work on our clubhouse, then I followed Ms. Richardson out the front doors of the school.
Dad was waiting in front of his car, smiling. I was relieved. That morning at breakfast he hadn’t been smiling. He’d been shouting and making a scary face.