what kind of a life?
what kind of mother?
hey, I think it’s her birthday
the same week . . .
let’s do it up right . . .
The small animal
inside me
I didn’t know
was there,
is there.
Wanting
Wanting
Wanting
I stop myself
from calling out—
Hey guys,
just because I wear
Hello Kitty pajamas
doesn’t mean
I want a Hello Kitty–
themed birthday.
Ditto for
unicorns.
I like cake
but honestly,
I’d rather
cupcakes.
Some people think
trick candles
are fun—
but not me.
I think now I understand
how Rainie feels
when she wants
something.
Vivian leaves
and the house
is quiet,
except for Jonah’s
machines.
I know
it’s just a birthday
and I’m not a kid
anymore.
But I’m glad
I heard them,
so I can practice
my surprised face
for Jonah’s party.
Crossing the Line
A deal is a deal
and I made a promise
to Gwen.
And she made a promise
to me.
I wait on the line
for her.
Good thing it’s a
DEAD END,
or I’d be
run over
by now.
Gwen limps to the line
on crutches.
There is an Ace bandage
around one foot.
Sorry,
I tripped on the stairs
and turned my ankle.
I don’t know
what she’s sorry for—
for being late to the line
for tripping
for hurting her ankle.
But I do like hearing the word
Sorry
come out of her mouth.
Your gun is in
the gun safe.
Your husband
is keeping it
safe.
Because of the sleeping pills
you take.
Clay told you that?
Gwen takes a step forward—
forgetting the line
forgetting the crutches
forgetting her hurt ankle.
She sways,
like she is about to topple,
and I grab her
in my arms.
Even though she is shorter
than me,
she is heavier than she looks.
Her face is on my shoulder,
her arms are around me,
her voice is in my ear.
Clay doesn’t have it.
He doesn’t have it.
He doesn’t have it.
This feels like a
hug.
Mom is not a
hugger,
and Jonah can’t
hug back.
Gwen steadies herself.
I hand her the crutches
that fell.
You wanted to know
where the gun was.
Now you know.
And don’t forget
our deal.
I look down at the road.
I realize this time
we both crossed the line.
Fudge
I wait
for the
FOR SALE
sign
on Clay’s lawn.
No sign
appears.
No moving van
comes and
loads the
Halloween decorations
from the attic,
the Bugz Away
jackets,
the GUN SAFE
and drives off
DEAD END.
I would miss Clay,
but we’d always have
the river.
Then I see Gwen
on the line.
Only one crutch
this time,
something shiny
in her other hand.
When I get closer,
I see that the shine
is made of
aluminum foil.
The thing that’s
the strangest—
Gwen is smiling.
A real smile.
An almost hopeful smile.
Clay has the same space
between his top front teeth.
I didn’t forget the deal,
Gwen whispers
into the air
between us.
I tried,
I really did,
Clay even took my side,
but my husband won’t do it.
I want to say
that the deal was
LEAVING,
not
TRYING TO LEAVE.
Gwen’s eyes
are wet now.
Clay talked to me.
He said he was
proud of me.
I made you this.
Gwen holds out
the shiny aluminum package.
It’s a perfect square.
In geometry
that means all sides
are equal.
Definitely not true.
Another thing they
don’t teach
in geometry—
Even when you can’t see
any sides,
there are sides.
I take the square package
from her.
Fudge,
Gwen says.
Fudge?
I ask.
Yes, chocolate marshmallow fudge.
I made it.
For you.
You made it.
Thank you,
I say.
You’re welcome.
Let me know how you like it.
I don’t know why
we are repeating
everything we say
to each other.
It seems like
we both need to be
very clear
about what is happening.
Gwen made fudge.
She made it for me.
She gave it to me.
I took it.
We both know
FUDGE is not
moving away.
But it’s the best
Gwen can do.
Beavers
If I could be one animal,
it would be a
beaver.
I’ve seen them
on the river.
I’ve seen the lodges
they make,
that look like
big upside-down nests
made of branches.
I like the way
they use their
teeth and paws—
to chew things down
in one place,
and build them up
in another.
I decide they
can be part of my
independent project.
The next time
we are at the river,
I speak before Clay
has a chance.
Ask me to tell you
three things about beavers.
Tell me
three things about beavers,
Clay says.
I hold up First Finger.
They can close their nose and ears,
and draw a special clear membrane
over their eyes,
when they are underwater.
Second Finger.
Beavers can create their
own wetland habitats.
Third Finger.
I think their lodges
look like big upside-down
bird’s nests.
Third Finger
is more a feeling
than a fact,
but I think Clay would agree
that feelings
can be facts, too.
I was going to say,
for Third Finger—
A beaver takes only one mate,
which it keeps for life,
but I changed my mind.
I didn’t know
you knew so much
about beavers,
Clay says.
You’re not the only one
with facts,
I tell him,
I’m doing an
independent project.
On beavers?
No, on the whole river.