so many houses standing
empty.
Do I look like a ghost?
he said.
But the way he acted
going from room to room
to room,
staring out the windows—
was a little
ghostlike.
The first week he was laid off,
Dad tightened the loose doorknobs
in the house,
replaced the noisy fan
in the fridge,
and rebuilt
the snowblower motor.
He didn’t talk about the machines
he’d worked on
in the shut-down mill anymore.
Except once,
when he found out
they’d be auctioned off.
I have no idea who’ll buy them,
where they’ll end up,
he said,
it could be anywhere
in the world.
Three Things about Hunter
I met a guy
at the soup kitchen,
I tell Clay
at the river.
It’s warm enough that
I don’t need my winter coat.
I’m wearing black leggings
and one of Dad’s old work jackets
with the paper mill logo
on the front.
You might know him.
Hunter.
He’s a sophomore, too.
He’s homeschooled,
but he also goes to school.
Hunter?
That’s his name?
Just ’cause his parents
named him
Hunter
doesn’t mean he
hunts.
You were at the
soup kitchen?
For a punishment.
It’s a long story.
I do know Hunter.
He’s okay.
His mom predicted the last time
the river flooded the banks.
It probably saved some people’s lives.
I didn’t know that,
but he’s got five
brothers and sisters.
I don’t know how many
of each
or their names.
And his parents
are hippies.
Hmm, Clay says,
I wonder if some people
are like animals
and can tell when the weather
is changing—
if they can feel the
barometric pressures.
Hunter can also
play the fiddle,
I add.
Sounds like
we’re playing
Three Things about Hunter,
Clay says.
Hunter,
I say his name again
just to show Clay
I don’t care
what he’s called,
can play the fiddle,
so I invited him to play at
Jonah’s birthday party.
This is the first time
I’ve said the word
Jonah
to Clay
since the accident.
This time,
it’s Clay
who takes off
and leaves me
alone at the river.
I’m not sure if it’s because of
Hunter
or birthday party
or Jonah.
Mom
When I see
Number 24
from Mom and Dad’s
big upstairs room,
it looks like
just a house.
One of many
on DEAD END,
not there to
remind us
of what happened.
Just a roof,
walls,
windows,
a door,
a pear tree
on the front lawn.
I wish Mom’s view
of 24
could be
like the hawks’
that fly high
over the river.
It feels like
the higher up
you go,
the less everything
matters.
Schedule
My schedule
is the same
every day.
World history
English
Chemistry
Lunch
Geometry
Spanish
Spanish
is my favorite,
because half the class
doesn’t know
what the teacher
is saying, either.
So I fit right in.
Jonah’s schedule
is mostly the same
every day, too,
but sometimes the nurses
and I
switch it up,
and we don’t tell Mom.
Mom acts like the
schedule police.
Mom believes
in the schedule.
It’s posted on the
refrigerator.
It’s her new religion.
It’s the one thing
she can control.
It’s not like Jonah
is a machine.
He’s not going to
run out of gas
and be stranded
on the highway
if Food Truck is late.
If he’s sleeping,
why wake him up
to do a “treatment.”
We like to let Jonah
sleep in,
take a break,
do something new,
change it up.
After all,
Jonah has to eat the same food
every day, and
doesn’t get a say
in what happens
to him,
unless we help him
have his say.
Jonah has faces
and sounds
that mean different things.
If you’re watching
and listening,
he will tell you
what he wants,
what he doesn’t want.
I think
the Schedule
is Mom’s way
of caring for Jonah
without watching
or listening.
What We Have to Say
Mom’s lawyer wants Jonah
to appear
at the trial,
so the judge or the jury
can see his condition.
Clay will have to
tell
what happened
in the attic.
Clay’s father
will answer questions
about his firearm.
Dr. Kate will speak
about Jonah’s
needs and care.
I have to be there, too
but I don’t know
why.
I worry what my hands
might do
in the big Headwater Courthouse,
or if I’m asked a question,
whether I will be able
to hear what is said.
I suppose Gwen
will be there, too.
Mom’s lawyer
wants a judge,
and not a jury,
to decide who’s
at fault.
He said that’s because
it could be hard
to find jurors
here in Headwater County
who believe that there
should be any rules at all
about what they can do
what they can’t do
with their firearms.
Clay’s father’s lawyer
could ask for a jury trial, himself—
but he won’t,
Mom’s lawyer said—
because he’s afraid
of what a jury might decide
if they see Jonah.
Three Things about the Kennebec
Clay must know
about the trial, too.
His father’s lawyer
might have told him
what to wear,
like our lawyer
told Mom.
What does he mean by
“conservative dress”?
Mom said.
Maybe I can find a
nice skirt and shirt.
Did his father’s lawyer
tell Clay to wear a suit
and cut his hair?
I don’t ask.