and cloth for coats.
Some people want to turn the empty building
into luxury apartments,
because of the river view,
but the soil
and the water
are contaminated
from the chemicals and dyes.
Clay could probably name
the chemicals
if I asked.
In the spring they open the
giant floodgates of the cement dam
to let out
the spring rain
and ice melt
that fills the river.
And the rush of water
is so loud,
no matter what you say
or how loud you shout
your words are swallowed up
into the air.
I’m sorry the spring rush
is over,
because there’s no chance,
if the Headwater courtroom windows are open,
that the words spoken there
will disappear.
Even if they did,
Mom’s lawyer says there will be
a court reporter
taking down every single word
before it has a chance to
escape.
He doesn’t think
I will be called to testify.
But if I do,
it will all be on the record,
he says.
I’m guessing Clay’s father’s lawyer
told Clay the same thing.
I’ve always known Clay
to tell the truth,
whether he was
“on the record”
or not.
The Night Before
The phone has been ringing all week
since the trial date was announced
in the paper.
Mom’s lawyer says that
if we answer the phone
and we’re asked a question
about Jonah or Clay’s father
or guns,
we need to say
“No comment.”
Mom is afraid she won’t sleep
during the trial,
so Dr. Kate gives her a prescription
for a few little pills.
When it gets dark,
Mom takes half a pill.
She offers me the other half.
I say No thank you.
I don’t care if I can’t sleep tonight.
Since Jonah came home
from the hospital,
I’ve found that, in fact,
not-sleeping
makes me more awake.
Maybe that’s my new special animal
talent,
like Hunter’s mom being able to
predict storms and floods.
There’s a knock at the door
and Johnny lets Rainie in.
She stands there rubbing her amber
“stone of courage”
between her fingers.
My father dropped me off.
He won’t let me miss school
to go to the trial,
but I can stay over with you tonight.
Where’s your mom?
Asleep.
How’s Jonah?
He’s asleep too. But he’s good.
It surprises me
how true the words feel.
Rainie walks farther into the house
than since before the accident.
She drops her backpack
on the floor,
and peeks under the aluminum foil
of the dish on the counter.
Help yourself to some casserole.
There’s also fudge in the fridge.
In her usual Rainie way
that’s so familiar to me,
that drives Mom crazy,
Rainie takes a plateful of casserole,
spilling some on the counter,
leaves the casserole uncovered,
pulls off three paper towels at once
to use as a napkin,
tastes a corner of the fudge
with the refrigerator door wide open,
decides she likes it,
takes another plate for her fudge,
and settles herself at the table.
So, who’s the bald dude?
Rainie jabs her elbow in the direction
of Jonah’s room
where Johnny went.
Is he Jonah’s bodyguard?
That’s Johnny.
He’s one of Jonah’s nurses.
Oh, where’s the one who did your braids?
That’s Phoebe. She only works Tuesdays.
Maybe I can come some Tuesday
and she can do mine.
I see that for Rainie,
and maybe me, too,
the lines are blurry
between nurse, bodyguard, and hairdresser.
What’s with all that?
Rainie points her fork
in the direction of my face.
You mean my hair? It’s called bangs.
If you say so.
Rainie raises her eyebrows
and we both laugh.
I give Rainie the bed in Jonah’s old room,
and I lie down on the floor next to her,
on top of a scratchy woolen mill blanket.
I can hear the humming of Jonah’s
Food Truck,
the whooshing of O,
and the loud chirping of a cricket
that found its way into the house.
Then something draws me upstairs
into my parents’ big empty room.
I look out into the dark at Number 24.
Clay is standing at his window,
the dark shadow of his body
silhouetted by his desk lamp.
When he sees me,
he puts a hand flat against his window.
I put my hand flat to our windowpane
and we stand there like two aliens
communicating
from separate spaceships.
Back in Jonah’s room,
I am kept awake,
not by thinking of the trial tomorrow—
but by thinking about how sometimes
the universe
sends you just what you need—
right when you need it—
the gentle sound
of Rainie’s breathing,
Clay’s hand.
Headwater Courthouse
Outside the courthouse,
Mom’s lawyer explains
that we will be wanded
by a security officer
to check for metal.
Even us? I ask him.
For the first time
he looks annoyed
by what I’ve said.
Yes, Liv, everyone who goes into
the courthouse today.
I think maybe he is nervous.
After all, he is working on “contingency,”
so if he doesn’t win,
he doesn’t get paid.
Whatever money Mom gets,
he gets one-third.
If Mom gets nothing,
he gets one-third of that.
The security officer’s black wand
has a name on it
spelled out in neon-yellow letters—
Garrett.
He tells me to put my arms out
and waves GARRETT
over me and Mom
and Mom’s lawyer.
Nothing magical happens.
I’m not wearing any “metal.”
My court outfit is—
green leggings,
gray skirt,
Jonah’s yellow track jersey
with “CARRIER” on the back
dressed up with a green scarf.
No nail polish.
Jonah is coming separately
with Johnny and Vivian,
in a van that can carry him
in his wheelchair
with his machines.
He will get upstairs
to the courtroom
in an elevator.
We walk up a set of stairs
and on the wall
is a sign:
NOTICE:
FIREARMS PROHIBITED
IN THIS COURTHOUSE
I am glad I thought to hold
Mom’s hand
on the way up.
The courtroom has