where the line is,
and what side
he’s on.
I can come in with you,
Clay offers.
I think about Mom screaming,
and Gwen
watching Jonah’s body
wheeled out of the house.
You should probably check
on your mother,
I say.
Call me later.
You have the number now
in your phone.
For Sale
Just like I wanted
when I first made the deal
with Gwen,
a week after Jonah dies,
a moving van pulls up
to Number 24,
and loads beds, dressers,
boxes, chairs, and even,
I suppose,
the gun safe.
I don’t see Gwen
before they leave.
I don’t get
one more hug.
I check the mailbox,
and it’s empty.
I was hoping there might be
a last square
of fudge.
For the first time,
I wish I had something
to give Gwen,
but she is gone.
A week after that,
a FOR SALE sign
is on their lawn.
Clay tells me his parents
moved to Land O’ Lakes, Florida.
There is actually a town
with that name.
Why Florida?
I ask Clay.
Are there more bugz there
than in Maine?
Actually,
Clay says,
I don’t know if there’s more,
but a lot of them are bigger.
For instance,
there are huge mosquitoes there
called gallinippers,
twenty times larger
than most mosquitoes.
Also, Florida has the palmetto bug,
a large species of cockroach
that is about an inch and a half long.
Clay holds up his thumb and forefinger
to show me how big that is.
Since Jonah died,
we stopped playing the
Three Things game—
maybe because that was something
we did with Jonah—
so I don’t ask Clay
if he knows the name
of a third giant bug
that lives in Florida.
It’s just me and Mom now
in Number 23.
Jonah’s hospital bed is gone
from the living room,
the schedule is gone from the
refrigerator,
but we still spend
most of our time
in the kitchen.
Mom asks me if I mind
if she stays in my old room upstairs.
I could have her and Dad’s big room
facing the street.
I tell her I like my
little cubbyhole of a room
downstairs.
I leave a light on
in the kitchen
at night,
and a fan whirring
in my room.
I guess I got used to
falling asleep to the sound of O,
and the nurses doing their quiet work
at the sink.
I miss them all,
especially Johnny, Vivian, and Phoebe.
They weren’t only on Jonah’s side,
they were on my side, too.
At the Great Water Place
You know,
Mom says to me one evening
a few weeks later
while we eat pizza she picked up
after work,
your counselor says you turned in a very impressive—
those were his words—independent project report.
So you will be able to continue on
to your junior year.
Oooh, lucky me!
I make a little circle in the air
with one finger.
Sometime, maybe you could show it to me,
your report.
He said it was about the Kennebec River,
and the old mills around here.
Sure, if you want to see it,
I say.
How does it start?
Mom asks me.
You mean, the beginning?
I ask her.
Yes, the beginning.
If you really want to know,
it starts:
“The name ‘Kennebec’
comes from the Abenaki
and one translation means
‘at the great water place.’”
Very nice. I’d like to read it.
Also,
Mom is on a roll,
I’m aware that you go out on the river.
I can see the canoe from upstairs.
It’s good that you wear a life jacket.
You’re telling me this because . . . ?
I ask her.
The pizza has mushrooms and olives,
and I start in on my second piece.
And, she says,
not answering my question,
whenever you want,
you should invite Clay
into the house.
He doesn’t always have to wait for you
outside, in his truck.
When Mom says that,
I realize
I thought I was protecting Mom
from having Clay
in the house,
but it’s me
who’s not ready—yet—
to have Clay see
what it’s like now.
How empty the house feels
without Jonah.
Okay, I get it,
I say,
and thanks for getting
my favorite toppings.
Tornado
Sweet Sunflower/Audrey
is back from the hospital,
all recovered from her asthma attack,
and Hunter invites me over.
I can’t,
I say to Hunter.
Maybe another time.
I have no reason
to say no,
and I don’t
give him an excuse.
I still wear the
stone of the heart
Sara and Rainie gave me,
and I’m glad his sister is better,
that she came home
to run around with all her
brothers and sisters.
Even, one day,
with the new one.
Sara is pregnant,
Rainie told me,
and Hunter will have a new hippie sib
in the fall.
Our family is cut in half,
and Hunter’s family is growing.
I’ve read about tornadoes
that hit one house
with such force
that it’s flattened,
while the house next to it
comes through the storm
unscathed.
I’m afraid if I went
to Hunter’s house,
I’d say what no one
wants to hear.
You are lucky
the bad thing
didn’t happen to you.
It doesn’t make you
better than everyone else.
And it doesn’t mean
it won’t get you
next time.
Yes, for now,
it’s better
for everyone
if I stay
away.
Then I hear the quiet
on Hunter’s end of the phone,
him wondering if he said something wrong,
why I’m pushing him away,
if I’m mad because his sister is fine
and my brother is not.
When you get a chance, though, Hunter,
I could use some help,
I say.
Sure, anything.
I can hear how relieved he is.
I found envelopes with seeds
my father saved,
tomato and cucumber seeds,
from the garden
he kept in the backyard.
Only tomatoes and cucumbers,
that’s what he grew every year.
I want to grow them myself,
but I don’t know what to do.
You should start the tomatoes