Clay says,
for leaving last time.
It wasn’t fair
to you.
I’m glad Hunter is playing
at the birthday.
This is so Clay,
not only doing the right thing,
but doing it the right way.
It’s okay.
Would you like to hear
three things about the Kennebec?
Sure.
First Finger.
The Kennebec River is about
one hundred seventy miles long.
Second Finger.
It starts in Moosehead Lake.
Third Finger.
It ends in the Atlantic Ocean.
That is going to be a great report, Liv,
Clay says.
Here the river is right in our
backyard,
and I didn’t know where it came from
or where it went.
I look out at the eddy,
first upstream where the water
comes from,
and then downstream,
where it is moving
toward the ocean.
I think about how right Clay is.
You can think you know something
so well,
but never know it all.
Dad
All Dad’s clothes
are still in the closet and dresser
in the big upstairs bedroom
no one sleeps in.
Some days now,
especially cloudy days,
I take something
of Dad’s
and throw it
in the river.
On gray days the river
fills with clouds,
and if it wasn’t for the line of trees
on the banks,
you wouldn’t know what was sky
and what was water.
It’s hard to tell
if the clothes will sink or float,
or if the water will carry them away
downstream.
I got the idea from Rainie
letting the special-deal
necklace go.
Some part of her knew
it wasn’t hers to keep.
It might be a sock
or T-shirt
or a hat.
One day,
when Mom is ready to donate
his clothes
to the Thriftee Thrift Shop,
there will be hardly
any left.
Blee-ah
Now that the weather
is warmer,
the nurses want to take Jonah out
in his wheelchair
for walks.
Vivian is excited
for Jonah to get some sun
on his face,
to feel the wind,
to hear the birds,
and, I suppose,
to smell what is left
of the paper mill smell.
It takes a long time
to get ready.
We have to take O,
in case.
Suck-It-Up
hangs in a bag
behind Jonah.
Food Truck is running,
so Vivian puts that
in Jonah’s lap.
We find a coat and hat
that Jonah hasn’t worn
since last winter.
Vivian buckles him in.
We didn’t have the money
to build a wheelchair ramp,
but Vivian and I
each take a side
of the wheelchair
and lift Jonah
down the three cement steps
to outdoors.
Jonah blinks and blinks
at the sun.
The driveway is bumpy
and Jonah bounces
with each bump.
Vivian pushes the chair
and I walk ahead
to watch what Jonah makes
of the outdoor world.
Blee-ah Blee-ah Blee-ah,
Jonah says.
Vivian and I both laugh.
This is a new sound
for Jonah.
Something he sees or hears
or feels is
Blee-ah
We don’t know what Blee-ah
means,
but Jonah’s eyes are wide open,
taking in the sun and the breeze,
laundry blowing on someone’s porch,
a dog barking behind a fence,
the sound of a truck turning onto
DEAD END.
I’m doing a Blee-ah dance for Jonah
spinning my arms in circles
in front of him,
when I see that the truck
says Bugz Away.
Jonah is focused on
Blee-ah
and doesn’t turn his head
when Clay and his father
drive past.
That’s the way
DEAD END works—
only one way in
only one way out.
Trust Your Hands
Rainie and I go
to Hunter’s house
on Saturday
to hear his fiddle music.
He wants me to pick songs
for Jonah’s birthday.
I invited Piper,
but she said,
I heard they raise goats.
Goats can transmit
a lot of diseases.
One is Q fever,
and you can get it by
breathing the infectious particles.
“Q fever” sounds like
a made-up disease,
but I don’t say that
to Piper.
Justine is busy with an all-day
DIY facial
she read about.
On the way there
I wonder about Hunter’s
brothers’ and sisters’
names.
Are they variations of Hunter,
like Sniper or Shooter?
Or are they hippie names like
Gatherer and Gleaner and Solstice?
Hunter introduces Rainie to his mother.
I love that name. Rainie.
Why do you look like you want
to cry?
I don’t know. I wish I did,
Rainie admits.
And this is Liv,
Hunter tells his mother,
pointing to me.
Hunter’s mom
has red hair too, and her
eyes are dark
with specks of light,
as they look into my eyes.
Yes, Liv, what a good girl.
What a good, good girl.
Not really, not always, you’d be surprised.
My hands get me in trouble,
I blurt out.
It’s as if Hunter’s mom’s
eyes hypnotized
us into the truth.
She looks straight at me
and says,
Sure they do, Liv.
But trust your hands
and they’ll lead you
where you need to go.
Little kids run in and out of the room.
They are playing a chasing game
where the chasers and the chased
seem to change places in an instant.
What are your brothers’ and sisters’
names?
I ask Hunter,
ready to meet brother Target
and sister Bull’s-eye.
Hunter claps his hands—
One two three—
and the kids stop running.
Okay, guys,
time for introductions.
Hunter goes around the room
and as he comes to a sib
he raises their hand
in the air.
These are my twin bro
thers—
Sunrise and Sunset.
This is Little Lima Bean,
Pretty Parsley,
and last but not least,
Sweet Sunflower.
I cover my mouth,
trying not to laugh
at all the hippie names.
Hunter turns to me.
Nah, just kidding, Liv.
You thought we all had
granola names, right?
Little Lima Bean points to Rainie.
Yeah, her—she’s the one
got a funny name—
Rain.
I’m Hunter after my
grandfather,
Hunter says,
and tells us the real names
of his brothers and sisters,
but although I can see
his mouth moving,
I can’t hear what he’s saying,
because I am thinking hard about
what Hunter’s mom said—
Trust your hands
and they’ll lead you
where you need to go.
Do my hands know something
I don’t?
How far will they lead me
and what will I find when I get there?
Music
Rainie is sitting
next to Hunter’s mom,
who is showing
Rainie her necklace.
This stone is amber.
Some people call it the
stone of courage.
It’s beautiful, Rainie says.
Then I see Hunter’s mom
take the necklace off
and put it over Rainie’s head.
Rainie holds the deep-yellow-orange
stone to the light.
But it’s yours. You shouldn’t
give it to me.
Hunter’s mom
puts a hand on the place
where her own heart beats.
Take it.
I have all the courage I need
right here.
Hunter claps his hands again, three times.
It must be how you get people’s attention
in a family that big.
This song is called “Swallowtail Jig.”
Tell me what you think.
And he tucks his fiddle
under his chin
and starts playing.
I can’t tell which is moving faster,
his bow or his fingers.
Pretty Parsley and Sweet Sunflower
join hands and dance in a circle.
Twins Sunrise and Sunset
disappear outside.
Little Lima Bean stands there
sucking her thumb.
Rainie holds the yellow pendant
to her own chest.
I’m glad Rainie has the
stone of courage,
but still, I look around
for what else might find
its way into her hands
or her bag.
Justine’s stepmom, Brigitte,
is sure
the fountain pen
that was on the desk
in their office
was there before
Rainie came,
but not after.
And while we’re on the subject,
Brigitte said to Justine,
not to be picky
or point fingers
at your friend,
but I’m sure
some of the Hershey’s kisses
in the serving bowl
are missing, too.
Really,
Justine said to
Brigitte,
you count the
chocolate kisses?
Weight
One day the nurse Lila
is sick,
no one can fill in,
and Mom has to work,
so I stay home with Jonah.
The nurses showed me
how Jonah’s machines work,
even the new ones—
O and Fire Alarm.
Vivian says I’m a natural.
I probably inherited that skill
from my father.
Jonah doesn’t have as many machines
as they had at the paper mill,
but I know how to keep
them all running.
Sometimes it snows
at the end of April in Maine
but today is warm and sunny.
I dress Jonah
and move his
wheelchair right up
next to the bed.
A fact about ants
that Clay might know—
they can carry ten to fifty times
their body weight.
Ants will carry dead ants
out of their nests, but
sometimes ants carry
other live ants.
This is called
“social carrying behavior.”
I’m not an ant,
but by watching how the nurses
move Jonah,
I’ve picked up some ant-like
abilities.
Especially since Jonah’s Trapeze
for cranking him up
out of bed
is broken,
and a new one
hasn’t come yet,
it’s good that I’ve got my own
“social carrying” skills.
First I swing his legs
off the bed,
then I put my arms
under his arms
and pull him toward me
until he is sitting up
at the edge of the bed.
Then I do what Johnny calls
“the pivot and shimmy.”
I carry Jonah’s weight
for the quick few seconds
it takes me to stand and turn him
right into the wheelchair.
There’s an amazing split second
in the middle of the pivot,
when I can’t be sure
if I’m holding my brother
or he’s holding me.
I’m getting stronger
by lifting Jonah—
from the bed to the wheelchair
from the wheelchair to the bed.
His weight feels lighter and lighter
as I get stronger and stronger.
It’s like one of those
science rules
Clay loves—
one thing goes up—
the other
goes down.
I put his sunglasses on,
buckle his chest harness
and his seat belt,
and bump him backward
down the three front steps
A ribbon of river shines
between the houses
on DEAD END.
I don’t trust the wheelchair
on the slatted metal dock,
but the cement boat ramp
slopes gently to the eddy.
I take Jonah’s sunglasses off—
like the big reveal.
The whirlpools in the eddy
are lit up by the sun.
Still holding the wheelchair,
I lean my head against Jonah’s.
What do you think, Jonah?
See the river.
Remember the river?
Blee-ah Blee-ah,
Jonah says.
Ah, I thought so,
I say.
I knew you wanted to see the
big, beautiful Blee-ah.
Words
I know the trial date
is coming closer,
because Elinor is taking Mom
shopping this weekend
for “conservative court clothes.”
I am thinking they should be
black and white
to remind the judge
she is there to decide
&nbs
p; who is wrong.
Mom hasn’t said no
to the hot casseroles
Elinor brings on Sundays—
enough for us
and the nurses.
I think the lesson Elinor learned
at the soup kitchen
was how to help someone
without it feeling like help.
When Mom’s car is gone,
Gwen comes to the line
with more FUDGE—
white chocolate, peanut butter,
chocolate mint.
Her ankle is better
and each time,
she reaches across the line
with both arms
to hug me.
Mom doesn’t know
where the fudge comes from.
She thinks a shy fudge fanatic
in Maddigan
is being neighborly.
Also, there are more
letters to the editor
in the paper.
Mom is getting frustrated
by so many
“stolen newspapers.”
The next time
I meet Clay at the river,
it is still warm out.
His hair is in a ponytail.
Is that your new look
for the trial?
I ask Clay.
This is the first time I’ve said trial.
So many words that are hard to say—
Jonah, nurses, birthday, Hunter,
mother, father, brother,
and trial.
But we both realize
it can be harder
not to say them.
Yes,
Clay answers.
His knees are bent
up to his chest
and his long arms
are wrapped tightly
around them.
He looks like an astronaut
in a space capsule
on a launchpad,
a ball of anticipation
and dread,
ready for takeoff.
Did you know,
Clay asks me,
that the word
trial has the words
liar, rat, rail, tail, ail, tar, and lair in it?
I guess we both
have trial on our minds.
I trace the word trial
in the dirt next to the dock,
and scratch new words
with my finger
into the ground,
until I find ones
for Clay.
True,
I say,
but also art and air and trail.
You’re right.
Clay sounds relieved,
as if I’ve reminded him
of some basic science fact
like gravity.
Good luck, I say.
I’ll be there, too.
And so will Jonah.
I can tell no one told him
the part about Jonah
being there.
Ah,
he answers.
What I learn
from watching Clay
by the river today—
things can feel like your fault
even when they’re not.
When the trial is over,
Clay says,
it will be your birthday.
What do you want
for your birthday?
I have no idea