he dropped you on accident and nothing to keep you from falling and you wouldn’t look again, you wouldn’t even stand there again for a picture.
And next to the Big Dam Mug was the framed picture of the two of you in the canoe with Poppa behind you, you and Danny in the orange life vests that smelled of the river and fish, both of you smiling and Poppa smiling too and it was Momma in the back of the canoe who took the picture with her old camera. That was the year Poppa went back to the hospital even though he didn’t smoke anymore and you stood by the hospital bed and he put his arm around you one at a time and said no crying, you boys are too big for that. I need you to be men, now, all right? I need you to take care of your mother. Will you do that for me? And at the funeral you each sat to one side of her and held her hand and you watched the machine lower the casket into the ground and that was when you knew for sure he was gone, he was really gone, and it was just the three of you now and you would never see your Poppa again except in pictures and in your memories and your dreams.
And now Danny too. Danny was missing, and what if Holly Burke never went into the river and Mr. Burke never got sad and angry and you all still worked at the Plumbing Supply, you and Danny and Jeff, and you still lived at the old house and Wyatt was still alive . . . But no, Wyatt would still be dead because time was still there and you would be as old as you are now and Wyatt died because he got too old, and you will die one day too, you and Danny and Momma too, but Danny would not be leaving all the time, driving all over, he’d be making bridges and dams but he could come home and stay home and he wouldn’t be leaving all the time because of people saying he had something to do with Holly Burke going into the river when he didn’t, he didn’t, some other person did that to her, and the sheriff, the old sheriff who was Audrey’s father never found who did it and that was ten years ago . . . and now Danny’s letter said Deputy Moran pulled him over that night and that’s how the pocket got onto his truck, and what did that mean? Did the deputy just find the pocket or did he tear it off of her shirt himself, and what did that mean . . . ?
When he woke up he was in Danny’s room, on Danny’s bed, the comforter from his own bed thrown over him and it was almost light out and he’d been dreaming and the dream was so bad he’d been crying in his sleep and he went on crying when he was awake because he knew it was true, what he dreamed, he knew it: the phone would not ring, would never ring, because Danny could not make the call. Because Danny was dead now too.
It was like looking over the dam again, your heart rolling and nothing to hold on to and nothing to stop you and nothing but down and down and down.
But you can’t tell her. You can’t tell her.
You have to get up and brush your teeth, and wash your face, and get dressed for work. You have to go downstairs and turn off the TV and put your hand on her shoulder and shake her gently, Momma, Momma wake up, and wait for her to open her eyes and see you, and see how she remembers, slowly, just looking at you, that Danny is missing. You have to tell her you want to go to work, you want to stay busy, you can’t tell her you don’t want to sit with her all day waiting and waiting, even though Danny would say you should do that, just for her. And then you have to make the tea while she goes upstairs to dress and have a hot mug waiting for her when she comes back down, and you have to remind her that she needs to put the phone back on the machine because it won’t charge otherwise and it won’t work away from the