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in bed, dreaming. Or maybe it’s a year from now and this is only a bad memory. Gabe is in bed beside me, holding our baby.
    Oh, Gabe, I was so scared, I say. I thought I’d lost you.
    You’ll never lose me, honey girl. He smiles at me and gently sets the baby on my breast.
    Such a beautiful little baby. Still inside me, our secret. Lying here in the sun, I put my hands on my belly and feel the butterfly flutter of the hidden heart. Our son or daughter, sleeping like a seed.
    Gabriel would never go away and leave us.

12
    James Wilkins
    This is the tree that killed Gabe. You can see where the truck hit. The bark’s scraped off. There’s broken glass all over the ground. Otherwise you’d never know that something bad had happened here.
    I had to come see it for myself, to see if I could, I don’t know … believe what’s happened. I mean, I know he’s dead. I’ve seen his truck. But it’s like knowing the world’s just hanging in space. You can’t fit the thought in your head. It’s too big.
    Ten hours ago we were at Logan’s party and I told Gabe, “I’ll drive you home.”
    â€œThe hell you will!” He freaked out. “Get away from me!”
    He has this thing about his truck; it’s like his wife or something, and nobody else is taking it for a spin.
    â€œGive me the keys, man.” I grabbed at his pocket. He whipped around and tried to kick me. People laughed; they thought we were kidding. Most people can’t tell when he’s wrecked; he hides it. Gabe always had a bad case of pride.
    He called me a few choice names and split. It didn’t mean nothing; we’ve had worse fights than that. Gabe’s been my best friend since second grade.
    When I got to school this morning and they told me what had happened, I had to leave right away, I felt sick. It felt like the top of my head was blown off and my brain was a cold wind.
    People called me at home and said: You better lay low. Gerald’s looking for you.
    Like I’m shaking in my boots. Like I’m scared to death. I know Gerald, I know how dirty he fights. It’s hilarious, him acting like this is all my fault and he’s going to kill me for killing his brother. When the fact is, he hates Gabe, he’s jealous of him, because everybody loves Gabe and everybody hates Gerald because Gerald is a low-down dirty dog.
    I hope he finds me. I’m ready for him. I feel like hitting something. Hard.
    They say the funeral’s on Monday. Gabe would hate that, lying there while everybody stares at him. He wants his ashes thrown off a cliff into the ocean. We were talking about that one time. Actually, he didn’t say ashes; he said throw his body out the back of his pickup. And he wants it at sunset, with the sky all bloody, and one of those—what do you call them?—bagpipes playing. Gabe’s Scotch and he likes the sound of those things. To me it sounds like something being strangled.
    But he won’t get no ocean or bagpipes. All he’s going to get is the funeral parlor, and those geeks are going to make him look like someone I never knew. I went by there on my way here and they wouldn’t let me see him. They said he wasn’t ready. Like he was going on a date or something! He’s dead! What the hell do I care what he looks like? He’s practically my brother. I’ve seen Gabe every which way there is; naked and laughing, and sick and drunk, in a blue tuxedo, and with his mouth bashed in, so there’s no way he could look that would blow my mind. Except for how he’ll look when they get through with him.
    I’m supposed to work Monday afternoon. If I go to the funeral, that butthook will dock me or say I might lose my job. So what. I hate that place. Gabe got me on there. He’s the only thing that keeps me going because he jokes about it and flips off the boss.
    Gabe’s going to be planted in one of those