Floyd laughed so hard he coughed. He lit up another cigarette, then he switched on the radio, got a news announcer, and switched it back off. “So Chicken Little is calling off the dogs then?”

“Yep.”

“And I can call up my boys and tell ’em?”

“What about Dewey?”

“What about him? You got his attention, but I can tell you first hand, he don’t have much of an attention span.”

They both laughed. Floyd put the truck in drive and spun out gravel as he turned onto the river road. Leo drained the last of his beer. He rolled down the window and threw the empty can out into the trees.

In the dream Leo’s back was on fire. He stood in a parlor that was half like the Suthers’, half like the Donovans’; there was the empty fireplace and the portrait of the bearded man above it, but off to the right, instead of the Donovans’ kitchen, was the Suthers’ parlor window overlooking the woods down to the river. And it was the river Leo wanted to get to. Nobody seemed to notice the fire. Jim and Mrs. Donovan stood over by her new painting, talking about it. Allie sat on the floor reading a book. She wore a T-shirt but no pants or underwear. Her legs were spread apart and Katie Faye Suther was wriggling out of her. His mother was dressed in a blouse and skirt and her hair was pinned up to the side of her head. She looked up at Leo and smiled, her red lipstick catching the light from the flames licking over his shoulders.

Then Leo was outside lying by the river on his back in the snow. The flames were out, and the burning had dropped to a sizzle that was sputtering down to a cool fade. Above him was gray sky and the bare branches of trees. Allie’s crying face was over his, her hair hanging in front of her wet red cheeks. Leo asked her where his mother was but Allie kept crying as if she didn’t hear him, or even see his lips moving. A raven, or a crow, flew over her head for the river and Leo wanted to get up and watch it but the snow held him down. Now Allie was gone and Jim was talking, but Leo couldn’t see him anywhere. He could feel the river, though. It was moving under him, and he was beginning to float—

“You slept right through supper.”

The bedside lamp was on. Half of Leo’s face was in his pillow and he could see a glass of water on the table. Jim was rubbing an ice cube over his back. Leo tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. “I think I have a fever.”

“Sunstroke. Drink that water.”