Once, after they had lost their father—Henry’d just met Alice, Martin and Tess had gotten married at city hall and had a small party at a restaurant, Josh and Kate were just out of college—they all went camping on the land where Henry lived with Alice in the yurt he’d built. Helen planned it. Helen talked to each child individually and over a period of weeks until she’d convinced them all to come, to take trains and rent cars and take off work. Henry and Alice lived up on a high ridge that overlooked a pond, and they all had their own tents. They brought big jugs of water and they built fires and they sat outside and talked and, against everybody’s better judgment, they had fun.

The last night, Helen laid out blankets on the ground and forced them all to stay up late. They kept the fire going until close to midnight, and then she put it out and made them all stretch out on the ground. Mom, the boys said. They weren’t boys, of course, but they sounded like it, when they said her name like that. Just do it, she said. Jesus. Can’t you just do as I say when I ask? And Martin rolled his eyes, and Henry laughed and touched her up by the shoulder, and she smiled because she knew that they’d all finally give in. They lay down then, the lot of them, Tess annoyed and tired but also wanting all of them to like her, Josh saying something about ticks. But then a rush of stars had burst before them. You could make out the whole Milky Way from where they were. And minutes passed, and they all kept looking up, and a second shower of stars burst, shocking in their brightness and speed, appalling in how close they felt.

They’d all lain there, still and quiet, no one talking, no one arguing finally, grateful to Helen for making them all come together, for forcing them to lie on the ground in the middle of the night and look.

Henry has spent his whole life trying to make art, he wishes now that he could tell his mother, that felt like what it felt like lying there.

5

Colin’s missing.

Tess is sweating, panting. She hadn’t meant to run that long, but she couldn’t sleep and went out before five. It was dark out. She forgets, when they’re out of the city, that there are no lights that early in the morning. She used her phone’s flashlight and hugged the shoulder of the road because there also weren’t sidewalks. She wore the netted metal and it felt incredible. Instead of being scared the whole time that she might slip, instead of having always to be careful, her feet grabbed hold of the ice and sprang off.