He started laughing, an odd bubble of sound he wasn’t used to producing. “Hey, remember when Uncle Ford passed out in a full patch of poison ivy?”

I paused. “Holy shit, yeah. He rolled around in there, too.”

“It was in his mouth, for god’s sake. Probably dreaming about his neighbor again and started making sweet love to the bush.” He closed his eyes and moved his head side to side, mouth open, tongue sticking out.

I laughed hard. “Yeah, yeah! His whole head swelled up. He looked like a frickin’ monster for days.”

“And then Mom, she got calamine lotion in his eyes when she was trying to help.” He was having trouble getting the words out. “She was laughing so hard she couldn’t keep a steady hand.”

I remembered it clear as day. Us rolling around on the floor in our matching pajamas in fits while Mom cackled over her brother, who was slumped, red and blubbering, at the kitchen table.

I wiped water from my eyes. “I learned my best swear words from him that day.”

“She…she damn near pissed her pants.” Mitch was laughing so hard he started tearing up, too. It was contagious. Soon we were bent over, wheezing. Oh my god, it felt so good. Like the weather had suddenly warmed up and there was more than enough food waiting and there was nothing to fear. For just a minute, I was with my big brother and we were happy and free. For just a minute, everything was open and possible.

I watched him try to compose himself and break out in another a fit of giggles. If only I could make things stay like this. But before I could will it away, I saw him leading the way to the road, Therese and JP on his heels, and then me walking hand in hand with Sunny. He didn’t hesitate then, did he? No, he took charge and finished the mission: three for three, every Indian accounted for. All the laughter was knocked out of my body.

“Grab any dry branches you come across. For the fire.”

“Ah, ha, sure thing, boss.” He saluted me, dropping a few fronds as he did.

Eventually, the shelter was done. It was a little pathetic-looking, but it would do. We rolled out a tarp on the ground inside and pinned another over the top in case of rain. Or worse, hail. Hail these days was bone shattering, like even the sky was digging for marrow.

“All right, let’s get some water boiling.” I made the fire and picked the cedar and filled the small cast iron pot, just big enough to hold a cup and a half. Mitch watched everything I did, so I did it all a little slower than usual. Neither of us talked, and it was a comfortable silence, the kind that lets you learn, lets you teach.

“Hey, French?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever see Mom again? Is that why you were looking for her before, when you were hurt?” He spoke low, as if hiding the question from his own ears.