No words but inane words. At such times, words stumble and fade, fail us.

Mom manages to squeeze my hand in return, weakly. Though (possibly) she isn’t altogether certain who I am, why I am here, what is happening, she behaves with a woman’s natural instinct for what is expected of her.

Squinting at me: “Are you staying long? Do you live here now?”

Interpreting—Are you the one who is staying here long? Are you the one who is living here now?

I am not sure how long I am staying. A week? Two weeks? How long will I be welcome?

I tell my mother that I don’t live in South Niagara just now. I am living temporarily in Mohawk, New York. Finishing college at last.

I would tell Mom more—why it has taken me so long to complete college, what I am studying and what I hope to do after college—but she has become agitated suddenly.

“Is Katie here? Where is Katie?”—Mom glances about worriedly.

“Katie is not here right now, Mom. Katie is coming over later.”

“Why isn’t Katie here? I thought—they said . . .”

But I am here. I am Violet. I am here with you now.

“. . . they were going to bring Dad. Katie was. He’s there now, he has his own floor of the house. You know how your dad takes over,” Mom says with a breathless little laugh, tugging at my wrist as if trying to pull herself up, or to pull me down. “Anyplace he is, he just—takes over . . . They gave him his own truck, at work. He never took orders from anybody.”

Excitedly Mom is gesturing with her hand in the direction of the street. Does Katie live in that direction?

I am wondering why Katie hadn’t warned me that Mom doesn’t seem to know that Daddy has died. Or maybe it is painful knowledge that waxes and wanes and she has lost the strength to maintain this knowledge for now.

Tomorrow, I will visit our father’s grave in the cemetery at St. Matthew’s. Katie has offered to come with me but I think I will go alone.

Katie has said that our brother Rick calls Mom each Sunday evening. He’d had a bad spell with drugs after high school but went into rehab, now he’s a counselor at a rehab facility in Boise, Idaho. Our brother Les seems to have disappeared for the time being: he’d been living in Buffalo, working in a small parts factory, married, two young children, then in the process of a divorce he disappeared without notifying anyone and might not even know that Daddy has died, Mom has had cancer.

Of course, Miriam calls all the time. Visits when she can, from Albany.

And then there’s Violet Rue. Where has Violet Rue been!