Louise pressed her ear to the warm slat boards to hear the dim voices at the kitchen table. She was relieved she did not hear Loretta’s voice. She could feel a low humming along the door frame, the sound of quiet conversation. She heard the slow-throated murmurs of her father. She heard the chair leg scorch the floor and someone skirted back to stand. A stiff wind settled the dry grass. Louise wondered if he was leaving. She peeked through the window, leaned carefully into the darkness to see, but her eyes were stained with light. She cupped her hands to the window and saw her dad standing in the doorway of the kitchen, gripping his sweat-stained hat. She stood still, her heart twitching in the heat. Her father coughed and she ducked back down where she wouldn’t be seen. She waited awhile through a long silence. She wondered what was going on. Then a low sound rose from the kitchen, almost nothing at first, then clear and loud, pitched high like a cow caught in mud. Her father was crying. She felt blood hum in her ears. Her leg ached. Her knees jiggled. She saw her dirt-brown shoes, the hard black bruise on her leg.

Her father left the house alone and drove away slowly, without saying hello or good-bye or even looking at Louise. She lifted her hand to wave but his eyes were dazed and swollen, and fixed on the road. Louise entered the house slowly, saw only her grandmother seated at the kitchen table, her hands folded. It was quiet. So quiet. She did not hear the birds. She did not hear the sound of wind. Her grandmother looked up at Louise and her eyes were calm. “Your sister,” she said, “has drowned in the river.” Louise glanced away from Grandma, looked toward the stairs, out the window to where the clouds dazed the sun. She couldn’t have heard right. “We have lost Florence,” her grandmother said. Her voice was deep and certain.

“No,” Louise said, “she’s just outside.” Louise was convinced her sister was close, outside for a moment, maybe hiding, but alive somewhere and waiting to be found. Grandma got up from the table and held Louise’s hand. Louise noticed her hands were damp and she focused on her grandmother’s hands. “She went down to the river this morning,” Grandma said. “When she didn’t come back right away, I looked for her. I had your dad come help me.”

“Well, Grandma,” Louise said, “maybe you missed her.”

“She’s still in the Flathead,” her grandmother said, and her voice seemed strong and determined. Her grandmother was trying to convince herself Florence was gone. “We’re going to try to get her out now.”