She could get a job at the school, the clinic. She knows it. But it would only make things worse. It’s already spring, and Lincoln is nowhere to be found. The clinic, on the other hand, would only bring back more memories of the city, of having to identify Lester’s body. Better she perch by the window and mark the earth’s slow orbit around the sun by the poplar buds, getting riper by the day. This is safer. Boo had remarked on that, too.

“Old ladies are like birds, we need good perches.”

“Yeah, sure,” he responded in a rare moment of lucid sarcasm, “but they need the worm every now and then.” Referring to One-Two.

“Oh, really? Well, this eagle needs more than that inchworm, that’s for sure.”

“Whatever,” he’d said, his back to her as he attempted to clean the pilot light on the oven with his splayed toothbrush.

Now she isn’t so sure. One-Two could fix the stove just by looking at it and he could find Lincoln if she asked him. Could check in on Simon, would do things for her if she asked. But … He’s there and I’m here, and here ain’t no place. Just room enough for one set of claws on this branch.

She does worry about them. She frets that both One-Two and Lincoln are too dreamy, Lincoln about the past and One-Two regarding the future, to face up to the demands of the city. She fears they aren’t prepared for the price of living and that she failed all her children and One-Two. She, at least, is clear about how to survive.

It was so bad, her immobile worrying, that Boo got frustrated with her.

“It ain’t that complicated. Burt ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He and Lincoln are probably at Little Earth, and if you can’t find them there, look around the nearest gas pump.”

“What do you mean?”

“They been sniffin, Auntie.”

“You’re fine one to talk.”

“Hey, I get plowed, sure. But I don’t flood the engine,” he said, tapping his temple.

“No, I guess not. You just busy blowin your tranny.”