by Betty Culley
I will consider the actions of Jonah Carrier
in picking up the firearm and pulling the trigger
negligent and a substantial factor
in causing his own injuries at twenty-five percent,
and the actions of the defendant Arthur LeBlanc,
in negligent entrustment of a firearm,
in not safely storing the firearm,
and leaving a loaded gun accessible to a minor,
negligent at seventy-five percent.”
What does that mean?
Mom asks.
I answer before Birchell has a chance.
She’s saying Jonah was twenty-five percent responsible,
and Mr. LeBlanc was seventy-five percent responsible
for what happened.
Mom gets up from her chair
and paces around the kitchen.
The judge is saying my son
is responsible for what happened
to him?
Mrs. Carrier,
Birchell says,
what matters here is that the judge thinks
Mr. LeBlanc is more than fifty percent
responsible. She is agreeing with us.
You won the claim.
Jonah is twenty-five percent responsible?
Mom asks Birchell again.
Mom,
I say,
it’s just a number.
The judge is saying you won
the lawsuit.
Right?
I ask Birchell.
Yes. Birchell turns the page.
And she is awarding you $600,000
for our claim of negligent entrustment of a firearm.
I can do the math in my head.
And you get $200,000 of that,
I say to Birchell.
There is also an award for
wrongful death, for loss of the child’s
comfort, society, and companionship,
Birchell starts reading from the page
when Mom interrupts.
Wrong death?
WrongFUL death,
Birchell repeats.
Remember after Jonah passed,
I said that I would amend the complaint
from action for loss of services
to wrongful death.
Mom sits back down.
The judge has awarded you $300,000
for wrongful death,
$200,000 for conscious pain and suffering,
and $1,500 for funeral expenses.
Whose pain and suffering?
Mom asks.
Birchell looks embarrassed by the question.
That would be Jonah’s.
How did the judge figure out a number
for what Jonah felt
in the belly of the whale?
I do the math again.
$300,000 total for wrongful death.
Birchell gets one-third, or $100,000, of that.
He gets one-third of the money
for Jonah’s conscious pain
and suffering.
And probably one-third
of the award for funeral expenses.
Still, that gives Mom
over $700,000.
Do Clay’s parents
have that much money?
I ask Birchell.
I think
of Gwen’s worn bathrobe
and scuffed slippers.
The award will be paid by their homeowner’s
policy. It was their insurance company that hired the
lawyer for them.
Birchell hands Mom the papers
from the judge
to read for herself.
I thought the lawsuit
was all about the money,
but now I’m not sure.
This is what I learn, too.
Even when you wait and hope
for the thing you think
will solve everything,
it doesn’t always happen
the way
you imagine.
Driver’s Ed
After the verdict,
the check comes.
Mom doesn’t buy a new car
or take us on a trip,
but she does have the roof leak fixed.
I like the simulator machine
at the driver’s ed class,
but the first time I sit
in the driver’s seat
of the real car,
I look down at my hands
on the steering wheel
and freeze.
I don’t think this is a good idea,
I tell the driving instructor.
I have a better idea.
Why don’t YOU sit in the driver’s seat,
and if I see YOU doing something wrong,
I’ll use that special brake
on the passenger side—
to stop you,
so you’ll know I know
what to do.
The driving instructor
is speechless for a minute,
then shouts at me.
I thought I’d heard everything
from you kids.
Liv, there’s nothing humorous
about learning to drive.
If you’re not ready,
do me a favor and get out of the car.
And don’t come back until you’re prepared
to follow the rules.
I get out of the car.
Plant Obsessed
I decide there are better things
to do in the summer
than driver’s ed.
Like growing tomatoes and cucumbers
in my father’s garden.
My hands have a permanent stain of dirt
on them,
and my arms and legs are full of black fly
and mosquito bites.
I know I am giving the seedlings way more attention
than they need—
that Rainie and Justine think
I’m plant obsessed—
but when they taste their first
tomato and cukes and mayo and salt sandwich,
they’ll understand.
Uh-oh, Liv, I think I see a green baby worm
under a tomato leaf on that plant,
Justine says.
She is sunning herself on a chaise longue
in the backyard.
Rainie points to the little wooden platforms
I put under the cucumbers,
so they don’t sit directly on the soil.
Do they really need their own little beds
to sleep on?
Yes, they do. They really do,
I answer.
That makes Justine and Rainie and even Piper laugh.
Piper surprises me
by becoming a little plant obsessed too.
She likes to water the tomatoes
with the garden hose,
adjusting the nozzle
so it sprays down
like a gentle rain,
watching how water-washed leaves
look a little greener.
Summer
I swim off the dock
by the eddy
every day,
even in the rain.
Clay’s day off
we swim
in our shorts and T-shirts.
I go underwater,
my hair floating above me.
When I come up
I hear Clay.
I love you, Liv.
I have for a while.
A while? What’s a while?
Ever since I watched what you did
to your father’s cement pad
three summers ago.
It’s just like Clay
to give me a thought-out
explanation,
with a time
and a place.
I didn’t know anyone saw me,
I say.
Dad had poured ce
ment
for a new patio area
in front of the house,
to replace the cracked and broken
slab Mom hated.
The cement needs
twenty-four hours
to dry,
Dad said,
so don’t walk on it
until tomorrow.
When Dad went inside,
I didn’t walk on it.
I put my hair in a knot
on top of my head,
leaned way over the
wooden sawhorses
Dad had left as barriers,
and hand-printed my way
across the wet cement.
I was so busy
making my patio design,
I had no idea Clay was watching
from across the street.
Yes, Clay said,
it was my father who pointed out
what you were doing.
He said, There’s the girl for you, Clay,
a beautiful rule bender,
that’s what you need.
Help you lighten up a bit.
The half of my body
out of the water
feels like it’s frying
in the sun.
I don’t have explanations
for Clay,
when and how it happened—
it just did.
I press my river-water lips
to his lips,
and dive back under the water,
taking his words with me
when I go.
Ashes
Dad’s ashes
and Jonah’s ashes
are side by side
in their cardboard boxes
on a shelf
in Mom’s closet.
I shut myself in the closet,
to see how it feels.
The slats on the louvered doors
only let in a little light
so it’s always dim
even in the middle
of the day.
I know where Jonah’s ashes
need to go.
I take the box
from the closet
and carry it downstairs.
Mom is out on the front lawn,
smoking.
She started again
after the verdict.
So much money,
she told me,
it’s a lot of responsibility.
It’s not like she got a new puppy,
it’s $700,000,
money enough to fix
all the roof leaks
for the rest of her life.
But I don’t walk in Mom’s shoes.
Mom says there’s money for school now,
even enough for an out-of-state college,
but I’m not sure
and I don’t want to go
out of state.
The thing is—
it will never feel right
to spend Jonah’s money
on me.
I did think of some things
to do—
show people who feel broken
by what they’ve lost
how the river thunders
when the ice
goes out,
the way cows stand
so still
in a green field,
and how Hunter’s fiddle music
reminds you
what it feels like
to love this world.
I could even learn
to make fudge.
Mom and I both look out at Number 24.
The FOR SALE sign
is leaning to one side,
and the grass is getting long.
The pear tree on their front lawn
has tiny fruits.
She sees what I’m holding
in my hands.
I’m taking the canoe
out on the river.
Is that okay?
I ask her.
We both know
I never ask
to use my canoe—
that I’m really asking
something else.
Mom blows the smoke
to her side,
away from me,
and nods her head yes.
You can come, too,
I say,
if you want.
Okay, I’ll be right there,
Mom answers,
like she was just waiting
for me to ask her.
River
When she comes out
the back door,
Mom has Dad’s box
in her hands.
When we paddle off
from the shore,
Dad’s box is on Mom’s lap,
and Jonah’s box rocks
in the bottom of the canoe.
It’s one of those
half-cloudy, half-sunny days,
when the river is dark
in some places,
and lit up in other places.
It’s that time of year
when the river comes alive—
white water lilies,
purple arrowhead plants,
and a row of mallard ducks.
It feels like we are having
a family moment,
all together
in one place.
I paddle us
to the whirlpools
at the bend
in the river—
the place where you can’t tell
if the water
will take you upstream or downstream
or round and round
in a beautiful circle.
I take Jonah’s box
from the bottom
of the canoe,
open the top,
and tip it out
over the whirlpools.
Jonah’s ashes
arc into the water.
Mom gives Dad’s ashes
to the river, too.
I already felt
Jonah’s soul,
if that’s what it was,
saying goodbye to me
in the barn
with the baby organic cow,
but now
whatever else is left
is also free.
Most of Jonah’s ashes
disappear into the whirlpools
of turning water,
but not all.
Clay would have
a physics equation
to explain
why the force of the wind
and the angle I held Jonah’s box
blew some ashes
back onto my hands.
Should we say something?
Mom asks me.
I don’t know,
I answer,
it’s up to you.
Goodbye,
Mom says,
I don’t think there’s anything wrong
with saying goodbye.
I press my stone-of-the-heart necklace
hard against my chest.
The clouds move
and the sun suddenly
lights up the whole eddy.
I reach over
the side of the canoe,
and my ashy hands
make their own swirls
in the river,
round and round,
round and round,
until even I can’t tell
what direction
they’re going.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my wonderful agent, Steven Chudney, who gave me a chance and has been the best guide I could hope for throughout this journey. You are there every step of the way with your kindness, humor, and knowledge.
I couldn’t be more thrilled that this novel found its perfect home with editor Tara Weikum. Your editorial vision, skill, and understanding made it the book it was meant to be.
With appreciation to the whole team at Harp
erCollins, including Sarah Homer, Renée Cafiero, Allison Brown, Ebony LaDelle, and Michael D’Angelo, and to Chris Kwon and Alison Donalty for the gorgeous cover and book design.
Jennifer Reed, who shone a light so I could see where I needed to go. And held my hand along the way.
Thank you to writers Cathy McKelway, Sally Stanton, and Melanie Ellsworth for being the best critique partners and for laughter, lunches, and encouragement.
I am indebted to my early readers, Vickie Limberger, AnnMarie Limberger, Sylvane Pontin, and David Axelman, and early encouragers, Yolanda Kolinski, Eric Boulton-Bailey, and Eileen and Bill Culley. Special thanks to Ann Dorney, for her medical knowledge, Peter Bickerman, for his legal expertise, and H. D. Ammerman, for insight into the pulp and paper industry in Maine.
To Rachel and Bradley, for all your support.
To my husband, Denis, for this beautiful life and for listening to the words.
And always, my love to the children and families who welcomed me as a nurse into their homes and their lives. It was a privilege to be there.
About the Author
BETTY CULLEY lives in central Maine, where the rivers run through the small towns. She’s an RN who worked as an obstetrics nurse and as a pediatric home hospice nurse. Three Things I Know Are True is her debut.
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Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THREE THINGS I KNOW ARE TRUE. Copyright © 2020 by Betty Culley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
Cover art © 2020 by Danielle Mazzella di Bosco
Cover design by Chris Kwon
Digital Edition JANUARY 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-290804-9
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-290802-5
1920212223PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
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