Once Upon a River by Bonnie Jo. Campbell Page A

the Ford. Margo noticed something else: a pink envelope with a handwritten address in the upper left corner, an address in Heart of Pines, Michigan. Her mother’s name was not written above the address, but Margo recognized her loopy, back-slanted handwriting.
    “Daddy kept some of his papers on the counter by the toaster,” she said, and when Junior’s and Ricky’s eyes went to Crane’s pile of bills, Margo slipped the envelope out of the box and into her back pocket. She took out her own birth certificate and Crane’s and set them aside.
    “Do you know about any other assets?” Ricky asked. “We need to get information on what he owned.”
    “You’re not a lawyer, man,” Junior said.
    “So? Somebody’s going to have to figure this out. And Nympho here can’t afford a lawyer.”
    “He’s got his truck and a chain saw and his tools,” Margo said. She wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve. She didn’t mention his rifle or shotgun.
    “Savings account?” Ricky asked. He went into the bathroom and came out with a roll of toilet paper for Margo to use as a tissue. She unrolled a handful of it.
    “He paid all his spare money against the land contract. Or to the dentist.”
    “According to the land contract, it looks like the house goes back to my dad after two missed payments,” Junior said. “That’s bogus. I hope the dentist doesn’t want your teeth back.”
    “Life insurance?” Ricky asked.
    She shook her head.
    Junior picked up one of the many photos of Luanne and nodded his head. “Do you know where your ma is? Dad always says we should drag her ass back to Murrayville. Maybe she’ll come back on her
own now.”
    “Look at this,” Ricky said, holding out a full-body photo of Margo’s ma smiling in a two-piece bathing suit. “She looks like a movie star. I remember her lying in the sun with her top off.”
    Margo blotted her tears with her shirt sleeve.
    “Show a little class, man,” Junior said and kicked at Ricky.
    “I’m sorry, Nympho. You know we all miss her.”
    Margo wished she could find a photo of her mother looking the way she remembered her, smiling sadly or frowning, even. Luanne used to lie in bed sometimes through whole winter days. She had let Margo cuddle with her or read a book in the bed. Luanne had seemed to take comfort from Margo’s presence.
    Ricky Murray pulled from the tin box a new chocolate-colored leather wallet, identical to the one her father carried, and he handed it to her. Margo took from her pocket the wadded-up twenty-dollar bills she’d received from Brian Ledoux, straightened them, and put them into the wallet. She put in the Murray Metal ID card and the folded birth certificates, too.
    “Did you know your dad wanted to be cremated?” Junior said.
    She shook her head. “There’s no money for it.”
    “You heard the cops. My dad will take care of it.”
    She nodded. Though her sadness was powerful, the smoking had helped—Junior was right. Maybe she could survive her daddy’s death if she stayed outside herself this way.
    Junior lit a second joint, and after his first exhalation, he said, “I won’t get to smoke again until Christmas. It’s hard as hell to smuggle anything into that prison. I’ll promise Mom and Dad anything if they let me come home. Or I’ll figure out a way to run off to Alaska and work on a fishing boat like Uncle Loring.”
    “Do you think Billy will go to prison?” she asked.
    “I don’t know what’ll happen to my hotheaded little brother. I know he’d end up in solitary if he went to my school.” Junior stood up. “I’ve got to go home, Nympho—I mean, Margo—and Ricky’s got to get back to work. He’ll drop us off at the house. Come on.”
    “I want to bring my boat.”
    “Grandpa’s boat? We can come back for it later.”
    “I need to take a shower first. Please, just let me be alone for a little while.”
    “All right. Don’t wait too long,” he said. “You’ll want to get there in time for Ma