1989

On summer evenings, Jim mows the lawn after dinner and Nadine pulls weeds from the flowerbeds laid out along the front of the white house. Three small kids chase each other around the front yard. They love the dewy dampness between their toes, the spring of the earth as it pushes back against the meager weight of their cartwheels. Once the grass is mowed into rows of green velvet, Jim pushes the mower back in the garage and the kids run out from the house, fresh from the tub, and buckle in. Nadine follows. She leaves the door unlocked.

At Dairy Queen they order Mr. Mistys, the sweetest mix of ice and syrup that paints their small mouths immediate, raspberry blue. Jim takes a drink out of each cup before passing it to the back seat. I have to make sure its not poison he says and the kids yell Daa-aad! Nadine likes the salt and sweet of chocolate and peanuts together and takes quick, neat bites against the melty pull of heat and gravity.

They drive to the edge of the small town, past the high school, along the Snake River, through the stand of Russian olives, until they are in the hills and sagebrush. There is nothing but the sky and the colors of the desert--the muted greens and browns and golds--and the sound of small mouths taking it all in, drinking it down to the last drop.