4:35 PM Wednesday, my floor

When I get home, I decide to make you a present. I know it’s not looking good for you. But humor me. I need some distraction.

The divers are still searching, way down the river. Maybe they’ll find you. Maybe they won’t.

It’s killing me, this waiting.

So I sit on my red shag carpet with a pile of magazines, a poster board, and my X-Acto knife. The red carpet pools around my body.

I cut out pictures and glue them to a large poster board with the glue gun. The glue is burning hot. It’s maybe not the safest thing to do when I’m this tired.

In the center of the board, I create huge letters made up of small letters from the newspaper, forming the word dream.

Baby, I’m trying to be optimistic.

At Bear Lake, back in April, you asked me what my dreams were. You were sitting in front of the fire, turning your hot dog, and I laughed at you. It seemed so cheesy. I never thought about dreams before, really; my whole life has been living from one crisis to the next.

“Dreams are for dreamers.” I jammed a marshmallow on a stick and held it above the flame.

“Okay, let’s dream.” You gave me your big old smile. “Imagine you could do anything. What would it be?”

My stomach tightened. It felt like you were criticizing me, maybe you were thinking I wasn’t ambitious enough for you, now that you’d been scouted for a big college and you were going to be a big deal.

I laughed. “Here’s my dream: get a driver’s license.”

“Come on. Be optimistic. You can do anything. You can go anywhere. Maybe we can plan a trip.”

“Fine.” I gritted my teeth. In that moment, my anger was about a five. You didn’t know how close I was to storming off. It seemed like you were putting me down. “I want to see all Seven Natural Wonders of the World.” I was overshooting so it would be impossible.

You laughed in that deep, patient way of yours. “That’s a lot to cover in one summer.”

“Who’s talking about the summer? While you’re at college, I’m going to put on a backpack and see the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. I’ll do all kinds of wild things. You won’t believe it.”

Your eyes danced with worry. “What are they anyway? The Grand Canyon, the Aurora Borealis, Victoria Falls, the Great Barrier Reef, Mount Everest…That’s all I got.”

“The Harbor of Rio, and Paricutin.”

“What’s Paricutin?”

I gulped down my wine cooler. “This volcano in Mexico. It grew up overnight, in the middle of this farmer’s cornfield. In a week, it grew bigger than any building in town. And then it kept growing for the next year. People came from all over the place to watch it grow, like, right in front of their eyes.”

“No way.” You were pouring your usual amount of ketchup on your hot dog, about a third of the bottle, dripping down over the sides, a ketchup waterfall. You licked the bun, then your fingers.

I stared. “It’s a natural wonder that you can use that much ketchup.”

You laughed and took a bite of your hot dog. With your mouth full, you added, “Okay, I’m sold.” Like, end of discussion.

“What’s sold?”

“Paricutin. We’ll go right after graduation.”

I’ve never been on a plane, but I didn’t tell you that. “Plane tickets are expensive. And I don’t even have a passport.”

“We’ll make it a road trip,” you said. “We can do the Grand Canyon and then head down to Paricutin. Next summer we can go to Everest.”

I laughed, which jerked my marshmallow into the flames and set it on fire. I blew it out, ate the ashes, and started again. You were so sure we’d still be together after you’d spent a year away at college being a big baseball star, on TV even, girls circling you everywhere you went. You were lying to yourself.

“If you apply now and rush it, it’ll come in time.” You looked up at me, earnestly. “Please?”

The smoke drifted from the fire, slid between us. I waved my hand in front of my face, using it as an excuse not to answer. Then, finally, I said, “Okay. I’ll apply for my passport.”

All around the word dream I place pictures of my dreams overlapping with yours. I will fly in an airplane. You will design airplanes. I will see Lady Gaga in concert. You will eat snails in Paris. (Um, yuck.) I will climb the Eiffel Tower. We will learn to rock climb. You will fly in an air balloon. I will create gigantic nature collages that cover buildings. We will go to the Grand Canyon and Paricutin. We will have crows as friends. We will have a chocolate lab. And maybe kids one day.

I love you. Please don’t be in the river.

Tears drip down my face. I swat at them.

Your voice echoes in my brain. Pick three things you’re grateful for, baby. Every damn night on the phone. Three things. Except for the last month. We were fighting, and I didn’t always answer your calls at night. I didn’t want to think about three things I was grateful for. All I could think about was how I was losing you.

Number one, I’m grateful for you.

I cut a copy of your graduation picture from an extra missing poster. Your eyes look real sad. Why didn’t I notice that before?

Number two, I’m grateful for plants and flowers and crows and birds.

I grab a stack of National Geographic and cut out plants and flowers and birds, and I sprinkle them all around the collage, layer them on top of other pictures so that they are flying everywhere.

Number three…

Those eyes. Why didn’t I see that?

If you’re in the river, right now you’ll be drifting through the weeds, through the silty, tannin-filled water, up to the surface.

A familiar pain is stabbing away at the muscles in my chest. It’s just anxiety. But it feels like the beginning of a heart attack.

I close my eyes and breathe in for a count of four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold again. It relaxes me, helps me breathe. My counselor in middle school taught me this, and it occurs to me now that the whole time we were together, I didn’t need it.

Number three, I’m grateful for you.

You’re going to say I already said that. Too bad. Saying it again.

My phone is ringing next to me. It’s the detective. I snatch it up. “Hello?”

“Jessie, I have some good news,” he says.

You’re alive!

“You asked me to call you once the search of the river was completed—and I wanted you to know…the divers didn’t find him.”