Machine Dreams

carving knife and fork. She’d put the platter of meat near his plate. “Really, there are things to celebrate. We’re together, you don’t have to leave until after the holidays, and your sister—did you know she’ll make the dean’s list this semester?”
    “Mom,” Danner said, “it’s not for sure.”
    “A toast.” Billy raised his glass, then asked in a stage whisper, “Who
is
the dean, anyway?”
    “Bob Hope,” Danner answered.
    “Danner,” Jean said seriously, “you should go ahead and go to Florida, since your friends are going and you have a ride. You’ve worked hard, and you’ve been such a help to me, too—.” She stopped talking, her voice quavering.
    “Come home with a tan like Bob Hope’s,” Billy injected quickly. “I’ll supervise here in Bellington.”
    Danner unfolded her napkin. “You mean you’ll supervise Black’s Billiards.”
    “Exactly. But first I’ll eat my dinner.” He picked up the carving knife and made ready.
    “Wait.” Jean held up one hand. “Let’s say the blessing.”
    “Good idea.” Danner fixed Billy with an encouraging look. “Billy, the floor is yours.”
    “Do I know a blessing?” Billy put the knife down. “I’ll make one up.”
    Their mother shook her head. “You act as though you were raised as heathens.”
    “We’ll hold hands for luck.” Danner crossed her wrists as though taken captive.
    But they did hold hands, Jean at one side of the square table, Billy and Danner at either end. Danner couldn’t quite reach Billy; she moved her chair closer and arched one arm over the steaming food. Their fingertips met in a pyramid.
    “Secret signal,” Billy said, and stood to grasp her hand. Pewter bells on the front door moved in the wind; he remembered the snow outside, drifting along the street. When they were children, in the country on Brush Fork, the snow drifted magically high. They’d worn bulky mittens impossible to lose, mittens strung on yarn around their necks and through the sleeves of their snow-suits.
    “Start talking,” Danner said, “it’ll come to you.” She and Jean bowed their heads and waited, smiling.
    Billy spoke, words from one of the old prayers, but behind his closed eyes played a memory of startling clarity: watching the snow plow with Danner, both of them small, standing in snow to their knees. The big yellow machine rumbling by, slow, all-powerful. Engine roar, shrill jangling of chains. The powdery snow thrown up in fanned continuous spray as the heavy machine pressed on.
    December 31st. Snow on his boots, stamping his feet on the back porch of the white house beside the hospital. Chains of the dismantled swing moved in the wind, and the lattice of the porch roof was built up with thick snow so wet that the square spaces of the lattice work were solidly snowed in. Snow made the gray light whiter; he stamped his feet and heard them inside—his father and Aunt Bess moving from their chairs to the kitchen door: Mitch coughing, his tread heavy; and Aunt Bess moving stiffly, laced into her corsets. The coal bucket was full beside the door and laced with snow, the black lumps jagged and big, showing snow like a powder. Billy took off his gloves and brushed the snowaway; the coal was so cold it left no smear on his fingers. By now they were at the door and the sound of the knob turning was loud. Aunt Bess was there, behind the screen, his father hovering beyond her like a wall. Her face wore that pleased, surprised expression, the thick eyeglasses exaggerating her inquiring gaze.
    “Well hello, Mister,” she said. “You’re up early.”
    Mitch motioned for Billy to come inside. “Get on in here, let’s not let Bess get cold.” He shut the door behind them all and clapped a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Got some spuds cooking. You want some eggs?”
    “No thanks.” Billy put his snowy gloves in his pocket and unzipped his jacket.
    “Big mistake,” Mitch said, “I make good eggs.” He nodded at Bess. “Even Bess eats them, and she’s hard to please.”
    “Your father is a wonderful cook,” Bess told Billy. “Now, there’s no question about it, we all know I can’t cook.” She went to the stove to pour hot water into two cups of instant coffee.
    Mitch gave Billy an amused look, then sat down again.
    Billy stood awkwardly in the small room as Bess brought the coffee to the table. He took a breath. He would just have to go ahead and tell them. “Mitch, Danner called last night from