Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

months of the Minneapolis Tribune. Retrieval time, the clerk said, could be as long as forty-five minutes.
    I sat at my desk and waited. All around me in the hushed room, people were engrossed by the past events appearing before them. The machines made little whirring noises as they moved the microfilm from page to page. Footsteps scuffed on the carpet. Rising and walking around, I saw that some machines could make copies from the microfilm, and I decided I would do that when I found what I wanted.
    I pulled tissues from my shoulderbag and wiped my clammy palms and the line of moisture above my lip and wished I had something to read. That struck me as funny—writing, writing everywhere, but not a word to read—and I almost laughed.
    I didn’t think I could bear the waiting.
    After twenty-five minutes a young man with a dark ponytail appeared at my side, rousing me out of formless thoughts. The shallow tray he set on the desk contained four cardboard boxes. “Do you know how to use the machine?” he asked quietly.
    I shook my head no. He dragged a chair from an unused desk and sat elbow to elbow with me, instructing me in a monotone, an I’ve said this a million times voice. With the first roll of microfilm in the machine, he stood, moved his chair, and left me.
    I sat, momentarily paralyzed. Headlines on the screen blurred into black smudges. All right, I told myself. Do it.
    Taking a deep breath, I began.
    The days rolled past. I carefully examined every page, catching my breath each time I came across an auto accident story. The man at the desk to my left kept turning to look at me, and I sensed his irritation with my tiny noises. I forced myself to stay silent.
    When I finished the month of November I slipped the roll back into its box with a mixture of disappointment and relief that I hadn’t found the story. 
    December had plenty of news about weather. Minnesota seemed to have snow almost every day. My attention was caught by a photo of two small children building a snowman, and I stared at it, lost in a half-memory. Snow, snowmen, snowballs, a sled. Flying downhill on a blue sled, breathless with the thrill of it, but not alone, someone strong was with me, holding me, protecting me. My father?
    The image wouldn’t gel. I was left with a piercing sense of loss.
    I moved the microfilm forward, skimming over local news that meant nothing to me and national and international stories that meant little more. A politician was in trouble over a woman, a Renoir was stolen in Brooklyn. Violence in Angola and Northern Ireland. Nelson Rockefeller was sworn in as Vice President, to serve with Gerald Ford.
    When the three-column photo of mangled vehicles popped into view, I somehow knew instantly that I’d found what I was looking for. The picture and the story it illustrated were at the bottom of the Sunday, December 22, front page under a big headline: Five Die in Snowstorm Crash .
    Heart racing, I skimmed the beginning of the story for a familiar name, and found it in the second paragraph. Michael J. Goddard Jr. I paused, released the breath I’d been holding, and felt the stare of the man next to me.
    I went back to the first line and started reading.
    Three adults and two children died in a four-vehicle accident on W. Lake St. during Saturday afternoon’s heavy snowstorm. Police said the accident occurred about 1 p.m. when a car traveling west went out of control and crossed into the oncoming lane, striking a pickup truck head-on. The impact of the collision flipped the truck onto the car behind it, and another car struck the pileup from the rear.
    Dead are Minneapolis attorney Michael J. Goddard, 34, who was driving the first car; his two-year-old daughter, Michelle Theresa; Oscar J. Lund, 47, of St. Cloud, driver of the truck; Joanna Marie Bergman, 36, of Minneapolis, driver of the car struck by the truck; and her daughter, Marcy Linda Bergman, 9.
    I read the second paragraph again, then again, but still it made no sense to me. The words separated into individual letters that seemed to spin apart.
    I blinked, refocused, and read on.
    Goddard’s wife, Judith, 34, was admitted to Mt. Sinai Hospital with multiple fractures and a concussion and was in fair condition Saturday night. The driver of the third car, John A. Peterson, 52, of St. Paul, was released from Mt. Sinai after treatment for minor injuries.
    Witnesses said the Goddard car was moving erratically and may have been speeding before it crossed