The sun shone brightly that early summer day as June hung the wash out to dry. Wet fabrics drooped over the edges of the thin white laundry basket and she sang to herself as she hung the baby’s clothes first, the older boys’ next. Tiny outfits, mostly white—a silly color that required extra labor to stay clean—made a nice contrast next to pants and t-shirts that looked like miniatures of her husband’s.

Wafting over the river, the breeze brought the scent of recent summer rain and freshly cut grass with it, tickling her nose and making the clothes dance on the line. Piled in the center of the basket were the blues and browns of her husband’s working man’s wardrobe. Waiting for their turn to do the jitterbug in the breeze, they lay dark and heavy from the wetness on top of hers. There was always less of hers.

Somewhere overhead a crow skimmed the sky, calling out. She didn’t bother looking up, the cawing was just background to the shrieks and laughter in the yard. A flash of red in the corner of her eye caused her to pause, one hand holding her dress to the line, the other clasping a pin. Turning her head, she smiled at her boys playing in the yard, giggling and chasing a ball. They were so much bigger than the baby but still just babies themselves—Irish twins, but the family wasn’t Irish. Richie came first. A study in miniature of his father, he strutted around the yard, kicking the ball.  His dimples seemed deeper today, his laugh heartier. Roddy, her second born: his walking still a bit wobbly, followed his big brother around the yard, toddling about on stubby legs. And the baby, Bobby, came next making three boys in three years.

Hanging one more dress, she sighed, content, almost happy with her life. A cloud passed above her and with one hand on her hip, the other pressed to her brow in a salute, she looked up and canvassed the sky. Just a small cumulus passing by, no big threat in sight. The wash should be fine.

The baby, asleep in the house, hadn’t made a peep. June called the boys over, happy she had a moment without a chore or the baby to tend so she could play with the kids. Supper didn’t need starting for a bit. Tossing the ball, she laughed with them as their chubby little hands missed over and over again. When their laughter turned shrill, she grabbed them around the waists and fell to the ground with them. Richie hopped back up, focused intently on the ball but Roddie took a moment before resuming his stalking of his brother, he climbed onto June’s body and melted into her. Dipping her face into his neck, she breathed in his sweet scent and felt her arms involuntarily tighten around him. She let him go after Richie when he started squirming out of her embrace. She couldn’t hold him there. June pushed herself up to sitting and watched them for a moment.

A harsh ringing—the tinny sound of hammer on bell, fast, urgent—rang out and June rose to her feet. She hesitated for a moment, reaching out towards the boys, her mouth forming words that never came. They were fine. They were happy. She dropped her arm, turned, and trudged up the back steps into the house.

The phone call lasted only a moment. Hardly any time at all. Later, when she will think back, she won’t be sure if she had checked on the baby or took a few minutes to pull out cans and pots in preparation for dinner. She will only remember that it was just a moment.

In the house, June’s ears perked up at the crow’s caw—loud, intruding, scolding—and then nothing. The silence was louder than any noise the boys had ever made. Not knowing why or what drew her, she walked to the door and looked out.

No flash of red, no shrieking, no laughter. Just that same fresh rain and cut grass scent that will bring her back to this moment every time.

Scanning the yard, she saw the laundry waiving on the line. There were no sheets hanging today, no curtains to block the view. The yard was empty.

She stepped onto the porch, holding the screen door ajar with her palm, a buzz of worry stirring in her. Her skin felt tight everywhere, hot, electrified.

She called to them. Nothing.

She stepped off the porch into the yard and called again.

Nothing.

Running to the front of the house, yelling now, angry: “Answer mommy right now!” Her eyes felt hot and wet and she brushed something from her face. Out front there was no one in the street, no red ball.

Hands to her temples, her breath came in short bursts and tears fell hot and thick, almost as if the squeezing she felt in her chest was forcing them out of her. She moved quickly, up the front steps, into the house, searching the small space for her boys. Under the beds. In the closets. Behind the couch. Inside the pantry cupboards.

Nothing.

Doubling up in pain, weeping now, she tried to take deep breaths. Tried to remain calm. Through her own cries, she heard the baby’s wail. He was awake, demanding to be heard, acknowledged. Stumbling to the bedroom, wiping tears off her face, she reached into his crib and pulled him to her. They cried together for a moment.

The rotary wall phone jiggled as she dialed her husband’s work number. Her hands shook and twice she had to put the receiver back on the hook, redial the number.

When her husband arrived, so did several neighbors and friends—a few cops Dick had been on the force with years ago. They asked questions, searched the places June had already looked. Finally, they set out on foot from the back yard.

June clung to the baby, fed him a bottle, patted his back. The women from the neighborhood sat with her, reassured her. She barely heard what they said. A silence settled around her despite their murmured reassurances. Above it all was the crow again.

It seemed like hours that Dick was gone. When the baby woke again, the sun was low in the sky and June remembered the wash—it should be dry by now. Thinking to take it down, she rose slowly and methodically from the couch. Passing through the kitchen where supper hadn’t been made, she pushed the screen door open. Halfway out, she paused.

She didn’t call out this time despite the shapes moving in the distance. The men were coming down the edge of the dike and she quickly made out which one was Dick. He was carrying a bundle of something. The laundry continued its jig on the line, happily dancing away. June squinted, trying to see what Dick carried.

As they got closer, she noticed a neighbor holding Dick’s elbow, gripping firmly. Her eyes darted to the man next to him, holding another bundle. Closer still and she saw the bundles were limp.

Closer yet as the crow urgently cawed above them.

The bundles took shape: two legs, two arms, draped over the arms of the men. Two sweet round heads, lolling back, one over Dick’s arm, the other over the neighbor’s. June sank to her knees in the grass. Holding the baby to her breast, she cried out in short painful bursts. His wails complemented hers.

The crow flew above the yard, head tilted towards the ground as she circled slowly in the sky, watching. She let out a single sharp caw, an answer to June’s own cry. Wings full, spiraling upward, her flight took her past the yard, over the dike. One beady little eye spotted something red, glistening, gliding in the river. She followed it downstream until it caught in a clump of river grass. Circling above it she cawed out again, harsh and knowing before she flew home.