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Della Duck wasn’t dead. Donald didn’t know how to tell anyone else how certain he was of it, but he was. Della Duck wasn’t dead, because if Della was dead, Donald would know.
But she wasn’t here. And so, Donald had loaded the eggs along with everything that was his and not Scrooge’s, into his car, and drove. He didn’t even know where he was going, but he couldn’t stay in the mansion. He didn’t want to hear Scrooge justifying building a rocket for Della, even when he knew she had ducklings on the way. He didn’t want to sit in that house, all filled with Della’s things, and even worse, filled with Della’s absence.
Donald didn’t stop driving until he reached Spoonerville. It wasn’t on purpose, but he didn’t have a better idea of where to go. Jose had just gotten that new job, and Panchito was in Mexico, and Mickey had said he had finally booked something big. Maybe Grandma’s farm, but that was even further in the other direction.
Donald had never been there without Della. Della had never been to Goofy’s house.
It had barely been a year since Goofy;s wife had died, but Goofy let him in anyway. They set up the eggs in a nest of blankets on the living room floor, giving Max strict instructions that he was allowed to look at the eggs and not touch them.
Donald was slumped on the couch, a mug of tea in his hands. He was exhausted. It was a small miracle he had even made it out here without crashing the car. He wasn’t even angry anymore, and wasn’t that a new feeling. He was just drained.
“I’m sure Scrooge’ll find her,” Goofy offered. Another small miracle that Goofy had managed to make both of them tea and only spilled it once. Max was crawling around the eggs, staring at them in fascination. “Be careful, Maxie. No touchin’.”
Scrooge had to find her. Because if he didn’t find her- Donald couldn’t even manage to say it. If he said it, it was too close to being true.
“Yeah,” Donald agreed, his voice even hoarser than usual. It infuriated him that the only hope he had was Scrooge, when he was the one who had done this in the first place.“He has to find her. She’s-” she’s not dead but that was too close to saying that she was dead, so instead Donald said, “She’s still alive. I would know if she wasn’t.”
Max looked up at them. “When are they gonna hatch?”
“Soon,” Goofy said, “That’s why you gotta be real careful with ‘em.”
“They’re supposed to hatch this week,” Donald managed to say. “It’ll be really soon.”
Della wasn't dead. Maybe she would even make it back in time to see it.
Buying the houseboat had taken nearly all of the savings Donald had. It was still cheaper than a house, even after paying the cost of the marina. It was his and it was the boys, and no one could take it away from them.
He had baby proofed the whole place, even a couple of spells to protect against magic and curses, just in case, keeping out sorcerers or enemies, or possibly even Scrooge himself. But so far, Scrooge hadn’t come looking.
Donald had signed the last of the paperwork that day. Della Thelma Duck was legally dead.
He hadn’t wanted to do it. But he had already spent a year and a half fighting with social services. He had proved he had the houseboat, proved he had a job, proved he was perfectly capable of taking care of the triplets. And if he didn’t want to keep fighting, to make sure that the boys were his and no one could do anything about it, the easiest way was for Della to be dead.
“You know, Don,” Gladstone said, a miraculously asleep Louie held in his arms. “We could have some kind of ceremony for her. Get everyone together-”
“No,” Donald said, glaring at Gladstone.“I’m not having a funeral.”
Huey was in the crib, happily chewing on a teething toy, while Dewey screamed his head off in Donald hold. Donald shifted him, leaving Dewey up against his shoulder, bouncing him in a hope to at least get him quiet, if not asleep.
“Not a funeral,” Gladstone said. “Just- a ceremony.”
Donald flipped him off. He bet if he handed Dewey to Gladstone, he would be calm and asleep in seconds. It infuriated him.
“You mean a funeral. And we’re not having a funeral, because Della isn’t dead.”
She couldn’t be dead. Even after Scrooge had given up looking, even after they hadn’t ever found so much as a single piece of the Spear. No wreckage, not so much as a stray transmission. Donald would know. He would feel it. He had to believe he would feel it. But the look on Gladstone’s face was-
“You think I’m delusional.”
“Hey, I didn't say that,” Gladstone held up a hand. “I just think- if Moneybags couldn’t find her-”
“She’s not dead!” Donald snapped, loud enough to set Dewey crying harder. He turned away, setting Dewey back into the crib. It didn’t stop him screaming. Donald clutched at the edge of the crib. “Della’s not- we’re not having a funeral.”
Gladstone laid Louie down, picking up Dewey. He quieted instantly. Donald closed his eyes.
“Della isn’t dead.”
Donald’s bedroom at his parents house was almost empty. Most of his things had been at Scrooge’s, and most of that Donald had left behind. He had no interest in going back to the mansion. Ever, if he could help it.
“You could take a few of your sister’s things too,” Hortense said from the doorway. “Show them to the boys.”
Donald shook his head, looking up from the box he had been rummaging through.
“I can’t,” Donald said. “They’re- they’re hers.”
Hortense pursed her lips. “I’m sure she’d be happy for the boys to have them. Something of hers.”
But that- that was what you did when people were dead. Donald knew that not talking about her wasn’t any better, and his therapist had said so too. They boys hadn’t asked about her yet, but eventually Donald knew that they would.
Donald didn't know what he was going to tell them when they did. He would have to tell them about Scrooge too, and he didn’t think he could do that. He didn’t know what to tell them without making it sound like she was dead. She wasn't.
“You don’t think she’s dead, do you?” Donald asked.
“I don’t know,” Hortense sighed. “Shouldn’t I know? If my own daughter was-”
“I would know,” Donald said, but they were starting to wonder if that was really true. If she was still alive, wouldn’t she have found a way back by now? Or at least managed to send a message, to let them know?
Della was tough. Della was scrappy. And Della was better at adventuring than Donald had ever been. If there was any way out of wherever she was, she would find it.
If there was a way out.
“Is Scrooge still calling you?”
“No’ anymore,” Hortense's eyes flashed. “No’ since he stopped looking.”
Donald nodded. An old t shirt was crumbled in his hand and he tossed it back into the box. There wasn’t much in here actually worth keeping.
“I wish she hadn’t done it,” Donald said.
“Climbed aboard that rocket? Don’t we all.”
“No,” Donald shook his head. “I wish she hadn’t lit that firecracker when we were kids.”
“Your father recovered just fine.”
“That’s not what I mean, Mam.”
“You think I don’t wish that?” Hortense crossed her arms “That I don’t wish I had had your grandma watch you instead? That I hadn’t just taken you to hospital with us? That I had banned yer uncle from ever seeing you again the first time he took you out like that?”
There was no point, Donald’s therapist had told him, in wishing for things to happen differently. The things that had already happened had happened. Donald knew that wasn’t true. Scrooge probably had all sorts of things locked away in the Bin. Magic charms and time travel hour glasses and who knew what else. A dozen and one thing that could change it. But Donald was also knew none of those things really could.
“I don’t want the boys to know about him,” Donald said. They were getting older, faster than Donald had thought was possible. He couldn’t explain what had happened to Della without explaining Scrooge and if that was it- then he wouldn’t tell them at all.
“You won’t be able to hide that from them forever.”
“I can try.”
A car accident. Of all the things in that world that it could have been- a stupid drunk driving accident and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.
It should have been something grander. Something big and great and world shattering. It wasn’t as though Hortense and Quackmore had been Scrooge. They had never been overly adventurous as him, or even as Matilda. But it should have been something bigger than a band of drunk college kids.
Except it wasn’t.
Donald couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he hadn’t even known it had happened until he got the phone call.
It had been late, and he had been asleep. He should have woken up in the middle of the night the moment it happened. He should have woken up with a horrible feeling in his chest and he would have known right away that something was wrong.
But it hadn’t. He hadn’t known until the call came in, hours after the accident itself.
If Donald hadn’t known when his parents were dead, would he know if Della was too?
Donald had never heard Grandma’s house so quiet. Almost everyone was here already, and more were still supposed to be coming. And it was quiet. The loudest sound was the boys, playing with Gladstone in the other room, too young to fully understand what had happened.
Donald, on the other hand, was slumped at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of tea in front of him. What was it about making tea when something was wrong? He didn’t know if it helped or not. Maybe it was just something to do.
“Donald,” Grandma took a seat across from him, a mug of her own clutched in her hands. Her eyes were red, and she looked even worse than Donald felt. “I know we don’t have a body, but I think we should give Della a headstone.”
Donald jerked, sitting up straight. “No!”
“Donald,” she said. “It’s been five years.”
“No,” Donald repeated. “We’re not- Della isn’t dead.”
But Grandma shook her head. “If she was alive, don’t you think we’d have found her by now?”
“I don’t care,” Donald said. He had already heard all of it. He was the one who had signed the paperwork for a death certificate. But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. That was just to make sure he got custody of the boys. Missing person cases weren't considered hopeless until seven years and it- it had only been five. “We’re not giving Della a funeral,”
Except what if they should? What if she was dead and he didn’t know? Would she be happier if she had one? If she was given a headstone with her name-
If everyone had given up on her ever coming home?
“We’re not having a funeral,” Donald repeated. “Not for Della.”
Because he would know. From the other room, Dewey shrieked, laughing as though nothing was wrong. Donald had told them, they knew that was why they were here. But they didn’t know what it meant.
He couldn’t do Della’s funeral on top of everything else. Donald would know if they needed one. He would know if Della was really gone. He had to believe that he would know.
The boys were supposed to be in bed. Donald stood on the deck of the houseboat, leaning on the rail and staring up at the stars. Piloting planes had never just been enough for her.
His birthday was in just a few days. Della’s birthday was in just a few days. They were going to be 33.
He had lost his job again. And if he didn’t get a new one soon, it would be another fight with social services, back to breathing down his neck.
Della had loved her birthday. Presents and cake, making sure Donald’s face got smashed into said cake. It had always been his least favorite part of the day, but now he would have given just about anything for it.
The door creaked open behind him. “Uncle Donald?”
“Dewey,” Donald didn’t even need to turn around to know which one of them it was. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
Dewey’s feet patted across the deck, lifting himself up to sit on the rail. Donald squawked, quickly wrapped an arm around him, keeping him in place.
“Dewey! You need to be careful!”
Dewey rolled his eyes. Donald glared at him.
“I’m fine, Uncle Donald,” Dewey said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“You need to try,” Donald said, “You have school tomorrow.”
Dewey looked up. Donald had shown all of the boys maps of the stars, taught them how to navigate by them if they were needed to. He hoped they never would. Huey was the only one who had kept up with it, insisting it was a vital skill for Junior Woodchucks.
Except Della should have been the one showing them the stars. Not him.
“Is Mom dead?” Dewey asked.
Donald froze. He pulled Dewey closer, holding him tight.
“No,” Donald said firmly. “No. She’s just - gone. Why would you think that?”
Dewey shrugged. He yawned, leaning his head against Donald’s shoulder. “I don’t know. What does gone mean?”
“Gone means-” Donald didn’t have an answer. Not a good one. He kissed Dewey on the side of his head. “It means that she can’t be here. But she loves you. She loves all three of you so much.”
Donald had started to wonder if that was true. If Della had loved them more, would she have still climbed aboard that ship? If she had loved them more, would it have made her stay?
Donald hefted the now asleep Dewey onto his hip. The boys were getting too big too fast.
Donald looked up. Della was somewhere out there. She had to be.
Donald looked over at Della, busy tugging at a toy car Dewey had shoved into the airvent. She looked ready to cry.
We don’t have to go,” Donald said. “Not if you aren’t ready.”
“What was the funeral like?” Della asked, her voice oddly hollow.
It was horrible. “It was nice.” He clutched at the wheel as he tried to turn. He had been meaning to get his brakes checked, but hadn’t been able to afford it. “Grandma handled most of it.”
He probably should have done more. After all, it wasn’t as though her son hadn’t just died too. But she had taken care of everything. The services, the graves, the coffins.
“Everyone came?”
“Yeah.” Almost. “Gladstone, Fethry, Abner. Even Aunt Matilda came down.”
“But not Uncle Scrooge.”
Donald’s hand’s tightened on the wheel. Della wasn’t looking at him.
“He paid for the whole thing,” Donald said. The receipt had arrived at Grandma’s just a couple days afterwards, every single cost had been taken care of.
“But he didn’t come.”
“I saw his car outside the church. I think Aunt Matilda tried to talk to him.” He had seen Matilda pounding on the limo door, shouting furiously at her brother in Gaelic. “But- he didn’t come inside.”
Della was trying to pull out the toy care again. She wasn’t going to free it. Donald had already tried everything.
“Louie said Grandma wanted to give me a headstone.”
Donald frowned. Louie always seemed to know things that he shouldn’t. Donald was certain he had never brought that up with him.
“I- She brought it up. But I said no. I said you weren’t dead.”
“I was,” Della said. “Legally. Besides, you didn’t know that.”
It had been horrible. But it had also been the easiest thing he could do. To avoid dragging out the cases with social services. To make sure someone couldn’t try and take the boys away. He had been thinking about the boys. Besides, it hadn’t been real. He had known it wasn’t real.
“Yes I did.” Even while signing everything, he had known it wasn’t true. “I would have known. I would have known if you were dead.”
“I didn’t know,” Della said, sinking further into her seat, “when Mam and Dad died.”
Donald hadn’t felt it either. You were supposed to know when something happened to the people you cared about.
“I thought I would,” Della said softly. “That I would know if something bad happened. To you or Scrooge or the boys. And I didn’t. So that meant everything was fine. But- I didn’t know. I don’t even know what I was doing when it happened. I don’t remember the last time I talked to them. I didn’t- I didn’t know it would be the last time.”
Donald pulled into the parking lot. He didn’t move to get out. Della may not have remembered, but he did.
“You had called Mam because Louie’s egg was smaller than the others and you were worried. But Mam told you it was fine and you didn’t need to worry.”
Della stared at him. “How do you know that?”
“Mam told me,” Donald shrugged. “She talked about it. Always told the boys how much you had worried about them. That you loved them.” He frowned. “They don’t remember them much. Dewey says he does, but I think he’s lying.”
Della smiled, but only for a second. Donald sighed. The cemetery was spread out in front of them.
“It wasn’t Uncle Scrooge’s fault,” Della said. “The Spear. Everyone blamed him, but it wasn’t his fault. It was mine.”
“He would call her,” Donald couldn’t look at her. He had listened to the messages sometimes. Back then they had only infuriated him. Useless, empty messages that only said Scrooge didn't know how to clean up the mess that he had made. “When you were first- at first. Everyone time he sent out another rocket to find you. When he thought they might have found something. She- Mam and Dad never answered. But she would listen to the messages later. When- they were all still on the machine.”
“He said he searched the moon. He didn’t find me.”
“He didn’t find the Moonlanders either. So…” But that just meant he hadn’t tried hard enough.
“They should have been mad at me,” Della said, yanking at a feather on her hand until it bled. “But no one was, were they?”
“I was,” Donald admitted. He had been furious. Watching the boys in the crib, watching them take their first steps and say their first words, and knowing that it should have been Della doing all of that. Not him. “Sometimes.”
“Really?” She sounded surprised.
“Do you want me to be mad at you?” It had taken no small amount of therapy to make certain that he wasn’t. He still wanted to be angry, but just didn't know who to be angry at anymore.
“I don’t know,” Della sighed. “I left you. No one talked to Uncle Scrooge, for years! Donald, you didn’t even tell the boys Scrooge was their uncle! And I don’t want a lecture on why you did it, I just- I made everything fall apart. And then I made it home and I-” She swallowed. “I thought everything could be like it was before. Better, even.”
“It wouldn’t be,” Donald said, because nothing ever could be the way it had been. That wasn’t how the world worked. “Even if Mam and Dad hadn’t-”
“But it did!” Della shouted. She had started to cry. “They’re dead, Don! In a stupid car crash and I wasn’t here! If I had been-”
“Do you know how much I’ve thought about that?!” Donald snapped back at her. Some days that had been all he had been able to think about. “What if you were still here?! What if Mam and Dad hadn’t gone out that night?! What if Scrooge had told me about the Spear or- what if you had never put that firecracker under Dad’s chair?”
“No. Because if I hadn’t done that we never would have-”
“Started adventuring with Scrooge in the first place? Yeah. And then maybe I wouldn’t have lost you!”
All the things they could have been if they hadn’t been adventurers. Everything else that could have happened. A million ways their lives would have been different and none of it mattered because none of that was what had happened.
“My therapist,” Donald took a deep breath. He was holding the steering wheel so tight that he couldn’t feel his fingers, “said you can’t talk about it like that. Like you could change the things that have already happened.”
“They’d be really proud of you,” Della said. “Mam and Dad. Taking care of the boys. Therapy.”
“They would have hated that I was going to therapy,” Donald laughed. He could only imagine that they would have said if he had ever told them. He never had. “They’d be proud of you too.”
Proud that she had made it back, that she could raise the boys now, that she had survived. But- if Della was here to blame instead of Scrooge? Donald didn’t know. He wanted to think they would be. When he wasn’t angry at her, he was proud too.
Della forced herself to sit up. “Maybe. Come on. I want to see them.”