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  Chapter Five

  Robin had to wait all weekend to have April to herself. While more snow fell outside, Friday night and most of Saturday had been taken up by an endless family game of Monopoly. Dad had declared himself King of Boardwalk and had torn up little pieces of red napkin to make extra hotels.

  There was one bad moment early Saturday morning when April discovered that their Internet connection wasn’t working and probably wouldn’t be fixed for a week or two.

  “How am I supposed to talk to my friends?” she had wailed. It wasn’t that big a deal, but April turned it into one. Robin even heard her telling Gran about it during her nightly phone call.

  The news from Gran on Saturday night was about the same. Aunty Liz had stabilized, but no one quite knew what came next. Sunday morning Dad left when it was still dark to do his rain-hail-sleet-and-snow thing. Molly’s friend’s mother picked her up for a play day, and Mom retreated to her bedroom with fierce warnings that she was not to be disturbed “unless the chimney is on fire, the water pipes burst or there is a major appliance failure.”

  Over bowls of cereal, Robin tried to decide how to approach April with her idea. April didn’t want to make plans, but this would be fun. Finally she took a big breath and burst out, “Why don’t we ski to the cabin? Dad says I’m allowed, as long as I let someone know I’m going there.”

  April hesitated, and Robin was sure she was going to say no. Then she shrugged. “Yeah, okay, though I won’t be able to ski as fast as you.”

  The cabin was behind the ridge on the other side of the lake. It had belonged to a trapper and had been abandoned fifty years earlier. Dad had fixed it up before Robin was born, patching holes in the roof, adding a porch and repairing the metal chimney. He had carried in supplies on horseback, and Robin’s family liked to go there for picnics or to warm up on snowshoe or cross-country-ski trips.

  Robin filled her fanny pack with oatmeal cookies and two Japanese oranges left over from Christmas. She scribbled a quick note for Mom.

  The girls laced up their ski boots, grabbed tuques and mitts and headed outside. They stepped into their skis and slid down the slope to the lake. Robin squinted in the brightness and checked out the old ski track. All that was left in the fresh snow was a faint ridge. She set off across the bay, pushing herself hard. She sucked in gulps of cold air and let everything slide out of her mind. Sometimes breaking a new ski trail was like plowing through wet cement, but today the snow was powdery and fast.

  When she reached the far shore, she waited. April looked small and far away. It was easy to imagine the house wasn’t there and to pretend that they were the only travelers on a vast snowy tundra. They used to play this game all the time. Inuit hunters, struggling to reach their camp...

  She decided to take a chance. “We have to keep going, Ootpik,” she gasped as April caught up. “Polar bear...behind the island...no bullets left.”

  “Any provisions left?” puffed April, and Robin felt herself relax.

  “I ate the last frozen fish, but there’s always our bootlaces. We could eat those.”

  “Aaargh!” said April.

  “We’ll head for the igloo,” said Robin.

  The igloo was the snow-covered abandoned beaver lodge in the bay at the end of the lake. The girls took off their skis and stuck them in the snow and then climbed to the top of the mound.

  “Remember sliding down this when we were little kids?” said April suddenly. “It seemed so big.”

  “Yeah. Even Molly’s outgrown it now.” Robin touched April’s arm. “Look.”

  A moose had stepped out of a clump of willow trees. He stood very still and stared at the girls, as if trying to figure out what they were. Then he loped through the deep snow along the shoreline, his long legs reminding Robin of an ungainly giraffe. With one last look back, he scrambled up the bank and disappeared into the trees.

  April shivered. “It’s so lonely out here.”

  Robin never felt that way. She loved the lake in the winter. She searched the shoreline for the split pinetree that marked the beginning of the cabin trail. “Let’s go!”

  The girls put theirs skis back on and skied to the shore, and then they started to climb up a steep hillside. The snow was deeper and softer here. Robin checked for blazes on the trees to make sure they were going the right way.

  At the top of the hill, she leaned on her poles, panting, and whooped, “We made it!” Below her, the trees opened into a sloping meadow. At the bottom was a long, narrow, snow-covered pond with a small cabin tucked at one end.

  April shoved off with her poles and shouted, “Race you!”

  It was like skiing through clouds. The powdery snow floated around Robin’s knees. Her cheeks stung with the cold. Perfect!

  They skied almost to the door of the cabin. They stuck their poles and skis in the snow, and Robin tugged on the door. Oomph! It clung stubbornly for a few seconds and then gave in with a grunt.

  It seemed colder inside than outside. There was a table and two wooden chairs, an old black wood-stove and wooden bunks with sleeping bags stored underneath in plastic bins. A board shelf was cluttered with dishes, a lantern, some tins of food and a smoke-blackened pot.

  In the end, they decided to eat their cookies and oranges outside in the sun, stamping a flat place in the snow with their skis.

  They munched in silence for a few minutes. Then Robin licked the last bit of orange juice off her fingers and gathered up the peels. April leaned back against a big spruce tree and closed her eyes.

  A sudden picture of Aunty Liz hit Robin with a jolt. Last Christmas, they had all skied to the cabin. Aunty Liz had been resting against that same tree where April was now. Molly had crept up with a mitten full of snow and slid it down Aunty Liz’s jacket. Robin could still hear her pretended roar of rage.

  Robin shivered. Would Aunty Liz be able to ski again? Would she even be able to walk? Nervously, she sorted through the jumble of information in her head.

  She didn’t know much. It had been a horrible accident. People had been killed. No one had told her anything else.

  Okay, be fair. She hadn’t exactly demanded to know. But this was the first time she and April had been alone. Molly was a pest all day. And in the evenings, April talked to Mom. Snatches of their conversations poked at Robin like pins. Traction. Crushed pelvis. Screws. It made her stomach feel queasy.

  Robin scooped up snow in her mitten and tried to put together a question. She turned words around in her head. They felt like they were stuck together like chewing gum. She couldn’t just blurt out, “Will Aunty Liz be able to ski again?” April would feel horrible. And it wouldn’t change anything.

  It was too hard to talk about. “You know what would be fun?” she said instead. “To come up here by ourselves and stay the night.”

  “Would we be allowed?” said April doubtfully.

  “There’s a chance.” Robin’s mind was already formulating ideas.

  The girls worked out the details as they climbed to the top of the ridge. Baked beans or soup? Hot chocolate for sure. Marshmallows. They could roast them in the woodstove. Monopoly? It was no fun with two people. Cards would be better. And definitely some books.

  The ski back down the hill was fast and fun on the newly packed ski trail. As the girls headed across the lake to the house, they talked about their chances of an overnighter. Dad might go for it, but Mom was definitely a problem. They’d have to work on her.

  Making plans.

  Robin felt like singing at the top of her lungs. It was like old times—before April got that closed look in her eyes. Before the accident.

  Chapter Six

  Robin approached Mom and Dad with their idea during supper. When she ran out of arguments, she looked at April for backup, but April was playing with her salad. She looked tired.

  “I don’t know—,” Mom began.

  “You always do this!” Robin burst out.

  “Do what?” said Mom.

  “Get this
look on your face. And then come up with a hundred things that could go wrong that never do.”

  Mom looked offended. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “It is a little,” said Dad, grinning. “Never mind. Every family needs one worrywart. I, for one, think it’s a good idea.”

  Robin had been prepared for a fight. She clamped her mouth shut and held her breath. Mom frowned.

  “They can take the walkie talkie with them,” said Dad. He sounded enthusiastic. “They could call if they ran into trouble. I could be up there in twenty minutes on the snowmobile if they needed me.”

  “Which we won’t,” said Robin.

  Mom sighed. “Do they have to do this right now, with everything that’s been happening?”

  “That’s exactly why they should do it now,” said Dad. Robin felt like leaping up and hugging him.

  Molly’s head had swiveled back and forth as she followed the conversation. “I’m going too,” she said.

  “No,” said Robin. “It’s just going to be me and April.”

  Molly’s face turned bright red. “That’s not fair!”

  “Life isn’t always fair,” said Mom automatically.

  “But I never get to do anything fun!”

  Molly sounded like she was settling in for a long siege. Robin turned to Mom and said loudly, “Well?”

  “When?” said Mom, giving in.

  “Saturday,” said Robin. They could come home from Kim’s party right after lunch and go.

  After supper, Dad offered to do the dishes. “Temporary goodwill, girls. Take advantage of it.”

  “Hot bubble bath for me,” said Mom.

  “Saxophone,” said April. “I’ve hardly done any practicing yet.”

  Robin grabbed her jacket off its hook. She had to feed the horses, and then she was free. “You want to help me, Molly?”

  Molly made a face. “I’m staying with April.”

  “If you’re quiet,” said April.

  Robin grinned. She wrapped her scarf mummy-style around her face. Molly quiet? When polar bears could fly.

  The bellow came just as Robin was about to leave. “I did not!”

  Dad turned around at the sink. Molly stormed into the kitchen, her face as red as a tomato. April hung in the doorway, her eyes cold. “That’s weird because I left it leaning against the computer table in its case and now it’s on the bed out of its case.”

  Robin froze at the door. What was this all about? April looked furious.

  “I didn’t touch it.” Molly sidled closer to Dad.

  “Oh, pardon me. It must have been Jellybean. Or Hurly. I guess he decided to try my sax.”

  Molly started to giggle and then looked at April’s face. “I didn’t break it or anything,” she mumbled into Dad’s stomach.

  Dad pushed Molly gently away. “Molly?”

  “I didn’t hurt it. I was just looking at it.”

  “That saxophone cost a lot of money,” said April. “And I’d also like a bit of privacy.”

  “I agree,” said Dad. “Molly, from now on April’s room is out-of-bounds, unless you’re invited. And you owe April an apology.”

  Molly stiffened. “I’m glad I touched it!”

  “Molly.”

  “I said I’M GLAD I TOUCHED IT!” yelled Molly.

  “Hey!” said Dad. “Off to your room, young lady!”

  Molly let her breath out with a noisy explosion. She burst into loud sobs and ran out of the kitchen.

  “Sorry about that, April,” said Dad.

  April frowned. “I just don’t like people going in my room, that’s all.”

  Robin bit her lip. She waited for Dad to say something. He was scrubbing a pan with a Brillo pad, humming through his teeth. A sure sign he was bugged. Was he mad at April or at Molly? Robin wasn’t sure. She slipped outside and shut the door.

  After she had put out the hay, she lingered by the corral, reluctant to go back inside. The geldings drifted like shadows between the piles of hay. Then they settled down to a smooth rhythmic chewing.

  Robin tilted her face to the starry sky, searching for planets. She tried to bring back the feeling she’d had when she and April were skiing.

  Talking, making plans. Like old times.

  But the feeling was gone, like when Molly made a picture on her magic slate and then pulled the plastic sheet. All that was left was an empty gray hole.

  On Monday morning, the school bus presented a problem. The driver, Mr. Thomas, hadn’t even come to a stop, and already Robin could see Kim through the window, rearranging herself to make room. Robin and Kim always sat together. Robin’s stomach tightened.

  Then April said, “Oh yeah, I promised Molly I’d sit with her,” and Robin sagged with relief. Sometimes it was handy to have a younger sister.

  When they got to school, Robin took April to the office to register. Then she led her down to the grade-five classroom. She showed her the empty desk beside hers. “Kim’s right behind me. You know her. And Bryn’s in front of you and Sarah’s behind you. You’ll like them.”

  April didn’t look like she was listening. She was digging in her backpack.

  “Have you got everything you need?” said Robin.

  “For the hundredth time, yes.” April pulled out notebooks and a handful of loose pens.

  First period was math. Mr. Nordoff passed out a worksheet on multiplying and dividing fractions. It was easy. Robin flew through the questions. She glanced sideways at April.

  April was gripping her pencil, but she wasn’t doing anything. Just sitting there. Worry began to gnaw at Robin’s stomach.

  She dropped her eraser and then leaned over to pick it up. On the way back up, she had a good look at April’s paper. She had written her name and had doodled in the corner. That was it. Robin’s stomach sank. April’s class probably hadn’t got to fractions yet. It wasn’t fair to expect her to just walk in and do the work.

  Robin glanced at the front of the room. Mr. Nordoff was busy marking a stack of papers. She took a big breath. She leaned over and slid her paper onto April’s desk.

  April froze for a second. Then she started to copy the answers, with a tiny frown on her face.

  It was very quiet in the room, just the rustling of Mr. Nordoff’s papers and a few scattered sighs and shifting chairs. Mr. Nordoff put down his marking pen and glanced up. Robin’s heart gave a jump. She leaned over and shielded her desk with her arms. She held her breath.

  For one hopeful second, she thought that Mr. Nordoff had gone back to his marking. Then she heard the scrape of his chair and his footsteps as he walked down the aisle.

  April stopped writing and sat very still. Mr. Nordoff stopped beside her desk. He picked up both papers and said in a quiet voice, “If you need help, next time ask.”

  April’s face turned scarlet. Lots of the kids turned around and stared. Robin kept her eyes on the top of her desk. Misery welled inside her.

  Mr. Nordoff went back to the front of the room. He dropped the two worksheets on his desk. “Ten more minutes,” he said.

  The minutes crept by. It was mortifying sitting there with nothing to do. Robin slid her ruler out of her desk and studied the numbers. She peeked sideways at April. Her face was burning, and she was looking at her hands.

  When the class monitors collected the papers, Robin pretended not to care that she didn’t have one. She made herself busy, scooping up loose pencil shavings from the front of her desk and putting them in her pencil box.

  When the lunch bell rang, April muttered, “I’m going to the washroom.”

  “I—,” began Robin.

  “I know the way,” said April.

  Robin made her lunch last as long as possible. She kept one eye on the door. Soon everyone else had headed outside or to the computer lab, except for Kim, who pulled her chair up beside Robin’s and unwrapped a package of cheese and crackers. She settled comfortably into her favorite topic, her birthday party. “So, what do you want? Hawaiian or pepperoni?”


  “What?”

  “The pizza. For...the...party.” Kim spoke in an exaggerated slow voice.

  “I don’t care.”

  Where had April gone? No one could take that long in the washroom. And she would be starving by now, because she had refused to eat anything for breakfast.

  “I guess I’ll ask for both kinds,” sighed Kim. “And Bryn’s bringing CDs. She’s got the most.”

  “April has lots of CDs,” said Robin.

  An odd look flickered across Kim’s face. Suddenly she seemed to be concentrating very hard on folding her waxed paper.

  “I’ll ask her to bring them,” Robin said.

  “She’s not invited,” said Kim in a low voice.

  Robin felt like she’d been kicked. “What?”

  Kim glanced at the door. “I can only have five people.”

  “You never said that before.”

  “It’s Mom’s new rule. And she means it. And anyway, I never said that April was invited. You just assumed...” Kim’s voice trailed away.

  “Of course I assumed. April is my cousin and she’s living with me.”

  “Really. I hadn’t heard.” Kim’s face was white.

  Robin felt rigid with anger. “I don’t believe this. You know what the problem is? You don’t like April. You never have.”

  “April’s okay,” said Kim slowly. “Though you can’t exactly call her friendly. But I just want kids that I know really well at my party.”

  Robin’s heart started to pound. “That’s mean.”

  “Then I’m mean,” said Kim. “I’m going outside.”

  She made a lot of noise packing up her lunch stuff, and then she was gone.

  Robin swallowed. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.

  Fine. If April wasn’t going to the party, she wasn’t going either. It was that simple.

  Robin tested the idea in her head. She felt sick. She stuffed the rest of her lunch back in her bag and went in search of her cousin.

  In last period, Mr. Nordoff announced a special project.

  “It’s called imagery. Words that mean something different than they say. We use imagery all the time without even thinking about it. When we say things like, The cat’s got your tongue. You drive me up the wall. I caught your eye.”