Whiteout (2 page)

Robin’s mind drifted. Fat wet flakes had started to fall. That meant Dad would be later than usual. It was probably raining right now in Vancouver. Mom had said that the rain all week had washed away most of the freak snowstorm and that she’d had to go to the mall to buy gumboots.

“You’re not listening.”

“I am.”

“‘Seven famous people expelled from high school.’” Kim flipped more pages. “Here’s a great one. Aaaagh! ‘Cutlery craving’!” Kim picked up a spoon and pretended to gag on it.

Robin grinned. “Where does it say that?”

Kim slid the book over the table. “‘Really unusual medical conditions.’ It’s probably better than getting Hula-hoop intestine.”

The great thing about Kim was that she never changed. Robin took a sip of hot chocolate.

“Do you want to hear about food and their filth levels?” said Kim.

Robin wiggled her toes in her thick wool socks. Jellybean jumped into her lap and she stroked his back. Her shoulders relaxed. “Sure. Why not?”

“Dad, did you know there is an average of thirteen insect heads in two hundred grams of fig paste?”

Dad swirled water around the sink. “That’s it. No more fig paste for me.” He wrung out the
dishcloth and draped it over the tap. “Molly! Time to call Mom.”

Molly always had the first chance with Mom. She told her a long involved story about Sally Penner stealing her chocolate-dipped granola bar from her lunch bag.

Finally it was Robin’s turn. Mom sounded exhausted. “Oh honey, I miss you. Gran and I are just about to sit down with a cup of tea. I’ll put you on to April.”

Robin could hear low voices in the background and then April came on the line. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Robin.

“What’s up?”

Robin launched into a detailed description of the new computer club at school. “We’re getting three new computers and you can sign up for lunch hours...”

April was silent and Robin’s voice trailed off. Then April said, “Look, I’ve got tons of homework tonight.”

Robin hadn’t thought of April going to school right now. She’d imagined her at the hospital every day. “Me too,” she said, relieved. Since the accident, talking on the phone to April was hard. There were too many empty spaces. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

She sent Gran a big hug. Then she handed the phone to Dad and dragged herself upstairs. Homework. Teeth. Bed.

Robin was finishing her homework when a sleepy-eyed Molly drifted into Robin’s bedroom. “I’m waiting for Daddy, but he’s taking ages.”

Dad was still on the phone? They were going to have a humongous phone bill. Something was up. “Come on,” said Robin.

She parked in the middle of the staircase with Molly nestled beside her. Dad’s voice was low and steady. “A big decision. Are you sure, Jen? You said before that Liz might be in there for a few months.”

Mom was thinking of staying in Vancouver? Robin’s head filled with a horrifying vision of
months
of hunting for Molly’s show-and-tells.

“Of course, it means uprooting her from school.”

Wait a minute. Mom wanted Robin to come too? Robin sucked in her breath as she tested this amazing idea. Then her shoulders collapsed. No way. Dad had said
her
, not
them
. Mom would never leave Molly alone with just Dad. She was too much work.

And then...brain freeze. Mom wanted April to come
here
, to the ranch.

Robin’s heart jumped. “April’s coming,” she whispered to Molly. “That’s what they’re talking about.”

And it wouldn’t be for the usual holiday that always sped by so fast. It would be for months. Robin’s mind raced with the possibilities.

The girls waylaid Dad on his way upstairs. “Will April get to sleep in my room?” said Molly.

“No, doughhead,” said Robin. “She’ll share with me.”

“Actually,” said Dad. “Mom thought the computer room would be best. There’s the hide-a-bed in there, and we’ll move in that old dresser from the basement. It will give April some privacy.”

Molly looked at Robin. Robin shrugged. “Maybe you should let April decide where she wants to sleep.”

“Mom did. April said she’d rather have her own room.”

“Oh,” said Robin.

“I’m going to let her use my
Reader Rabbit
,” said Molly. “If she’s sleeping in the computer room, she can play with it if she gets lonely.”

“Wow,” said Robin.

“And
Math Magic
.” Molly had a total of two computer games.

“Double wow,” said Robin.

Dad frowned at Robin. “Good for you, Mol.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “And now off to bed, both of you.”

Robin jumped up. “I’ll make you a bet! April moves into the bottom bunk in my room in three days—max!”

Chapter Three

Robin filled the week with making a
Welcome April
banner. The night before Mom and April were coming, she taped it to the wall above the hide-a-bed. Dad had cleaned up the books and papers that grew in wobbly piles around the room. Molly put Waffles, her second favorite stuffed dog, on top of the dresser.

In the morning, Molly was allowed to miss school and go to the airport with Dad to meet Mom and April. Dad was unbendable with Robin. “Let you miss a socials studies test
and
a math test? Sorry, kiddo.”

Usually Robin and Molly rode on a school bus thirteen kilometers to the tiny community of Bridge Lake, which consisted of a general store with a post office, a library and the school. Kids from all the
outlying ranches went to school there. This morning, Robin skipped the bus and got a ride from Dad all the way to school. Dad and Molly were going straight on from there to the airport in Kamloops. It was
so
unfair
, thought Robin for the hundredth time. She should be allowed to meet April too.

Robin discovered that you could actually see clock hands move if you stared hard enough. School ticked slowly by. Kim got tired of saying, “Earth to Robin,” and when it was finally time to go home, she sat in a frosty silence on the school bus. Robin’s stop was before Kim’s. Kim barely looked up when Robin got off. Robin muttered, “See you tomorrow.”

Mom and Molly were waiting in the pickup truck at the end of the two-kilometer road that led to their ranch. Robin climbed in on Molly’s side. Mom leaned over Molly and gave Robin a hug and a kiss.

“Missed you,” said Mom.

Robin arranged her feet around her backpack. “Me too.” She took a big breath. “Where’s April?”

“At the house.” Mom glanced over Molly’s head. “Someone we know has been clinging to her like a crab all afternoon, so I thought I’d give April a little break.”

“I have not,” said Molly immediately. She bounced on the seat. “April looks almost the same.
Almost
the same.”

Robin dug a cd out of the glove compartment. She pushed it into its slot. “Did she grow purple fangs or something?”

“No.”

“Three arms?”

“Nooo.”

“Orange hair?”

Molly’s face turned cautious. “I don’t want you to guess anymore. But it’s not
just
her hair!”

Molly always backed off when you got warm. Robin turned and watched the snowy trees slide past the window.

Molly switched subjects. “April brought her saxophone. She’s going to give me lessons.”

“Lucky April.” Robin frowned. She hoped Molly wasn’t going to be a pest and hang around them all the time.

“And guess what? I get to sleep in the hide-a-bed with her.”

“Liar.”

“I do too. You can even ask April.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“No,” said Mom. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the steering wheel.

“Well, one night anyway,” said Molly. “April promised.”

“Hmmm.” Robin grinned. “She probably doesn’t know you turn into an octopus in bed.”

“I do not!”

“I better warn her.” Robin made a gargling sound. “Strangled in the middle of the night by one of Molly’s eight legs.”

“Mo-om!” Molly kicked Robin in the shins.

“Owww!” Robin lunged against the door. “I’ve been octopused!”

“
Stop
it,” said Mom. “Both of you. For crying out loud, I just got home. And turn off that music.”

Robin ejected the CD. There were a few seconds of heavy silence. Molly burst into tears. Robin waited for Mom to say something, but she didn’t. Robin blinked and stared out the window.

What was Mom’s problem?
She
was the one who had called Molly a crab. That was just as bad as calling her an octopus.

Mom drove the rest of the way in silence. She parked the truck beside the house, turned off the ignition and rested her arms on the steering wheel. “Sorry.” She took a big breath and then leaned across Molly. “Big hug together?”

Mom’s hug was long and hard. “I love you, girls.”

“Love you too, Mom,” mumbled Robin. She opened the door and escaped out her side of the truck.

The old mom—before the accident—had been much easier than the mom who had come back from Vancouver.

“You cut your hair,” said Robin.

April was chopping tomatoes by the kitchen sink. She whirled around. Her straight blond hair swung just below her ears in a blunt cut, longer on one side.

Robin couldn’t stop staring at April. For as long as she could remember, April had had a thick braid almost to her waist. Ever since grade two, Robin had tried to get her hair to catch up, but it always seemed to get stuck just below her shoulders. But it wasn’t just the hair.

It was the small gold stud on the side of April’s nose.

Last year, in grade four, Robin had finally been allowed to get her ears pierced. Even the grade
one
s, she had pointed out to Mom and Dad, had pierced ears. But not one person in the whole school had a nose stud.

“I didn’t tell!” said Molly. “I’m getting my ears pierced and my nose!”

“I don’t think so,” said Mom. She picked up a green pepper and stared at it like it was an alien from Mars. “Did you find the beans? There should be a can...”

Dad took the pepper and gently steered Mom toward the door. “Couch in the living room for one hour. Doctor’s orders.”

Robin had just noticed a pale yellowish bruise along her cousin’s jaw. Her stomach did a flip-flop. She looked away quickly. She didn’t want April to think she was staring. She poured glasses of milk for herself and Molly. “Your hair looks good, April,” she said.

“Stephanie talked her into it,” reported Molly. “She lives in the condo next to them. She has her own
aquarium in her bedroom like me, but she doesn’t have a turtle. She has”—Molly took a big breath and finished in a rush—”tropical sunfish.”

“Stephanie moved from Calgary in October,” added April. “She’s in my class.”

“Right,” said Robin. “You told me about her before.”

April slid the tomatoes into the salad bowl. “She has a crazy family. Four brothers younger than her. And their condo’s just a little bit bigger than ours.”

Robin thought it sounded awful. She couldn’t imagine living with four Mollies. She shifted restlessly.

“April and I took Hurly for a walk,” announced Molly.

Molly had probably dragged April everywhere. “Horses?” said Robin.

“April said we had to save that till you got here,” said Molly.

“In that case,” said Dad, “the chief salad-maker is relieved of her duties. Dinner’s early. Five o’clock.”

Molly started to drink faster.

“Not you, young lady. I need you to supervise spices in the chili.”

Sometimes Dad was useful. Molly had hogged April all day. It was Robin’s turn.

Hurly scampered alongside Robin and April as they walked out to the corrals. They leaned over the log fence and watched the horses pick through the piles of hay scattered on the ground. Robin’s colt Kedar, born two summers ago, wandered over to the fence for a visit, his hooves crunching in the crisp snow. Robin slipped off her mitten and buried her hand in the thick winter hair on his neck.

“I’m going to start working him in the spring,” she said.

“Umm.” April’s eyes had drifted away. She scooped up a handful of snow and packed it into a snowball. She threw it hard against the barn wall. It stuck for a few seconds and then slid in little clumps to the ground.

“We can do it together,” said Robin. “It’d be fun.”

“Maybe,” said April.

Robin stared at April, surprised. “Why wouldn’t you want to?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I just don’t know how long I’m going to be here. So don’t go making a lot of plans.”

“I’m not making plans.”

April hugged her arms. “I’m freezing. Can we go back now?”

Robin shrugged. “Sure.”

The sky had turned velvety purple with a round, almost full, moon. A perfect night to ski on the frozen lake. Robin could try out the new headlamp Mom had brought back from Vancouver.

Robin opened her mouth and then shut it.

April didn’t want plans.

Fine.

Instead, Robin concentrated on counting each crunchy footstep on the way back to the house. Three hundred and sixty-four. She could tell Molly. It was the kind of thing she loved to know.

Dad dished up the chili at the stove. It was spicy and mouthwatering. Robin was ravenous.

“None for me, thank you,” said April.

Mom was filling a jug with water. “Oh April, with all the excitement of getting home, I forgot.”

“It’s okay. I’ll have a bun and salad. I’m not hungry anyway.”

“April has become a vegetarian,” explained Mom. Robin intercepted a warning look shot in Dad’s direction. Dad closed his mouth and reached for the salad.

“What’s that?” said Molly.

“I don’t eat meat,” said April.

Molly’s eyes widened. “None?”

April buttered a bun calmly. “Nope.”

“Since when?” Robin’s voice came out louder than she meant.

April hesitated for a second. “For a while. Stephanie and I started at the same time. I thought I told you about it.”

“I guess I forgot.” Robin stirred grated cheese into her steamy chili and watched it melt. She vaguely remembered April saying something about the animal-rights group she and Stephanie had joined. But she was sure she’d never said anything about being a vegetarian.