Avalanche Dance (13 page)

“Molly’s doing an excellent job,” Bridget tells him. “She shows up on time and does whatever I ask her.”

Cal initials the form. “Excellent. Great work, Molly. I knew you could keep it together.” He grins at me, patting me on the back.

Despite myself, I grin back. Feels good. Even my parents have been telling me they’re proud of me lately.

Bridget and I walk him outside and he leaves. I turn to her. “So, what do you want me to do today?”

She scans the grounds. “I don’t know, Molly. You’ve pretty
much done everything. Split firewood, raked the yard, dug the garden, pruned the flower beds.”

I follow her gaze. Wow. It’s true. The place looks pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.

“So … ?”

Bridget shrugs. She looks exhausted, like she hasn’t slept in days. “The house is a mess. Would it be too demeaning to ask you to vacuum?”

Demeaning? After what I’ve done to her? “Sure, no problem.”

“Thanks. I’ve got to run to the grocery store. You know where everything is, right?”

Better than in my own house
, I think, heading for the hall closet where they keep the vacuum cleaner. Funny how, if my mom asked me to vacuum, I’d be pissed, but when someone else asks me, I don’t mind.

I’m in the hallway when I hear voices coming from the living room. Gwen and Percy. They don’t seem to know I’m there.

I can’t help myself. I stop and listen.

“Gwen?” Percy says.

“Yeah?”

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“You know … up there. What did it look like?”

“Percy!” Gwen sounds alarmed.

“Could you see it coming?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But –”

“No.”

“Was Daddy scared?”

“Stop it!”

“Gwen, please. I need to know … about Daddy.”

No answer.

“Gwen?” Percy says again.

“What?”

“Would you take me up there?”

“Up where?”

“Mount Odin. To see where it happened.”

“What!”

I have the same reaction. Take Percy up to where the avalanche came down? What kind of crazy question is that? “Please?” Percy says. “Are you out of your mind?”

“But I just want to
see
, Gwen.”

“No way!”

“I really want to go –”

“Drop it, Percy.”

“Then I’ll go myself!”

“You’re not allowed, and you know it –”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re not going and that’s that.”

“I hate you!” I hear Percy’s footsteps running out of the living room, up the stairs.

Whoa
, I think. Of all the wild requests. Where did that come from? Then I remember the conversation I had with Percy, when he said he missed Andrew so much. Maybe seeing the avalanche site would make him feel closer to his dad. Less lonely.

Still, I don’t blame Gwen for saying no. It would be brutal for her to have to go back up there. And with her leg it would be a hard climb.

That makes me wonder about the avalanche. What
was
it like? What does the mountain look like now? Is the area still covered with snow? Or is it bare and scraped raw?

I try to picture where the snow would have come down, but I can’t get a clear image. I haven’t been on Mount Odin in a long time, I realize – since I hiked up with Gwen’s family a couple of years ago. In a way it would be cool to go up and check it out. See what nature unleashed looks like.

Then I bring myself back to earth, right down to ground level. I’ve got work to do, and I’d better get on with it.

I haul out the vacuum cleaner. As I clunk past the living room, I see Gwen sitting in her chair. She doesn’t turn, although I know she knows I’m there. The cane is hooked over the arm of the chair. So she’s still using it.
Her leg must hurt pretty bad
, I think.

Then I catch myself. I’m butting out, remember?

But as I continue down the hall, I can’t help but feel that there’s something weird about the whole thing. Something weird about
her
. All she does is sit and brood. Sure, I know she’s
bummed out and all, but something doesn’t fit. I don’t know what. I’ve just got this feeling.

Again, I tell myself to forget about it.

I carry the vacuum upstairs, clean the hallway and the upstairs bathroom – Bridget’s right, there are dust balls everywhere – then nudge open the door of Percy’s room. He’s sitting on his bed, cross-legged, staring into space.

“Molly!” he says, brightening.

I shut off the vacuum and sit next to him. If anything, he looks worse than he did last time. His face looks pinched, and the circles under his eyes are even darker. There are a few Orcs and Elves lying on the quilt, but he isn’t playing with them.

“How’s it going, Perce?” I don’t say anything about having overheard him just before.

He doesn’t answer right away. “Did you hear about Daddy?”

My pulse starts racing. “No, what?”

“He has to have a kidney out.”

That’s bad
, I think. “Oh?” I say carefully.

Percy looks up at me. “Do you know what kidneys do?”

I do, of course. “No. You tell me.”

“They’re very important. They help your body get rid of bad stuff.”

I nod. “But we have two of them, right?”

Percy’s face lifts a bit. “Right. So Daddy’s probably going to be okay. But …” He gulps. “But if his other kidney doesn’t work so good, he’ll have to have that one out. And then … 
then he’ll be really sick. I want to see him, but Mommy says she needs me to stay home to be the man of the house.”

Before I can say anything, he puts a hand on my arm. His little face is fierce. “But! He won’t die. Mommy told me. He won’t die … but he’ll have to go on a machine – it’s called di-al-y-sis – and that’ll be terrible.”

I touch his knee. “He’ll be okay, Percy. You’ll see.”

He looks at me with brimming eyes. “Do you really think so?”

I nod. Hold out my arms. Percy leans into me. I can feel his body trembling as he struggles not to cry. He takes several deep breaths. Holding him, I pray I’ve told him the truth.

I stroke his hair for a moment, then leave. Even though his room probably needs it, badly, this doesn’t seem like the best time to clean it.

I cross the hall and start vacuuming Gwen’s room. It’s pretty clean, since she hasn’t been sleeping up here. Even so, I clean under the bed, in the corners, under the dresser. The entire time, memories are flashing into my mind, how we used to sit on the window seat and look out at Mount Odin and make up stories about Odin, Thor, Freya, Tyr, and all the other gods and goddesses who lived up there – in my stories they always killed each other, in Gwen’s they always made up. How we used to stand in front of the mirror, pretending we were fashion models and striking runway poses.

I push those thoughts out of my mind, sweeping the vacuum over the rug. As I swing toward the doorway, the vacuum bumps
the closet door open, and I see a stack of framed pictures on the floor.
That’s odd
, I think. Even though I know I’m snooping, I turn off the machine and lift the first one.

It’s a picture of Gwen at about seven, with little mouse ears, her hands held up in front of her like paws. Carley’s next to her, grinning. The next one is of Gwen dressed like a clown with bright red circles on her cheeks and nose, her hair sprouting from a dozen ponytails all over her head. Another, much more recent, shows Gwen in a gray leotard and tights, a dusky blue cape over her shoulders. She’s curved over, her back rounded, so the cape falls on either side of her like a silky blanket. I remember that dance – it’s the one she made up about the fog. I went to the recital. She was terrific, so light and wispy, just like mist. I rifle through the rest. All dance pictures.

I’d noticed there was something strange and bare about the house, I realize now, putting the pictures back, I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Then it hits me. If Gwen took all these pictures down, she must really mean it about not dancing. I feel an ache in my gut.

I start up the vacuum cleaner again, and as I do, I hear that whining sound that means that something’s gotten caught in the nozzle. I shut it off and lift up the head. There’s a sheet of paper caught in the internal wheels. I pull it out slowly, carefully, so as not to tear it and leave a piece stuck inside. The corner’s ripped, but the rest is okay.

“DANCEMAKERS,” it says at the top. I scan the rest. God, it sounds perfect. Exactly what Gwen’s been longing for.

I don’t know if she can still go, but I feel bad that I mangled the paper. Never mind that I’m not talking to her. I go downstairs, walk over to her window spot, and hold out the sheet. “Sorry, this got chewed up by the –”

She jumps up awkwardly and snatches it out of my hand. “Where’d you get that?” Then, before I can answer, “What are you doing snooping around in my things?”

“Hey, back off! I wasn’t snooping. It was in the closet. It got caught in the vacuum cleaner.”

Clutching the paper to her chest, Gwen sits down, turning back toward the window.

I wait. I know she doesn’t want to talk to me about it, but there’s something about the way her back is slumped, so defeated and down, that hits me hard. “Can you still go?” I ask.

She twists in her chair to face me. “Look at me! Do you think I can dance on this leg? I can’t even walk right.”

“Yeah, I can see that, but maybe soon –”

“It’s too painful. Too weak.”

“Okay,” I say, “but what about in a while? You give it a rest, get some treatment –”

Gwen shakes her head. “It’s over.”

“What, like forever? No more dancing?”

“Finished.” She turns back to the window.

I study her. She sounds so sure. So final. But something doesn’t feel right. I just don’t know what.

“So why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

She twists around again. “What do you mean?”

“Well, from what I can see, you’re doing squat to get better.”

“What are you talking about?”

I count on my fingers. “You don’t do exercises –”

“My leg’s too weak.”

“You don’t stretch –”

“Too painful.”

“Well, hell, I don’t know, heat, ice, painkillers –”

“Nothing works.”

“I’ve been here for days and I haven’t seen you try anything.”

Gwen’s hands form into fists. “What do you know about it? I know my body, I know if it’s going to get better –”

“If you’re so bummed out about it, why don’t you at least try? Go to physio or something, instead of just sitting there –”

“It’s no use.” She scowls at me. “Besides, what do you care? It’s not your problem.”

Why do I care? I don’t have an answer for that one. But something’s bothering me. It’s like she’s afraid. Afraid to try to get better. But why?

I shake my head. “It’s like … you don’t
want
to get better.”

Gwen rises from the chair. “That is crazy! Of course I do. I’d give –” She grabs her cane and pounds it on the floor. “Why don’t you just go back to your new friends and leave me alone?”

I stand there. Feel my face get hot. In a split second, I remember sitting alone in the cop station … the phone not ringing … Nikki giving me the brush-off …

But then I think of Zach’s smile, and Tony asking me when I’ll be free, and I put my hands on my hips and say, “Okay, I will!”

“After all, they’re such good friends,” Gwen says sarcastically.

What’s that supposed to mean? What does she know?
But then I think,
Of course word got around that there were others and that they ran from the fire. So what?

“Yeah, not like you,” I snap back.

The color leaves Gwen’s face. “Go to hell.”

I storm out of the house. I start running. I don’t know where I’m going; I just thrash around in the bush for a while, then end up in the clearing. Panting, shaking, I lean back against the cedar stump and wait for my heart to stop racing. I pace around and around the stump, first one way, then the other. As angry as I’ve been at Gwen, I’ve never said those words to her. And she’s never said that to me.

Tears spring to my eyes. I dash them away. I’m not crying over her.

I turn and walk home.

T
he next afternoon I get a call from Cal, asking me to come down to his office at the Thor Falls police station.
Great
, I think,
what now?

I walk into town, bracing myself for bad news. The judge has reviewed my case and decided I have to stay on probation. Or pay for the damages.

But Cal’s all smiles as he greets me and ushers me into his office. I’ve finished my community work service, he tells me, and done a good job, too. I’ve abided by the terms of my probation. Everything’s completed fair and square. I’m through.

He shows me where he and Bridget have both already signed the form. Now all I have to do is sign it, too.

He hands me a pen. I scrawl my name. He tears off a copy and slides it across the table. “Congratulations, Molly. I’m proud of you. You’re free.”

For a moment, I feel oddly flat. Have I really put in thirty hours already?

But then the word registers.
Free
. I think of what Tony said. I grin as I grab my copy and stand up. I’m about to get my life back. Staying clean has been much less of a drag than I expected, but boy, am I ready to party now.

“By the way,” Cal says, opening his office door and leading me out, “it looks like I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For not believing you when you said you were alone in the cabin.”

I stop dead. “Huh?”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Your story has been corroborated. I thought you’d like to know.”

“What?”

“Constable Sawchuk told me.”

“Did I hear my name?” someone says from the hall.

I turn. It’s Constable Sawchuk.

Motioning him over, Cal says, “I was just telling Molly what you told me.”

Constable Sawchuk nods. “Right. It turns out that someone living along the trail to the Torrances’ saw a bunch of teenagers running past her place the night of the fire. She called in and I checked it out. By asking around, I was able to piece together who the kids were, and I brought them in for questioning.”