Avalanche Dance (15 page)

“Yeah?”

“Are we lost?”

“Of course not!”

We carry on, side by side. We come to a fork – at least, I think it’s a fork, it’s hard to tell. We take the trail that seems to go downhill. But soon we’re in the woods. Trees close in around us, and I know this can’t be right, so we turn around and walk back the way we came.

“Molly?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m cold.”

As soon as he says that I realize that I’m cold, too. Freezing, in fact. All I have on is a hoodie, and the sweat that soaked my clothes on the climb up is now drying in the chill air, and I’m shivering.

“Well, you just come here then,” I say in a fake-hearty voice. I rub him up and down, his arms, his back. “There. Better?”

“A little.”

We continue walking. I have no idea where we are. My head feels thick and dozy, and I feel unsteady. Percy grips my hand. He doesn’t say anything. I’m feeling with my feet, trying to stay on the path; I’m trying to listen for the creek, and I can hear its rush, all right – but it seems to be everywhere, above us, below us, on either side of us. That’s no help.

There’s a sudden rustle in the bushes nearby, then a crack like a branch snapping. Percy and I both gasp and practically jump into each other’s arms.

“What was that?” he whispers.

My mind races. It’s too early for bears. And it wasn’t loud enough for a bear. A coyote? A deer? Oh my god, what if it’s a cougar? A shiver runs down my back at the thought of a cougar stalking us through the woods.

I fake a laugh. “Nothing,” I say. “Probably just a squirrel. Or a bird.”

“I’m scared,” Percy says.

I grip his hand tighter, pulling him along. “Don’t worry,” I say, trying not to hear how shaky my own voice sounds. “We’re fine –”

All of a sudden the trail isn’t there. It just disappears from under my right foot. I fall down a slope, pitching awkwardly, pulling Percy with me. As we fall I hear a sickening thud and Percy yells, “Ow! My arm!” He screams as we land, sprawling, on some bushes. We haven’t fallen far, just a few feet, I think, but I can’t face getting up, my head is spinning and I can’t bring myself to move. Percy is shrieking and I pull him onto my lap and we’re both shaking and crying, and I think,
What have I done?

Finally
, Gwen thought, opening the kitchen door,
I’m home
. She’d pretended to be having fun sitting in Laredo’s, sipping foamed hot chocolate from one of those bowl cups, going along with the others in pretending they were in Paris, but the whole time, she’d been wishing to be back in her chair, alone, not having to make conversation. Her friends were great, and they’d tried really hard to cheer her up – telling her about Jake Tyler’s latest bonehead move; telling her that Danny had been pestering them, asking them every day how she was doing, whether she’d be coming back to school anytime soon, while they elbowed her and gave her teasing smiles. Gwen had tried to smile back. She just wasn’t in the mood.

She took off her jacket and was about to flop into her chair when she suddenly felt that something wasn’t quite right.

“Percy?”

No answer.

She went to the foot of the stairs. “Perce?”

Silence.

She felt a prickle of concern. Percy wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without telling her. It wasn’t like him to just take off. And it was nearly dark.

She went upstairs. His room was empty. She checked the coat hooks in the kitchen. His jacket was gone.

Panic started building. She moved from room to room – and then she spotted the note, propped up on the kitchen table. She’d overlooked it when she came in.

“Gone for a walk with Molly.”

What?
Gwen thought. At this hour? And why with Molly, of all people? Sure, she’d been aware that Molly had been cozying up to Percy lately. Molly probably thought Gwen hadn’t noticed, but she had. Molly had been nosing in, acting like
she
was Percy’s sister, and Gwen didn’t like it one bit – even if Molly and Percy had been buddies from way back.

But why would Percy go for a walk with Molly? And where would they go?

Then it came to her.

No
.

But she knew that must be it. Knew it in her bones. He must have talked her into it.

A shudder shivered through her.

I can’t go up there. I can’t
.

But she had to. There was no way of knowing how long
they’d been gone. Gwen had taken a lot longer than the half hour she’d promised. It was just about dark. They should have been back by now. What if –

No! No time for that. She threw on a jacket, grabbed a flashlight and her cane, and half-hobbled, half-ran out the door.

The flashlight beam illuminated only a small circle of the trail, creating a moving spotlight as Gwen swung it back and forth, lighting up treetops and the path and the creek and the brush, calling, “Percy! Percy?”

Nothing, just the sound of the falls, her own ragged breathing in her ears.

She didn’t let herself think. She talked herself over the bridge, over the water’s roar.
I can do this, it’s okay, I just need to find them, I can do this
…

Around the next switchback.

“Percy! Molly! Percy!”

She stopped. Was that a faint sound, a voice? “Percy?”

No.

Onward.

The next switchback. The next. The higher she climbed, the harder it was to put one foot in front of another. Knowing what lay ahead.

Don’t think! Don’t remember
, she told herself.

She walked on, her footsteps slowing, her heart pounding.

“Percy!”

No answer.

She came around a bend, swung the flashlight back and forth. On one side of the trail the beam lit up standing trees that reached toward the sky; on the other, it shone on nothing but fallen trees, their roots sticking up in the air. Broken trunks, torn-up brush, gouged earth.

Gwen froze. Her breathing became shallow. She felt lightheaded. Sweat ran down under each armpit.

No! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t –

Percy needs you
, she told herself.
You’ve got to –

She couldn’t move. She stood there, shaking. She closed her eyes, tried to block her ears, but it all came back: the wind … the roar … the fury of the cascading snow … her father’s body tossed helplessly down the slope …

With a cry, Gwen sank to the ground, the cane and flashlight falling from her hands. She screamed … and screamed …

I lift my head. What’s that?

“Percy, did you hear –”

His head jerks up too. He goes still, listening.

It’s faint. It sounds like –

“What –”

“Sh!”

It sounds like someone screaming, high-pitched and shrill. But is it a person? A gray owl’s cry can sound like a woman screaming,
I remember Andrew telling me. But this repeats, over and over.

“It’s Gwen!” Percy says.

I think so too. It must be. She must be searching for us, calling for us. I hope so. I hope not.

I’m cold and wet, my legs are asleep, my back aches, my head feels like mud, I feel sick to my stomach. I push Percy up into a standing position. He gives a cry as his arm jerks. I force myself to stand. I sway. Then I grab Percy’s good hand and we stumble downhill, in the direction of the cries.

Half the time I don’t know if we’re even on the trail or stumbling through the brush at the side of it. Percy whimpers, sometimes yelping as his arm bangs against his side. I have no idea where we’re going; we’re just following the sound, as if it’s a foghorn guiding us home.

We get closer to the screaming. “Gwen!” Percy yells, though she’s still out of sight.

Closer. Louder. It’s definitely Gwen, I can tell. But as we draw nearer, I realize that she’s not calling out our names, she’s just screaming wordless cries. Why?

We come around a bend. She’s on her knees, right beside the avalanche scar, rocking back and forth, hands over her face. Her screams pierce the night. A flashlight lies on the trail beside her, its beam lighting the roots of a fallen tree.

Percy lets go of my hand. He launches himself at Gwen, curling over her back, wrapping his good arm around her.

“Gwen!”

That seems to snap her out of it. She jerks her head up, and the screams die abruptly.

“Percy! Oh my God, Percy!”

She turns and gathers him into her arms. They sit there, clinging to one another.

“Gwen! My arm!” He begins to weep, shaking, and Gwen crushes him to her chest, weeping herself, crooning, “Percy, Percy, it’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s okay …”

I pick up the flashlight, then Gwen’s cane, which is lying nearby.

She looks up at me. “You idiot. You nearly got my brother killed!”

I don’t say anything.

Gwen stands, lifting Percy to his feet. “You’re crazy! Do you realize what you –”

“Gwen! I want to go home!” Percy wails.

Holding Percy close, Gwen glares over his head at me with such a look of hatred that I can see it even in the dark.

“Okay, Perce,” she says, and I can tell she’s struggling to speak calmly. “Let’s go home.”

I hand her the flashlight. She turns away and starts down the hill, her arm around Percy’s good shoulder.

I follow with the cane.

G
wen’s upstairs a long time. I hear her murmuring to Percy, the sound of running water, his voice, high and boyish, more murmurs. Then, gradually, silence.

I’m sitting on the living room floor, my knees drawn to my chest, still in my wet, dirty clothes. I know I should leave. Go home. Disappear. But I can’t bring myself to move. I’m not even drunk anymore, it’s not that. In fact, I feel almost too clearheaded. Clearheaded enough to know what I’ve done, and to feel terrible about it.

Gwen comes downstairs. A look of surprise, then anger, crosses her face. “What are you still doing here? Why don’t you get the hell out?” As she moves across the room, I notice that her limp is more pronounced than it’s been lately. She’s gripping the cane tightly.

I have no answer for that. Instead I say, “Percy’s arm … ?”

“Not broken – no thanks to you.”

I heave a sigh.

“What the hell were you doing?”

“I –”

“You nearly got my brother killed, you realize that?”

“No, I –”

“Taking him up on the mountain – after dark – stumbling drunk! You’re crazy. You’re a maniac.”

I curl over my knees. “I didn’t mean to …”

“Who gives a damn what you meant? You got him lost! What were you doing with him, anyway?”

“Trying to make him feel better.”

“Feel better?”

I look up. “He wanted to go. He asked you, but you said no –” I stop abruptly.

Gwen takes a step closer. “How do you know that?”

My cheeks grow warm. “I … heard you … heard the two of you arguing …”

Gwen glares at me. “You sneak! How dare you eavesdrop on us!”

“I didn’t mean to. I was just there.”

“It’s none of your business!”

I know she’s right. I know I’m wrong. But then I think of Percy’s voice when he pleaded with her, his face when I said I’d take him. “At least I paid attention to him. Which is more than you did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been around. I see. You’ve been too busy sitting in your chair, feeling sorry for yourself.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is so. That’s why Percy turned to me. It was all about your dad.”

“My dad?” Gwen looks startled. Her face goes pale. “What are you trying to say?”

“Percy wanted to see where it happened, so he could feel closer to your dad. Because he misses him. And worries about him.”

As I say these words, I realize something. In all the time I’ve been around since the fire, I haven’t once heard Gwen mention her dad. Talk to him on the phone. Ask a question about him.

I add, “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“What?”

“I thought you cared about him.”

“I do!”

“Loved him.”

“I do.”

“Well, you’re sure not acting like it. For God’s sake, Gwen, he’s suffering.”

“I know!” A wail.

“For all you know, he could be dying in Vancouver –”

I’m not prepared for Gwen’s reaction. She jerks as if she’s been shot. A look of terror comes over her face. “Don’t say that!” she screams. Then again, quieter, pleading, her voice breaking, “Don’t say that.”

My mind starts jumping around. Gwen’s dad. His injuries. Her injury. Gwen on the mountain, kneeling at the avalanche
site, screaming. The way she’s gripping the cane. This terrified look on her face.

Somehow I know there’s more to this. I don’t know what. It’s not even a clear thought, just a feeling, a
knowing
, in my gut.

I jump to my feet, seize Gwen by the arm. “Something happened up there, Gwen. What was it?”

Dropping the cane, she covers her eyes. “I can’t,” she says into her hands.

“Tell me!” I shout. Then, more gently, “Tell me what happened, Gwen.”

“No …”

“Gwen.”

“Oh God, oh God –” She doubles over, clutching her middle, then sinks to her knees, just like on the mountain. “It’s all my fault!”

“What, Gwen?”

“I made him get hurt. It was me!”

“What was you?”

“My dad – the avalanche – oh God –” She leans back into a sitting position, pulls in her knees, wraps her arms around them.

I kneel beside her. “Tell me.”

She shakes her head. “It’s too terrible.”

“Tell me.”

She searches my face as if she’s looking for something. Then, as if she’s found it, she starts speaking.

“We had a big fight … . I – I wanted to go to Dancemakers – oh, I wanted it so bad –”

She hunches her shoulders and sobs onto her knees.

I wait.

“But my dad said no … and I shouted at him … and he said we should go down … but I wouldn’t – I was so mad, I wouldn’t listen – and then … then … the avalanche came –”

She sits up, putting her hands over her face. “Oh God, it was so terrifying, the noise and wind, this wall of snow – and he said, ‘Gwen, ski!’ – he wanted to save me!” She gives a cry.

“And the snow swept me away … and the last thing I saw was my dad’s body thrown down the mountain and buried.”