Avalanche Dance (6 page)

Gwen slouched down and folded her arms across her chest.

“I suggest we monitor it,” Dr. Chan said. “See how things progress. Maybe an injury will show up, and then we’ll know how to treat it. Or maybe the pain will clear up by itself.”

Gwen didn’t answer. Into the silence, her mother said, “Then Gwen can come home, Dr. Chan?”

He nodded, rising. “There doesn’t seem to be anything we can do here. And Gwen, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not serious. There’s no reason to stay off your feet. You can exercise normally. In fact, exercise would probably help. I mean, I wouldn’t go overboard – you’ve still got some nasty bruises – but you can be as active as you like.”

“But not dance,” Gwen said under her breath.

“Gwen!” her mother said.

“Gwen,” Dr. Chan said. He waited until she looked at him. “There is no reason you can’t dance.”

Gwen rolled to face the wall. It didn’t matter what he said. She knew she couldn’t dance.

She heard her mother’s footsteps follow Dr. Chan’s across the room. “What’s the matter with her, doctor?” her mother whispered. “It’s not like Gwen to make things up.”

“She’s not exactly making it up, Mrs. Torrance. I believe she’s suffering from post-traumatic stress as a result of the avalanche – which is understandable. It was a pretty traumatic event. And I suppose that somehow the stress is manifesting itself in this symptom. As the memory of the avalanche fades, the pain probably will too.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m sure it will. These types of reactions are not uncommon. They usually resolve themselves. But if she doesn’t get over it in a few weeks, bring her in and we’ll do a psychiatric evaluation. We don’t want to let this go on too long.”

Gwen pressed her lips together. There was no way she was going to let some shrink probe around inside her head.

Gwen’s mother came back to her beside. Taking a look at Gwen, she said, “You heard?”

Gwen nodded. “You think I’m making it up too?”

Her mother hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Mom!”

“Well, I know you wouldn’t lie, but – I don’t know what to think. Maybe it’s the trauma, like he said.”

“It’s real.”

“Okay, I believe you. But Gwennie, what’s this about not dancing?”

“I can’t dance. My leg is too sore.”

“Sure, maybe for a little while, until it gets better –”

Gwen shook her head.

“Gwen, you can’t give up on your dancing!”

“I can’t dance.”

“But you love it so –”

“Forget it, Mom. I know my body. Just leave me alone about it, okay?”

There was a pause. “Okay. Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

Gwen nodded.

“All right. I’ll be waiting at the nurses’ station.”

Gwen threw her few items of clothing into a bag, then limped into the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like hell – her face was pale, there were deep shadows under her eyes, and her hair hung limply. Automatically she gathered it up and twisted it into a knot, the same knot she’d made for dance class for so many years. Then, realizing what she was doing, she loosened the knot and let her hair hang down again. Tears filled her eyes. She gripped the sink, staring at her reflection.

Something caught her eye. A roll of adhesive tape and a pair
of scissors were on the windowsill. A nurse must have left them there.

Gwen picked up the scissors. She lifted a hank of hair. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she cut. A clump of hair fell into the sink. She lifted the next piece of hair.

I
’m sitting in the Thor Falls police station. It’s not much of a station. It’s more of a storefront, really, with a booking area out front, a couple of offices, a detention room with a table and chairs, and a cell – only it isn’t even a real jail cell with bars and stuff, just a locked room with a cot and toilet.

I can’t stop shaking. It’s not cold, or fear, though I’m plenty scared. And it’s not burns. I mean, my eyebrows and hair are singed and frizzed, and there’re angry red marks around my nose ring and eyebrow stud and earrings where the metal heated up and burned me. But aside from blisters on my hands, and a weird case of sunburn on my face, and speckled spots on my arms and back where sparks scorched through my clothes, I’m not even burned, which is amazing.

No, it’s shock. And anger. Because of Gwen. She must have been the one who called the cops. Who else could it have been? Her house is closest. She must have seen us going into the cabin. It’s bad enough that we’re not friends anymore, but for her to
rat me out? I can’t believe she’d be so rotten.

I’m in the detention room. The cop who arrested me, Constable Sawchuk, is across the table from me, and my parents are on either side. It wasn’t pretty when they got to the station. My mom ran in, eyes red, and wailed, “Oh, Molly, how could you!” And my dad, grim-faced as ever, grabbed my arm and said through gritted teeth, “Just wait till we get home.”

I don’t know Constable Sawchuk; he must be new to Thor Falls. Youngish. Blond hair cut to razor sharpness. Crisp collar and shiny shoes. Looks like he was born following the rules.

He places both palms on the table. “Now, Molly, I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to tell me the truth.”

I nod.

“What were you doing in the Torrances’ cabin?”

I hesitate. “Drinking.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from my father, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What else?”

How much worse can it get? “Smoking pot.”

A gasp from my mom.

“Who was with you?”

This is the question I’ve been dreading. The question I haven’t even wanted to ask myself. I feel sick every time my mind veers near it. Why did they run? Why didn’t they help me? Why did they leave me to get caught?

They were scared, I tell myself. They were freaked out. The bloody cabin was burning down! They didn’t just abandon me. I won’t believe that they did. And I won’t rat them out.

“No one,” I say quietly.

“Molly!” my mom says.

“Molly, tell the truth,” my dad snaps.

“Mr. and Mrs. Norquist, I’m going to have to ask you to let Molly answer the questions,” Constable Sawchuk says.

He turns back to me. “I’ll ask you again, Molly. Who was with you at the cabin?”

“No one.” Louder this time.

He folds his hands. “The cabin collapsed, so it’s going to take several days to sift through the remains to see what’s there. But one of the firefighters told me he saw the melted lump of what used to be a ghetto blaster in the ashes. Are you telling me that you hauled that down there to listen to music and drink booze and smoke marijuana all by yourself?”

I can’t look him in the eye. “Yes.”

An impatient sigh from my father.

“And how do you account for the fact that there were several different sets of footprints in the snow?”

I shrug. “Maybe some other people used the cabin before –”
us
, I almost say “– before me.”

He leans back in his chair. “Molly, you do realize that this is a very serious situation, don’t you? Aside from the underage drinking and marijuana misdemeanors, you’re looking at
significant charges related to the destruction of the cabin. The punishment could be severe.”

I don’t trust myself to speak. I nod.

“So protecting your friends or whoever else was there isn’t doing yourself or them any favors. They need to come forward and take responsibility for their actions.”

They will
, I think.
When they hear I’m in trouble, they will
.

“It was just me.”

He makes an impatient sound. “We’ll leave that for now. How did the fire start?”

“I – I was cold, so I started a fire in the old woodstove.”

“What happened?”

“The chimney started roaring, and sparks started shooting out –” I have to stop and swallow. “And then a chunk of pipe fell off, and a ball of fire shot out, and the floor caught. I tried to stop it –” I hear my voice trembling. “But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

He nods. “Why did you run?”

“I couldn’t save the cabin.” I pause. “I – I was afraid of getting caught.”

He looks at me for a long moment. Then he says, “Molly Ann Norquist, you are charged with trespassing and destruction of property.”

I gasp.
Charged
. Until now, it hasn’t seemed real.
Will I go to jail? Will I have a record? What will happen to me?

He tells us to report to youth court in Norse River the next day. Then he releases me into the custody of my parents.

We step outside. The sky is that purple-blue shade just before dawn. There’s a faint whiff of smoke on the air.

“You’re a disgrace.”

“How could you?”

“You’re ruining your life.”

We’re in the kitchen. My mom’s sobbing, her head on her arms, and my dad’s pacing, slapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other as he bites off each word.

He stops. Points to me. “Are you going to stick to this charade of being alone?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Molly.” My mom lifts her head with a moan. “You know that’s not true.”

I don’t answer. My friends wouldn’t squeal on me. I won’t squeal on them.

“And how could you do this to Bridget and Andrew?” my mom asks.

That brings tears to my eyes.

“I’m telling you now, Molly,” my dad says. “The party’s over. You’ve been running wild, but it’s going to stop. No more drinking. No more drugs. No more being out late.”

“But it’s spring break –”

“I don’t care if it’s a bloody national holiday. From now on, you will stay in every night, and if you go out, we will know where you are and who you’re with and what you’re doing. Is that clear?”

Before, I’ve been able to sneak out, get around my punishments. Something tells me I’m not going to be able to this time. My life is going to be hell. “Yes.”

A clock radio goes off upstairs. My sisters’ alarm. Trust them to keep their alarm set when there’s no school.

A few minutes later they come downstairs, two identical twelve year olds in their nightgowns. They take after my mom, petite and slender, everything small: ears, noses, hands, feet. I’m like my dad: tall and solid, with a strong nose and big hands and feet. We both have that fair skin that freckles in the summer and blooms with two red spots in the cheeks when we’re excited. Or mad. Which my dad is right now.

Joanna and Juliet take one look at the three of us and ask, “What happened?”

My dad tells them, leaving out the bits about the intoxicants.

Joanna, who’s the older one by a few minutes, looks at me in disgust. In perfect imitation of our mother, she says, “Oh, Molly, how could you?”

I don’t answer.

Joanna rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re my sister. This is so embarrassing.”

“Yeah, it’s really all about you, Joanna,” I snap. If I weren’t in so much trouble, I’d be glad I was freaking her out.

“Well, everybody talks and it rubs off on us.”

“Tough!”

“Girls!” my mother says.

Joanna shoots me a dirty look. Silence falls. Then Juliet comes over and touches my shoulder. “Are you okay, Moll?”

These are the first kind words anyone’s said to me. Tears sting my eyes. I run upstairs and throw myself on my bed.

The next week is hell. The day after my arrest, I appear before a judge in youth court in Norse River. The lawyer for the government reads out the charges against me – they sound even worse in the courtroom than they did in the police station – and the judge sets bail at one thousand dollars, which my parents have to put up to make sure I’ll appear for my sentencing.

Then we see a defense lawyer, who advises me to plead guilty. For one thing, he says, the evidence against me is pretty overwhelming. For another, if I plead not guilty, the case will have to go to trial, and that’s the last thing I want.

This whole time, my parents say nothing to me except “Get in the car” and “Get out of the car.” I’m glad. I couldn’t talk, anyway. I don’t want to make excuses. I don’t want to chat. I don’t want to see anyone. All I can think about is how sorry I feel about Bridget and Andrew’s cabin, and how furious I am at Gwen.

It’s a week later. I’m back in the Norse River municipal hall with my parents, waiting in a hallway. Today’s my sentencing. I’m wearing a skirt and blouse and nylons, and it feels freaking strange. I can’t remember the last time I was dressed like this.
The singed bits have been cut out of my hair, so it’s a little lopsided. Still, I’m as presentable as I can be, and I hope it helps.

I’m so nervous I can barely swallow.

Someone calls my name, and my parents and I go into the courtroom. There’s a different judge this time. She’s about my parents’ age, with a thin face, short brown hair, and a no-nonsense expression to go with her black robe. A name card on her desk reads “Judge Nancy Peters.”

Constable Sawchuk is there, and so are the government lawyer and my lawyer. We stand in front of the judge. I smooth out my skirt.

“Molly Ann Norquist, how do you plead?” she asks.

“Guilty, Your Honor,” says my lawyer.

I sit. Constable Sawchuk runs through what happened, with Judge Peters asking questions every once in a while. When he finishes, the judge asks, “Are the Torrances pressing charges?”

“Well, Your Honor, Mr. Torrance is unavailable at the moment. He’s in the hospital in Vancouver.”

Andrew? In the hospital?

“Oh?” the judge says.

“Yes, he was seriously injured in an avalanche.”

Oh my God
.

“Oh, yes, I heard about that,” Judge Peters says. “On Mount Odin, wasn’t it?”

Constable Sawchuk nods.

“What about Mrs. Torrance?”

“I did speak to her, and she said she would not press charges against Molly.”

“Did she consent to compensation in the form of community work service?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge Peters turns to me. “Stand please, Molly.”

I do.

“You understand that this is a serious matter?”

I can hardly find my voice. “Yes … Your Honor.”

She consults some papers. “I understand that you are claiming that you acted alone – that you and you alone were using the Torrances’ cabin and that you and you alone started the fire that got out of control. Is that correct?”