Avalanche Dance (14 page)

He brought them in? When? Why didn’t I hear about this?

“They all denied having ever set foot in the cabin, or having anything to do with the fire, just like you said,” Constable
Sawchuk goes on. “Apparently they’d been hanging around on the beach. When they saw the flames, they were afraid they’d be connected to the fire, so they took off.” He looks down, swallows. “It looks like you really were alone that night, Molly. I … uh … apologize for doubting your word.”

“Me too,” Cal says, smiling at me.

I stand there, stunned. For a moment I actually feel faint, and sway a little.

“Molly? Are you okay?” Cal asks, grabbing my elbow.

I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, but I manage to say, “Uh … yeah … bye.”

Stuffing the form into my pocket, I stumble out the door, down the street, automatically putting one foot in front of the other.

It’s true. I can’t deny it anymore. They really did shaft me. Really did hang me out to dry. And they had no intention of taking me back.

I’m furious. I feel like throwing up. I feel like a fool. I want to punch them. My face burns with humiliation. How could I have been so stupid?

This big hole opens up inside me. Who can I turn to? Who is there for me?

Not those idiots.

Not Gwen.

The hole yawns bigger, emptier.

I turn and run.

There was a knock at the kitchen door. Gwen groaned. Her mother had just left for Vancouver, where her father was scheduled to have his kidney surgery the next morning. Her mom had been a bundle of nerves, constantly misplacing her keys, her purse, her coat, as she ran through her last-minute instructions. Percy had clung to his mother as she got ready to leave, then had run upstairs in tears the minute the door closed. Gwen was desperately trying not to think about what her father was about to go through … and what might happen if the operation didn’t go well. Dealing with whoever was at the door was the last thing she wanted to do.

She pushed herself out of the chair just as a familiar voice called from the kitchen. “Hello? Gwen, you there?”

Oh no. Susie.

Then, “Hey, Gwen.”

“How’s it going?”

Carley. And Janelle.

They came into the living room.

Gwen forced a smile. “Hey, guys.”

“Gwen, guess what?” Susie said, giving her a hug. Before Gwen could hazard a guess, Susie went on, “Laredo’s got a cappuccino machine.”

“Huh?”

“Laredo’s Café,” Carley told her, grinning. “Just think –
cappuccino comes to Thor Falls!”

“We’ve hit the big time!” Janelle said, and the three girls laughed.

“So we came to get you. We’ve got to go check it out,” Susie said.

Gwen shook her head. “I … I don’t drink coffee.”

“Hot chocolate, then. Who cares?” Susie said.

“I really don’t feel like it –”

“Come on, Gwen, it’ll be fun,” Carley said.

“We want to try it out before the whole town hears about it,” Janelle added.

“You know, I’m really tired. Maybe another time,” Gwen began, but Susie had already grabbed Gwen’s jacket and was thrusting it at her.

“No excuses,” Susie said. “You need to get out, Gwen. It’ll be a hoot. And someday you can tell your grandchildren you had the first foamed drink in Thor Falls.”

When Susie stuffed Gwen’s arm into the sleeve, Gwen realized she was defeated.
Well, the sooner we leave, the sooner I can get back
, she thought. Shrugging on her jacket the rest of the way, she called up the stairs, “Percy! I’m going into town. Will you be okay for half an hour?”

“Yeah,” came a voice hoarse from crying.

Gwen followed her friends out of the house and climbed into Carley’s mom’s car.

I stagger and trip over a rock, falling against the cedar stump.

“Whoa,” I say out loud, jerking my arm upright to keep from dropping the bottle. The vodka sloshes around, but I manage to hold the bottle up.

“Good catch,” I tell myself. “That deserves a drink.” I tilt up the bottle and take a good long glug. It burns as I swallow, but right now I don’t mind – I even want – the pain. Booze dribbles down my chin. I wipe it off with my sleeve.

I lean against the stump for balance, feeling a knot dig into my back. Me, a bottle, and a dead cedar tree. Some party.

After running away from the police station, I’d headed for the liquor store and paid an older kid – ironically, Teresa’s brother, Wayne – to buy me a bottle. Then I’d made for the clearing. Where else was there to go?

I’d been feeling pretty pleased about my sober streak – three weeks and counting – but what was the point of staying clean now? My probation was over. Besides, I needed a drink. Or three.

What I didn’t expect was how hard it would hit me. Going from zero to half a mickey had definitely put me on my ass. But who cared? I deserved to feel good.

Trouble was, I didn’t feel so good. I just felt blotto. Slow and thick and dizzy. And the roach I’d found in my wallet – just a few tokes left, enough for a slight buzz – had only made me feel muddier.

Well, I decide now, there’s only one cure for that – have another drink. “Cheers,” I say, lifting the bottle and toasting a nonexistent buddy. “Bottoms up. For whatever ails you, nails you, fails you. Oh yeah, that’s a good one. Fails you.” I tip the bottle up.

That thought brings back the empty hole, and if there’s one thing I don’t want to feel, it’s that’s big emptiness. I shake my head violently as if to drive out the thought, and I fall down.

“Crap,” I say, dropping the bottle, watching the rest of the vodka spill onto the dirt. I push myself up. Now my hands are caked with mud. I reach into my pocket to see if there’s a tissue lurking in there and feel a piece of paper. I pull it out.

It’s the release form Cal gave me. Proof of time served. My liberation.

Yeah, right
, I think.
Liberation to what?

Tears sting my eyes.

I brush them away.

A thought nags at me. Just like Constable Sawchuk and Cal apologized to me, I owe Gwen an apology for accusing her of ratting me out. I never did say I was sorry. Even though I’m not talking to her, I don’t like to leave that hanging.

I’ll go and apologize, I decide. And
then
I won’t talk to her.

I pound on the door. When no one answers, I jerk it open.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

I start crossing the kitchen. The lights are off, and in the
late afternoon dusk, it’s dim inside. Crash! Oops. Didn’t see that chair.

Percy comes in.

“Hey, Perce, old buddy, old pal, how’s it hanging?”

“Huh?”

Smiling at his baffled expression, I peer into the living room. It’s empty. “Where’s Gwen?”

“She went out with some girls.”

“Who?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t see. Sounded like Susie. A couple of others.”

Susie, Carley, and Janelle
, I think. Gwen’s new group. The sisters of mercy. A tight little club in which I, most definitely, am not included.

I wobble for a moment and grab the counter for balance.

Percy looks at me. “Are you … drunk?”

With my finger, I notch a checkmark in the air. “Smart boy! Score one for Percy!”

He peers at me curiously, as if trying to see what “drunk” looks like. “You smell,” he says finally.

“No, no, no,” I tell him. “That’s the pot. Vodka doesn’t smell. That’s one good thing about vodka. That, and it makes you feel great!”

I whirl around, arms outflung. Actually, it doesn’t feel so great. I grab Percy’s shoulder.

He looks up at me, his eyes wide with concern. Poor kid.
Seems like he always has that look on his face these days. Well, no wonder. His dad’s wrecked, his mom’s hardly home, his sister’s like a shadow. I recall the last time I was here, when I overheard him arguing with Gwen. What were they arguing about? I try to remember. Oh, yeah …

“Hey, Percy.”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you like to go up Mount Odin?”

“What, now?”

“Yeah!”

“With you?”

“Yeah. See where the avalanche was.”

His eyes widen. “Do you know where?”

“No. But it can’t be too hard to find, can it?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Well?”

“I’m not supposed to go anywhere … and you’re – well, you know.”

I giggle, ruffling his hair. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m fine.”

He squirms. I can tell he really wants to go. And for some reason I really do, too. I want to do this for him. And for me. I want to see. Sort of pay tribute to Andrew. Besides, I’ve got nobody else to hang out with. It’s me and the nine-year-old brother of my ex–best friend. How’s that for a joke? Too bad it’s not funny.

“You said you wanted to see the place,” I say.

He sighs. “I do. I really do.”

“Well then?”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Gwen? She said she’d be back soon.”

That’s all I need, a nice visit with Gwen and the girls. I shake my head. “We’ll be quick. We’ll go and come back so fast I bet she’ll never know we were gone.”

“Okay,” he says, and a smile starts. “Just let me get my jacket.” He scribbles a note, just in case – “Gone for a walk with Molly” – and we’re off.

B
y the time we get to the trail it’s nearly dark. Percy asks, “Are you sure, Molly?”

“Sure, I’m sure,” I say. “I mean, we’ve come this far, it’d be stupid to turn back. And it’s not like we’re going to be bashing through the woods. We’re going to be on a trail, and you can’t get lost on a trail, right?”

“Right.”

“So there you go,” I say, and we head uphill. When we get to the bridge, I’m huffing like a maniac. I haven’t been up here in a while, and I’ve forgotten how hard the trek is.

We carry on. I have to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other; sometimes my footsteps curve from side to side and I step off the trail into grass and brush. “Whoopsy,” I say. I tell myself to think of it as a march and that’ll help me go in a straight line. “Hup, two, three, four,” I chant, lifting my knees. I take Percy’s hand and swing it in rhythm, forward and back – “Hup, two, three, four” – and soon he’s laughing too.

But his laughter dies down when we come around that last bend. He goes very still. You can hardly see anything, it’s just about dark, but you can make out the black shadows of the fallen trees and the glint where boulders have been scraped and the clumps of torn-up, tangled brush and the lighter tone of the bare patches of earth against the foliage surrounding them. We’re still holding hands, and I can feel him trembling. Then he throws himself into my arms and starts bawling, and then I’m bawling too, I don’t even know why, and we’re holding onto each other, and I feel dizzy and I don’t know if it’s the booze and pot or the tears, all I know is that Percy needs me right now and that feels good, really good, and I hug him, hard.

Finally he stops crying and wipes his face on his sleeve, and I do the same. He heaves a great sigh. I let him collect himself. He turns to me and says, “Okay, we can go now.”

I take his hand again and start leading him down the trail.

“Uh, Molly?”

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s that way.”

I look. The trail he’s pointing to melts into darkness. “Nuh-uh, Percy, it’s this way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Have I been up here a million times?” Well, not a million, exactly. Half a dozen, maybe, mostly when I was little. I don’t say that.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then.”

We continue. I’m straining my eyes to see. But we’re going downhill so it must be right. After a while, though, the trail changes underfoot, and instead of dirt and gravel it feels like brush. I don’t remember walking on this before. I stop. I slap him on the back. “You know what, Percy? You were right. We’d better turn around.”

So we do. Percy’s steps feel more confident now next to mine.

“I should’ve known that a mountain man like you would know the way, right?”

He gives a halfhearted giggle.

It’s completely dark now. We leave the brush and are back on the gravel. That’s good. But soon we’re going uphill, and we’re not supposed to be. I stop.

“Molly?” Percy’s voice sounds very small.