Winter Road

by Kristin Butcher

  The ice groans and creaks beneath the truck’s weight.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” I ask, my nose pressed against the side window. “It was pretty hot today.”

  Mom smiles. “It’s fine, Kat. Don’t worry. It takes more than a couple of warm days to melt the ice.”

  “If you say so,” I concede, though I continue to study the lake for cracks.

  We ride in silence for about five minutes, and then Mom mumbles, “What the…”

  I look out the front window and gasp. Up ahead, sitting sideways on the ice road with its grill pushed into the far snowbank, is Dwayne’s semi.

  “He must have lost control,” I say.

  “The way he’s been driving, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Mom grumbles. “That guy is a menace on the road. First the ice wave, then the deer, and now this. I’ve had it with him. When we get back to Winnipeg, I’m calling the authorities.” She slows down so much, we’re barely moving. “Can you see him?” she asks me.

  I squint into the dying light, trying to see around and under the semi. I shake my head. “No. What if he’s hurt?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. As much as I’d like to kick the little jerk in his sorry butt, we can’t leave him here if he’s in trouble.” She heaves a heavy sigh. Then she slips the truck into neutral and sets the brake.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to stop on an ice road,” I remind her.

  She hops out and looks across the cab at me. “Well, I don’t really have a choice, do I? But it should be fine. I’m parked a safe distance from his rig, and I’m not hauling anything. Neither is he, so weight shouldn’t be a problem. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Should be fine? Shouldn’t be a problem? Yeah right, Mom. Until the truck plunges through the ice and I end up at the bottom of the lake. I jump down from my side of the cab and run after her.

  She frowns at me when I catch up. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

  I’m not about to admit I’m too paranoid to do that, so I say, “Considering your frame of mind, I thought you might need a referee. Since I don’t know how to drive the semi out of here, I can’t risk you and Dwayne killing each other.”

  She rolls her eyes and keeps walking. “Dwayne,” she calls as we near his vehicle. It’s still running. “Where are you? Are you okay?” She gestures for me to head around to the passenger side of the truck while she jogs toward the driver’s side.

  There’s no sign of him, so I walk to the front of the cab, where the grill is mashed into the snowbank. He’s not there either. I scan the road and the snow-covered lake beyond. If he went out there and fell, we’ll never find him.

  Mom calls his name again and bangs on the cab, so I hurry around to the other side of the truck, arriving just as she yanks the door open and steps up onto the running board.

  “Oh god,” she says in a voice that sends dread shooting through me.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  She climbs into the cab without answering. I jump onto the running board and peer inside. Lying on the floor between the seats—half in the front and half in the back—is Dwayne. He isn’t moving. Mom is wedged between the dashboard and the passenger seat. Her fingers are searching his neck for a pulse.

  I hold my breath and wait.

  Chapter Ten

  “He’s alive,” Mom says, “but his pulse is slow.”

  “Maybe he got knocked out when the semi hit the snowbank,” I suggest.

  She looks skeptical. “I don’t think so. There’s no blood and no bumps or bruises. But he’s soaked in sweat. That says sick to me. I have a feeling he passed out before the semi hit the snowbank.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “I’ll radio the RCMP and tell them the situation. I think he needs a doctor.”

  “Should we get him off the floor?” I ask. “It can’t be very comfortable. And it’s probably cold. We could pull the bed down and put him on that.”

  She shakes her head. “There’s not much room to maneuver him, plus he’s a dead weight. I don’t think we could lift him. We’d probably do him more harm than good. We should cover him up though. You find a blanket while I radio for help.”

  While Mom steps over Dwayne to get back to the driver’s seat and the CB, I climb into the back of the cab.

  I pull down the bunk folded against the back wall of the cab and rip the blanket off the mattress. Then I tuck it around Dwayne. I can’t believe how pale he is and how still—he’s barely breathing. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I wasn’t even around when my dad died, so it feels kind of surreal. I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t my imagination or a television program. This is really happening, and what Mom and I do could make a huge difference in how things turn out. I can’t say I like Dwayne much, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to him either.

  Mom is still talking on the radio when I’m done, so I start pulling open cupboards, looking for—I don’t know—something. And bingo! There on the first shelf is a box of insulin pens. Somebody else might not recognize them, but I do.

  “Mom!” I shout.

  She spins toward me, frowning.

  “Look!” I shake the pens at her. “It’s insulin. Dwayne must be a diabetic. Maybe that’s why he passed out.”

  Mom instantly relays my discovery to the person on the other end of the radio. “Hang on. I’ll check,” she says and leans over Dwayne, pulling back the cuffs of his jacket. Then she’s back on the CB. “No. No medical-alert bracelet.”

  Without thinking, I twist mine on my wrist.

  “Any sign of seizure?” I can barely make out the voice on the radio over the static.

  “No,” Mom says.

  “Is there any indication that he’s eaten recently?”

  As Mom checks the front of the cab, I pull open the fridge and cupboards in the back.

  “Nothing here, “I say, “except for a couple of bottles of water and an unopened box of granola bars.”

  “No,” Mom says into the radio. “There’s half a thermos of coffee, but that’s it.”

  “Has he regained consciousness at all?” the person asks.

  Mom glances at Dwayne. “No. He was out when we discovered him a little over five minutes ago, and he hasn’t moved while we’ve been here.”

  “If he’s not on his side, turn him. We need to make sure his airways are open,” the dispatcher says, so Mom and I get to work.

  “Ooh,” I say, as I catch a whiff of his breath. “He smells like he’s been drinking.”

  Mom repeats what I’ve said into the radio.

  “Classic symptom of low blood sugar,” the dispatcher replies, “though there’s no way of knowing for sure until we check his levels.”

  Without even thinking, I grab the handset. “I could check his sugar levels. I’m a diabetic too. I use a glucose meter all the time.”

  “What?” The dispatcher sounds confused.

  Mom takes the handset from me. “That was my daughter,” she explains. “And she’s right. She could check his sugar levels.”

  “Do it then,” the person says “and radio us the results. If you’re on Round Lake, it’s going to take too long for you to get him to us, so we’ll send a chopper. Stay near the radio.”

  Though Dwayne probably has a glucose meter somewhere in his semi, I have no idea where. I could hunt for it, but it’s probably faster to get my own, so I race back to our truck. I’m not gone more than five minutes, but I’m puffing as I climb back into the semi.

  After six months of living with diabetes, using the machine has become second nature, and I don’t waste a second getting to work.

  “It’s showing 2.6,” I tell Mom once I’ve transferred the blood drop from Dwayne’s finger to the glucose strip. “That’s really low.”

  As Mom radios in the reading, headlights appear in the distance from the direction of Little Grand Rapids. It’s another big truck. It stops behind Mom’s semi, though not too close. As I squ
int into the darkness, two silhouettes, backlit by the headlights, run down the lake toward us. As they get closer, I can see they are men, and one of them is really tall. It can only be Harvey and Finn.

  Before Mom can open the window to tell them what’s happening, they’re caught in a puddle of light. They both shield their eyes and look up. I open the door on my side of the semi, step onto the running board and stare skyward too. I half expect to see an alien spaceship dragging Harvey and Finn aboard with a tractor beam. But there’s no spaceship—just a helicopter. Talk about losing my grip on reality. The situation with Dwayne has me more stressed than I realized. I jump down from the truck. With the arrival of the paramedics, I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders.

  The helicopter lands farther up the lake. I guess it doesn’t want to concentrate any more weight in the immediate area. It seems everyone who lives or works in this part of Manitoba is respectful of the winter roads.

  As soon as the chopper touches down, two men jump out with a stretcher and hurry toward us. Finn and I stand out of the way as the pilot and paramedic—with Harvey’s help—maneuver Dwayne out of the truck. Then they immediately head back to the helicopter, with Mom and Harvey running alongside, answering questions.

  “Well, this sure isn’t an average day on the winter road,” Finn yells. Even from a distance, the helicopter is noisy.

  “No kidding,” I yell back. “Dwayne is in pretty rough shape. I hope he’s going to be okay.”

  Finn nods. “I had no clue he was a diabetic.”

  “Why would you?” I reply. “It’s not something that shows on the outside. Mostly, if you eat right, take your insulin and control your sugar levels, you can live like everybody else.” Part of me can’t believe what I’m saying. I sound like my mother.

  “How do you know so much about it?” Finn asks.

  I shrug. “It takes one to know one.” I can’t believe I said that either. I don’t usually tell people I have diabetes. I’m afraid they’ll treat me like a freak or an invalid. For a few seconds, Finn doesn’t answer. He just stares at me, and I start to wonder if I’ve scared him off. But then—

  “So I guess asking if I can take you out for a Coke next time I’m in Winnipeg isn’t such a good idea,” he says.

  Though I’d been hoping for a chance to see Finn again, his suggestion still comes as a surprise. I smile self-consciously. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not such a terrible idea. I can always have tea.”

  He shrugs. “That could work too. So can I have your number?”

  Chapter Eleven

  As the chopper takes off, the four of us watch, squinting through the wind it has stirred up. It’s stronger than I would have thought, and I have to grab on to Finn and Mom to keep from flying off into the night with the helicopter.

  “So here’s the plan,” Harvey says when the chopper is finally on its way. “We’ll convoy our way back to the highway. I’ll drive Dwayne’s rig and leave it in Winnipeg with the company he’s driving for. They can figure out how to get it to him. Finn, you drive our truck and pick me up. And ladies, you keep us steady through the middle.”

  Mom nods. “Sounds good. The sooner we’re off this ice road, the happier I’ll be. My truck’s been sitting in one spot with its engine running way too long. Let’s get this parade moving.”

  As we jog off to our trucks, we wave and call our goodbyes.

  Mom pulls forward by a truck length and then sticks the semi back into neutral, while Harvey frees the nose of Dwayne’s rig from the snowbank and repositions the semi on the ice. A blast from his horn signals he’s ready, and he moves forward. Mom and Finn reply with horn blasts of their own and fall in behind him. Ten minutes later we’re off Round Lake and back on the snow road.

  My frazzled nerves uncurl a bit. Not that the snow road isn’t treacherous too, but if it crumbles, we’re not going to end up at the bottom of a lake. We’ll merely be stuck in the middle of nowhere at the mercy of the elements and wild animals. Definitely the more preferable option.

  “How far behind schedule are you?” I ask my mom. “Will you still be able to connect with the next shipment?”

  “We were on Round Lake for over an hour. That means a bit less sleep, but I should be fine for tomorrow.” She smiles, but I can see the strain on her face. We still have a long drive ahead, and she’s already tired. Clearly, the situation with Dwayne has taken its toll. Suddenly I feel guilty. If I was spooked seeing Dwayne unconscious and helpless, my mother is ten times more rattled. I have a feeling it was me she imagined lying on the floor of the truck.

  “Do you think he’s going to be okay?” I say.

  “The paramedic said they’d let us know.”

  I nod. Though I am concerned about Dwayne, I can’t stop thinking, That could have been me. From the day I was first diagnosed, part of me has been denying my condition. Stupid as it sounds, I’ve wanted to blame my mother—not like she made the diabetes happen, but that by making it the center of my life and forcing me to follow the rules to the letter, she’s made it worse. I don’t feel horrible, so how can I be sick? But seeing what happened to Dwayne, I think it’s finally starting to sink in. I feel okay, because my mom is on top of things. She doesn’t let a single thing slide. I didn’t realize how important that was until now. And with everything else she has on her plate, I’m starting to feel guilty about dumping that burden on her. I’m the one with diabetes, so it’s my job to deal with it. It’s time I faced up to that.

  The winter road is closed two days later. Lucky for my mother, her next run is highway driving only.

  This time, she lets me stay home by myself. I don’t even have to plead. In fact, she’s the one who suggests it. She leaves all the appropriate emergency numbers, phones me several times a day and arranges for Tina to check in on me, but otherwise I’m on my own. It’s only for three days, but it’s Mom showing faith in me, and me getting a chance to prove I deserve her trust.

  Mom and Gran arrive home on the same day, and to my surprise, neither of them rushes to check my insulin and sugar-level readings. I am obviously still alive and well, and though I’m sure they’re curious, they don’t let on. I make dinner, setting the table extra special. I stick to Mom’s menus, but maybe because I’m the one doing the cooking, everything seems more appetizing. I can hardly wait to serve up my “masterpiece.”

  The doorbell rings just as I’m about to do so.

  “Company?” Mom asks.

  Gran shrugs. “No one I know.”

  “Don’t look at me,” I say. “I didn’t invite anyone.”

  Mom and I open the front door together and blink in disbelief. Standing on our porch is Dwayne Bradley. Mom is first to shake off her surprise.

  “Dwayne!” She opens the door wide and smiles. “Come in. Come in. It’s so good to see you back on your feet. You had us all pretty scared there for a while.”

  He hangs his head sheepishly and shuffles inside. “Yeah. I’m really sorry about that. That’s why I came round. I got your address from your dispatcher. I hope that’s okay. I could’ve phoned or sent a card, but you guys saved my life. That’s huge, and I needed to thank you in person.” He offers us a nervous smile.

  Mom squeezes his arm. “We’re just glad you’re up and about again. So come and sit down and tell us how you’re doing.” She pulls him into the living room. I follow behind and sit beside my grandmother.

  “I’m a lot better,” Dwayne says. “I only found out I have diabetes a couple of months ago. I guess I didn’t want to believe it. I never really listened to the doctor or nurses at the clinic when they were explaining things. I figured if I took the insulin, that would be good enough.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Obviously it isn’t.”

  “Well, now you know, and that’s the important thing,” Mom tells him. “You can’t expect to adapt to something like diabetes overnight. It takes time.”

  I enter the conversation for the first time. “My mom’s right. I haven’t h
ad diabetes long either—only about six months—and I’m still wrapping my head around it. What you need is a support system. The Diabetes Information Center is a great place to start. They help you understand what’s going on with your body, they regulate your medication, and they teach you how to make sense of your glucose readings. And they’re always there to answer any questions.”

  He nods. “Yeah, since I got out of the hospital, I’ve been going there. They’ve already helped me a lot. I’m taking some time off driving, until I get a handle on things. My parents have been great. I’m back home with them for the time being.” He smiles and rolls his eyes. “My mom has made it her personal mission to see that I eat right.”

  I lean forward and whisper behind my hand, “Moms are like that.”

  Of course, Mom hears me, and we all laugh. “Hold on a minute,” she objects. “Who made dinner tonight? It wasn’t me.”

  Dwayne instantly jumps to his feet. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I’m keeping you from your supper.”

  “Yes, you are,” I agree, ignoring the disapproving glare from my mother. “And that’s not a good thing, since we diabetics need to eat regularly. That means you too, Dwayne, so you are officially invited to dinner. We can’t risk having you pass out again. I’ll set another place.”

  Before Dwayne can argue, I jump up and head for the kitchen. Halfway there, I hear my phone ring. I spin around to retrieve it from the coffee table, but Mom already has it in her hand. She looks at the screen and then raises an eyebrow as she holds the phone out to me.

  “It’s Finn,” she says. “Now where do you suppose he got your number?”

  I shake my head and assume a puzzled expression. “Huh. I wonder.” But when I take the phone from my mom, I can’t help smiling.

  “Katarina Mulholland,” Mom growls sternly.

  I give her a peck on the cheek. “Love you, Mom.” Then I swing the phone up to my ear and race for the privacy of the kitchen.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS