Adam obsesses about cleaning, folding and packing everything neatly; now I know why his house is so organised. He starts the engine and reverses the truck back down the track. Our campsite diminishes before my eyes, the only sign we existed the melted snow from the morning fire.
The car heater’s blasting, my toes thawing and I’m ready for a steamy shower.
Soon, the snow’s twinkling again and my phone finds a network. I forget the scenery as bings and beeps light up the screen like fireworks.
Miss you heaps, Oliver writes. He’s attached a video. When I first came across him online under the name WildRider, I was awed by all his animal videos, which he seemed to create with zero effort. He’s also an amazing researcher—he helped me find all the info I needed to care for Chirp when she was just a little chick, and then when she got sick with TD, a common affliction in meat chickens that makes them lame. WildRider found ways to help Chirp—lots of sunlight and Vitamin D, as well as the vet’s suggestions of painkillers and a restricted diet, saved the day.
This time Oliver’s edited together a clip of his sister Sabine in a cherry-red tutu doing a pirouette with the caption: She forced me to send this to you! The next screen has butterflies, unicorns and hearts. She made me do this too! Cut to a new screen: Seriously! I’m laughing now. The video jumps to him in his mum’s store, holding up my favourite brand of almond butter, super smooth, and spooning a big dollop into his mouth with a grin. I’ve saved you a bite, the caption says. He holds out the spoon to the camera. The frame freezes. The end.
He’s the best.
I send him a clip back—me waving, my father driving and the snowy forest scene outside the car window. I add a bunch of animated stars, not nearly as cool as his. I’m careful not to film Jaxon in the back seat—don’t want Oliver to get the wrong idea. Anyway, he’ll never meet him so it’s kind of irrelevant.
Lucy also texts asking how I am, and I tell her all about the wolf mum and pups.
I think I’ve lost my mind! she writes.
What? Why? I ask with a thousand question marks.
Malcolm liked all my posts, every single one, and so …
I wait with bated breath while Lucy types.
I direct messaged him! Told him it was fun at the gala and asked what he’s been up to.
OMG! Did he reply?
Literally one second later! He said, not much, and asked what I’ve been up to.
Riveting conversation. I add a winky face.
Ha ha. I told him my parents are dragging me to the antique fair this Sunday. Get this—he said he may be going too.
Coincidence?! What are you going to do if you see him?
Die?
And you say I’m dramatic, I write.
I’ll keep you posted. Going to make tea and then better try to sleep.
I imagine Lucy in her bedroom, her sketches sticky taped onto the old pea-green paint. Walking downstairs to her kitchen to make tea. Her house is super messy, but in the coolest of ways, like a musty country-town antique shop full of treasures: piles of books, watercolours, African masks, and feathers in jars. Even her father, Mark, is cool in a quirky way. He did his PhD on a bird in Botswana, the fairy flycatcher, which may be the best name ever for a bird. And Lucy grew up partly in Africa, so her accent is a bit unusual.
I send her a moon and stars, and wish her luck.
Paula sends a pic of her tummy and I blow kisses to the little peanut, my soon-to-be cousin. I want to feel Paula’s belly and make her tea. Being so far away makes me sad. I know my messages will only reach her tomorrow when she wakes up.
No word from Melody. I send her a quick text saying we’re on our way back from camping and asking if she found the festival.
My father’s navigating the snowy path when his phone tweets like a bird from inside the glove box.
‘Sky, can you pass it to me?’ He checks quickly. ‘That’s them confirming. Great.’
‘Who?’
‘My parents,’ he says, passing back the phone.
‘What?’
‘Your grandparents.’
A smile spreads across my face. ‘You could have told me that sooner! Really, there’s two of them?’ Mum and Paula lost their parents before I was born, so this isn’t a subject I know a lot about.
‘Sorry, I’m not doing a very good job, am I?’ He places his hand on my shoulder. ‘I was so nervous to meet you, to be honest, it just slipped my mind. We’ve been texting and they’re desperate to fly out here. I told them they have to wait so we can have a little time together first. But they’re planning to come next week.’
I’m still struggling to take in the fact I have grandparents. ‘What are their names? They want to see me? They’re flying here?’ I pelt him with questions. ‘Did they know about me before? Where do they live? Wait, do you have brothers and sisters?’
‘Only child. They are Miriam and Mike, from Chicago,’ he says. ‘You know, when I left Australia, dropped out, left Eli …’
Cheated on my mum with her best friend, and left me too, I don’t say.
‘… I joined a fishing fleet in Alaska, just to clear my head. Then I went back to Chicago. I didn’t know what to do. My father is a partner in a big law firm and I tried to fit into that life. But I was lost.’ He pauses and stares at the road.
I notice his hands on the wheel, fingernails bitten down just like mine. In fact, his hands look like mine, long and knobbly, and I stretch out my fingers to compare.
I’m about to comment when he continues. ‘My parents knew about your mum and gave me the funds so I could support her. I sent a cheque, but it was never deposited and then her phone number stopped working and she moved without leaving a new address. I tried to find her. Anyway,’ he takes a breath, ‘they’ve always wondered about you, and because I’m an only child, they don’t have any other grandchildren and—’
‘You’re a lawyer?’ Finally I know what he does.
‘Never finished my degree; it wasn’t for me. I had dropped out twice by that time. I went back to Alaska, to do the salmon fishing, and I met Steph a little while after. My parents were not impressed with my life choices, still aren’t, and I can’t blame them—I’ve made a wrong turn a few too many times.’
Understatement of the year. I can’t help wondering what other bad life choices he’s made.
‘But, all in all, despite not being fans of nature and being slightly bossy culture snobs,’ he grins, ‘they’re good people. And they’ll be excellent grandparents now they have the chance.’
I’m processing all this new information. I’m part of a bigger family. My grandparents want to meet me.
‘Do they like classical music?’ I ask, wondering if that’s the reason for my father’s Mozart CD.
‘Funnily enough, my mother played violin in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and then worked at the conservatorium; she only retired recently. They’re both big benefactors of the arts.’
Well, that’s one mystery solved at least.
‘You checked his local again?’ I hear Jaxon saying from the back seat, his phone to his ear. ‘Nobody has seen him since when? Oh … Okay. Please, let me know as soon as you hear anything.’
‘Any sign of him?’ I ask, turning in my seat to face Jaxon, although I already know the answer.
‘No. That was an old friend of his; I had his number in my phone. He says he hasn’t spoken to him in months. My dad’s been going to a bunch of new bars lately; maybe someone’s seen him. I could go ask around.’
‘Can you drive?’ I ask.
‘Yep, but no car. Hey, Adam, do you think I could borrow your car and look around? Unless you want to come with me? I’ll buy you a donut or three.’ He says it nonchalantly, but I can hear a note of desperation.
My father must hear it too because he glances at me, eyebrows raised.
I do want to spend time alone with him, but Jaxon’s in trouble. His father may be lying unconscious in a ditch for all we know.
I give Adam a
nod.
‘Of course, bud,’ he says. ‘Sign us up for a couple of donuts—although we’ll have to find a vegan one for Sky, won’t we? In any case, you’re staying with me, with us, until you find him.’
‘Thanks, Adam,’ Jaxon says, relief pouring out of him.
‘But Sky and I do have birthday plans for tomorrow, so you can hang out at my place and order pizza, okay?’
‘Think I’ll go Chinese, but sure.’
I smile to myself. My father and I will finally be able to really talk properly, uninterrupted. ‘Look, we have the same hands,’ I say, putting mine next to his.
‘You’re right, we do.’ He beams. ‘Like father like daughter.’
I love it when he says that.
We arrive back in Anchorage’s concrete sprawl as the light’s already fading. Adam drives to the centre of town, and Jaxon directs him to his father’s usual drinking spots. I wait in the car while they go in to ask the staff if they’ve seen Doug, showing them his picture. Soon, we run out of bars in the city and head out to the industrial area where there are a few cheap and nasty ones, fluorescent lights advertising sexy pole-dancing girls. No luck. After an hour or two, there are no more bars left to try.
‘Let’s check back at your place,’ my father says to Jaxon.
We pull into a snowy driveway, the solitary streetlight flickering, and I shiver slightly, quickly zipping up my jacket.
‘Careful, don’t trip,’ my father says as we step over half-chewed plastic bags, open tuna cans and other contents spilling out. ‘Critters got into the trash. Remind me and I’ll get you some bear-resistant trash cans,’ he says to Jaxon.
Jaxon turns on the porch light and I take in the scene. I’m in a Hollywood movie again, but this is no rom-com. An American flag is draped unevenly over the rails, and cigarette butts and beer bottles are strewn around an old rocking chair. Opening the front door, the picture gets worse. It’s a real dump, more like where I expected my father to live, complete with a tall tower of empty pizza boxes.
‘You must love pizza,’ I say, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
‘Over it,’ Jaxon says, his eyes dim. He’s no longer the excited puppy dog, more like a pound dog, scared and sad.
We stand in the lounge and call out Doug’s name, but the house is eerily silent. Jaxon runs up the stairs two at a time, and reappears shrugging.
Adam goes to the kitchen where the sink is overflowing with dishes. He opens the fridge door, releasing a cloud of sour milk and rotting food.
‘Bud, let’s throw a few things out,’ my father calls, ‘so the place won’t stink when he gets home.’
Jaxon doesn’t answer. He’s back on the phone, holding a tattered address book that must be his father’s, repeating the story again and again, ending with a ‘Let me know if you hear anything’ each time.
My father hands me a milk carton and I try to stuff it in the bin, but there’s no space. I take out the garbage bag—it’s dripping from underneath with who knows what. I find a roll of bags under the sink, wet from a leak, tear one off and throw in the carton. ‘Should I do separate bags for recyclables?’ I ask.
‘Sure,’ my father says, and I rip off another bag. A large tub of strawberry yoghurt makes my nose wrinkle. I hold it as far from me as possible, trying to manoeuvre it into the bag without touching its contents.
The tub slips and falls to the floor, stinky pink glug splashing everywhere. I look for something to clean it up with, but there’s nothing.
I find the toilet and grab a roll of paper. As I start mopping under the freezer, I see a slip of paper peeking out. It has a piece of sticky tape on it.
‘Hey, Jaxon, is this something important?’
‘Must’ve fallen off the fridge,’ he says, taking the note.
‘What does it say?’ my father asks.
‘“Jax. Taking …” Um. His writing is impossible to read.’
‘Let me try,’ my father says, and Jaxon hands him the note. “‘Taking truck. Back when I’m … ruley”? That must be ready. “Money in the drawer for pizza.”’
Jaxon opens the kitchen drawer and takes out a fifty-dollar bill.
‘At least we know he was okay when he left,’ my father says. ‘That’s something.’
I notice Jaxon’s chin is quivering. It’s obvious from the handwriting that his father was drunk when he wrote it.
‘There were two boxes of beer over here.’ Jaxon points to the side of the fridge. ‘Now they’re gone. Didn’t notice that before.’
‘I’ll ring the police,’ my father says.
‘No!’ Jaxon says.
‘To report him missing and check if there’ve been any accidents. Just in case.’
‘Then we should call the hospital.’
‘Right,’ my father says. ‘I’ll call now.’
I sit down on the couch, giving Jaxon his privacy, as Adam makes the call. In the meantime, I try calling Melody. There’s no answer so I send another text. She’s not unknown to disappear to festivals and forget to look at or even charge her phone. But still, how can she not even check up on me? It was the same thing after Mum died. I wish she hadn’t come at all.
‘All clear,’ my father says. ‘No one named Douglas has been admitted in the last week.’
I’m relieved for Jaxon.
‘Why don’t you grab some clean clothes and other things you need, bud?’ my father says.
Jaxon walks back upstairs, this time taking each step very slowly.
Adam attacks the sink, squeezing out the last of the dishwashing detergent and getting to work. He hands me the wet dishes and I dry.
‘I can’t believe his dad’s done this to him,’ my father says. ‘I just hope he’s not drinking and driving again, that he’s okay. To lose one parent is one thing, but two of them …’ He wipes down all the surfaces until they’re shining, then lugs the rubbish bags to the front door. He obviously didn’t think of me when he said that—he abandoned us and then I lost Mum. But it’s different to Jaxon; I have Paula and Dave, of course. And now, my father too.
Jaxon returns with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder.
‘That’s it?’ my father asks.
‘My guitar’s in your trunk, so … yeah.’
‘Okay. And don’t worry, we’ll all hang out together until your dad’s back. It’ll be fun,’ my father says as Jaxon closes the front door behind us. Adam fills another bag with the mess by the rocking chair and the rubbish strewn in the snow, restores the garbage bins to an upright position, closing the lids firmly, then loads Jaxon’s bag into the boot.
‘Thanks, Adam, for everything.’ Jaxon bites his lip. ‘You’re the best.’
My father gives him one of those guy hugs, with one arm and a slap on the back. ‘It’ll be okay, bud, I promise.’
I want to hug him too, poor guy. I know what it feels like to freak out over a parent. But that might be awkward, so I get into the passenger seat instead. Jaxon probably doesn’t want me to see him now anyway, eyes stained red.
My teeth chatter. It’s weird. Jaxon’s dad is the ‘loser’ that my mum always accused my father of being. But really, Jaxon probably wishes my father was his. And my father likely feels the same about Jaxon. Meanwhile, I’m in the cold, figuratively and literally.
I take off my gloves and blow into my hands as my father starts the engine. ‘Where to now?’ I ask. ‘Donuts?’
‘You got it,’ he says, pressing play on his Mozart CD.
I put my hands to the hot-air vent as clarinets play, feeling sad for Jaxon but happy to be here, included in their world, and having the chance for my father– daughter dream to come true.
It’s my birthday tomorrow. We’re going out and, finally, we’ll have time to talk. Really talk. It’s only the beginning, but I hope soon I can agree with Jaxon that my father’s the best.
A whole evening, just me and my father. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
Chapter 7
I wake up, stretch and then�
��boom, I remember. Today’s my first birthday without Mum. Sixteen years old and she’s not with me. Not here to bake me a chocolate cake with my name on top in blue and white icing. To read my birthday card out loud, in the earnest voice she saves only for this one day. Not here to hug me tight, her long side-plait tickling my neck, or kiss me on the cheek so hard my face squashes into my teeth. We won’t drive to the beach in the south where the sand is the whitest, like we do every year once the burning sun’s cooled, and I won’t hear the crash of the waves or the tinkling of her Indian bracelets as we search for a unique shell or unusual pebble, shined by the sea. She always gives me hers. A too-familiar feeling bubbles in my stomach: the soup of sadness.
Rolling onto my side, I hold my knees for a while trying not to think. It doesn’t help.
I unplug my phone from the charger, turn off flight mode, which I use to save my brain from being roasted while I sleep—or so Mum told me—and go to check my messages. But I stop.
Instead, I open my videos. Before she passed away, Mum recorded a message for me, with some of her thoughts and advice. I recorded it onto my phone so I can watch it whenever I want.
‘Here’s some advice, Sunshine,’ she says after I press play. ‘I know it’s a bit cheesy, but give it a try, okay?’ I pause and kiss her face, frozen in its beauty. No, it’s not too cheesy, I want to say back to her.
‘These are the principles I’ve always tried to follow, and now you’re nearly a grown woman, it’s your turn. When you don’t know what to do, remember who you are. Our value of loving kindness.’ I’m saying the words with her now; I know them by heart.
‘Surround yourself with good people. People who love you for you. When you don’t know what to do, trust your heart, my love. It will never lead you astray. But most importantly, don’t let the world dent your spirit, Sky. There are good people and bad out there. And you will have good times and the toughest hardships. But keep your spirit strong. You are full of compassion and wonder. You are and have always been strong, creative and wise beyond your years. When you don’t know what to do, stay true to yourself. Okay, Sunshine? I love you so much.’
Snow Page 6
