by Karen Swan
Ronnie tried to chuckle at the attempted joke, knowing that Meg was still trying to occupy the role of big sister, the strong one. ‘So how have you been?’
‘I’m better, honestly. I’m definitely . . . definitely improving.’
‘Have you lost any more weight?’
‘No. And I’m washing my hair every night. And wearing clean clothes. The cupboard’s full of food,’ Meg said quickly, anticipating all the other questions that Barbara also fired at her on a daily basis.
‘You’re not just saying that? If I was to tell you I was actually standing outside your door and about to step in—?’
‘I’d say come on in. Hand on heart.’ Well, hand on broken heart, she thought to herself. ‘Really, time’s the healer. I’m doing great.’ Meg was surprised by the sound of her own voice; she was almost convincing herself.
‘So then . . .’ There was a small pause and Meg could tell Ronnie was working up to something.
‘What? What is it?’
‘Do you think you’d be up to a trip? You could come and visit me.’
‘What? In Toronto?’ Meg asked, losing her composure and sounding shocked.
‘Why not? I’ve been here six years and you haven’t made it over yet. I’ve got some holiday I’ve got to take and I thought . . . well, I thought we could hook up and do something together.’ There was a silence. ‘Although it doesn’t have to be here if you don’t want – we could meet somewhere else if you’d prefer . . . Honolulu? Paris? Auckland?’
Meg burst out laughing. ‘Oh, my God, you have to be kidding!’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ she shrieked. ‘I can’t . . . I can’t go to those places.’
‘Why not?’
Meg felt her hilarity segue into something more fearful, anxiety prickling up her skin. ‘Because I can’t. I have responsibilities here. Dolores needs me—’
‘Dolores is perfectly capable of running that place without you, especially at this time of year.’
‘That’s not true!’ Meg huffed indignantly.
‘You work in a ski-rental shop, Meg, and it’s May!’
‘Yes, so now we’ve got hikers and bike—’
‘There are only so many hiking boots and pop-up tents you can sell,’ Ronnie laughed, but there was no amusement in her tone either. They both knew they were skidding into unspoken territory – Meg afraid to leave their home town, Ronnie afraid to come back. ‘She can totally spare you.’
‘Well, why don’t you come here?’ Meg asked, turning the tables on her little sister. ‘If you’ve got time to kill, come back here and we can . . . I don’t know, go camping for a few nights, maybe do that spa package at Chateau Louise that you’re always talking about.’
Ronnie sighed, exasperated. ‘Why are you so dead against going somewhere new? Seeking out new horizons? There’s a big world out there, Meg. Come and see some of it with me. Let’s have an adventure. There’s more to life than that poky little cab—’ She fell silent.
‘Poky?’
‘I didn’t mean to say that! I meant small. It’s small.’
‘You said poky.’
Ronnie sighed, and Meg could tell from the muffling of her voice that she had her head in her hands. ‘I knew this was a bad idea. I called up wanting us to do something together, something new, and instead all I’ve done is upset you.’
‘I’m not upset.’ But even to her own ear, Meg’s voice sounded brittle and ready to crack.
There was a long silence between them and when Ronnie’s voice came back on the line, it sounded weary. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to us, Meg. We used to be so close. You were my best friend.’
Meg instinctively closed her eyes, knowing Ronnie was right and that she was going to drag Lucy into the conversation, as though it was Lucy’s fault that the two sisters had grown apart. But it wasn’t. Yes, it didn’t help that her sister and her best friend didn’t get on but the simple fact was, she and Ronnie were vastly different people – that wasn’t to say they didn’t love one another, but their parents’ deaths had had a polarizing effect and instead of being brought closer together, they had been forced apart, having to identify and choose where their homes would be now. For Meg, that had been with Mitch in Banff. For Ronnie, a high-octane career in which she didn’t have time to feel, or grieve. The river they had swum in had forked and they were on entirely different paths for the moment; but wouldn’t they both end up in the sea, some day?
‘Listen, forget it,’ Ronnie said, her voice sounding defeated. ‘It’s too soon. I just thought a change would be as good as a rest. That was all.’
‘I know, and I appreciate it. Maybe soon.’
‘Does that mean you’ll think about what I said?’ Hope tinged her voice like blood in the water.
‘Absolutely.’ Not.
There was another silence. ‘You know I love you, Meg? I know we don’t see each other enough but . . . you’re my sister. You’re always in my mind.’
‘I know, and I love you too . . .’ They lapsed into silence again. ‘Look, I’d better run. I was just on my way out to walk Badge before it gets dark.’
‘Oh, OK, sure.’
‘But we’ll speak soon, OK?’
‘OK—’
‘OK, bye.’ Meg hung up, grateful to have got the words out before her voice had betrayed her, tears already streaking down her cheeks. It was easy for Ronnie. Change was a good thing in her world – she’d had a dream to follow, a horizon to stake, and a seat on a plane would get her there. But for Meg, this place was her home, even if Mitch and her parents and Ronnie – all her reasons for being here – were now gone. She couldn’t leave. It wasn’t just that there was no place like home; for her, there was no place but home.
Chapter Eleven
Saturday 20 May
The bell over the door tinkled as Lucy opened it, Meg looking up and giving a pleased smile as she walked in. She was kneeling, fitting an old guy in a Lake Tahoe T-shirt and fliplens sunglasses with a pair of hiking boots. Badger was curled up asleep in his bed by the till.
‘Morning,’ Lucy sang, breezing through the store, stopping only to ruffle the dog’s ears before heading straight to the small kitchen out back. She put the kettle on and checked the milk in the fridge as she waited for Meg to finish up with the customer, overhearing her a few minutes later giving him a free tube of SPF lipblock and telling him to watch out for bears. They were awake and hungry at this time of year.
‘No wonder Dolores loves you,’ she grinned as Meg wandered through. ‘You’re more like the tourist bureau than an overpriced rental boutique selling Chapstick. I bet he’ll be back tomorrow to show you his photos. Where is she anyway?’
‘Hiking.’ Meg reached up into one of the wall cupboards. ‘Cookie?’
‘Rhetorical, right?’ Lucy smiled, stirring their drinks and tossing the spoon into the sink, where it clattered noisily. ‘So, what was so important you couldn’t wait till lunch?’
Meg bit her lip. ‘He’s written back.’
Lucy was puzzled, wondering what she’d missed. ‘Who?’
‘The astronaut!’
Lucy missed a beat. ‘Oh.’ She couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’d thought, when she’d got the text – Big news! Coffee, here, now – that it might be something more exciting than an email from a poetry-loving spaceman. Was it really that big of a deal? ‘Well, what’d he say?’
‘Shall I read it?’
‘By all means.’ Lucy pulled out a chair from the narrow half-table and took her seat, trying not to look more interested in the cookie than the email.
‘Hi, Meg, how are you?’ Meg read, giving a shrug and rolling her eyes. ‘Well, does he want the long answer or the short?’ she quipped, a deflective use of humour that she’d been relying on a lot recently. ‘Sorry not to have responded sooner. It’s been pretty busy recently—’ Meg squinted her eyes. ‘What does he do up there, do you think?’
Lucy shrugged, breaking off a large chewy
chunk of cookie. Today was a bad sugar day. It had taken three ginger biscuits just to get out of bed without throwing up. ‘Tests whether the moon really is made of cheese? Checks for black holes? Who knows? Ask him.’
‘You think?’ Meg wrinkled her nose, then shook her head. ‘No. No . . .’ She inhaled deeply and began reading again. ‘Umm . . . oh, yes . . . Added to which we had some tech issues for email – happily all resolved now! I’m really pleased you liked the poem, I thought it might resonate for you. I hope you are doing OK.
‘I’m afraid it wasn’t the ISS that you saw that night as there are no flashing lights on board. Most likely it was a plane but you can see us at certain points in the day if you know where to look. We actually orbit Earth sixteen times every twenty-four hours but you can only really spot us early morning or at dusk when the angle of the sun reflects off us. If you’re interested, we’ll be tracking above you today at 19h11, travelling west to east at 42-degrees elevation. In normal speak, just look west to the horizon and put your arm straight out in front of you, then lift it by four fists’ depth and that should get you looking in the right area. I’ll wave just in case! Smiley face.’ Meg looked up. ‘He’s actually put a smiley face! Can you believe that? A smiley face from space?’
Lucy watched, bemused by her friend’s geeky excitement. ‘Who knew?’
‘Also – and I hope this doesn’t read like a lecture – we’re not in outer space but inner space. We’re only 312 km above the Earth, unlike the moon, for example, which is 365,000 km away, so perhaps it’s not so unusual that we should have made radio contact – that distance along a road would barely get you out of Alberta.’ Meg shook her head in amazement. ‘Isn’t that incredible? When he puts it like that . . . He must be so clever. I bet he knows lots of stuff about everything. Ronnie would love him.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’
Meg went back to the email. ‘But I am pleased we’ve “met”. We’re busy most of the time but when it’s quiet, it’s really quiet so it’s nice to get on the radio channels and chat to different people wherever we are. I’ve tried contacting you a few times when we’ve passed over but I seem to keep missing you. Or perhaps you’re not using the radio any more? If you want, you can log onto this website, which shows our orbital path and when we’ll be in communications range, www.blah-blah-blah,’ Meg said, skipping over it. ‘By the way, tell your friend Tuck that my best sighting so far has been seeing the aurora borealis over Finland. It was freaky and magical all at the same time with these incredible colours flickering below us. I’m Norwegian, so I’ve grown up with these technicolour skies, but I never thought I’d see it from above! I’m taking lots of photos but I’ll try and get one of your patch next time we pass over and I’ll send it on to you.
‘Got to go now. We’re preparing for a spacewalk tomorrow so it’s all hands on deck here. Take care, Jonas.’ Meg finished reading, her eyes bright. ‘So how about that, huh? An email from a guy about to take a freaking spacewalk. That’s pretty damn cool, you’ve got to admit.’
‘Jonas?’ Lucy repeated.
Meg looked confused. ‘Huh?’
‘He didn’t sign off as Lieutenant or . . . or whatever his title is?’
‘Commander. No, why?’
‘First-name terms with an astronaut.’ Lucy shrugged. ‘That is cool.’
‘Well, I guess we’ve spoken a few times now. He’s somehow found himself caught up in my . . . mess, and he’s been kind. He’s gone above and beyond the call of duty.’
Lucy sipped her coffee. ‘Well, good for you. There are stranger ways to make friends.’
Meg paused, her eyebrows all but knitted together. ‘No, there aren’t.’
Lucy spluttered on her drink. ‘No, there really aren’t,’ she agreed, dabbing coffee from her chin. ‘So are you going to wave to him this evening?’
‘If I remember. I’m usually out walking Badger at that time.’
‘Well, that’s the good thing about the sky,’ Lucy quipped. ‘It’s pretty big. You can see it wherever you are.’
Their eyes met, that shared humour of old pushing to the fore, and they laughed like they used to do, their hands clasping on the table and the sorrows of the past couple of months receding. At least for a moment or two.
But too soon, Meg’s laughter died, that familiar distraction clouding her eyes again.
‘What is it?’ Lucy asked, sipping her coffee and wondering if there were any more of those cookies.
‘Oh, nothing.’
Lucy arched an eyebrow, knowing her too well. ‘Spill.’
Meg inhaled deeply. ‘It’s just that Ronnie rang last night and we had a bit of a . . . disagreement.’
Lucy blew out through her lips. ‘Why am I not surprised? Let me guess, she was berating you for not being a judge? Or a brain surgeon?’
‘No . . . well, yes . . . no, not exactly.’
Lucy tutted. Meg was so protective of her sister, even when Ronnie didn’t deserve it. ‘Which is it?’
‘She was ringing to ask me to go and see her.’
‘In Toronto?’ Lucy curled her lip. ‘Why would you want to go there?’
‘Well, not just there. She said we could meet up somewhere else if I preferred. Honolulu, for instance.’
Lucy choked on her coffee, utterly incredulous. ‘Hono—?’ she spluttered. ‘Is she mad?’
‘That was what I said.’
Lucy put down her mug. ‘Well, obviously you realize she wasn’t inviting you on holiday at all? She was trying to shine a spotlight on how small she thinks your life is, compared to hers. “Hey, let’s just swan off to Honolulu!” She thinks this place is too small. It wasn’t good enough for her so it can’t possibly be good enough for you.’
‘I know, I know. But I think her intentions were in the right place. I don’t think she was trying to belittle me.’
Lucy was unconvinced. ‘Listen, we can’t all be game changers, Meg. We can’t all save the world. There’s nothing wrong with your life – you’ve got friends who love you, a steady job, that beautiful cabin. What’s so wrong with that? What exactly is so wrong with small? Hasn’t she heard that bigger is not always better?’
‘Mmm,’ Meg murmured, her hands clasped around the mug as she looked out from the kitchen, through the store onto the street beyond. ‘I just keep wondering whether she has a point? I mean, maybe . . . maybe I should embrace some change. Think about getting a new job, perhaps?’
‘Why? You love working here.’ Lucy motioned to the tiny, two-metre-square kitchen, with just a pull-down table in the wall, a kettle, some coffee-stained mugs and a stack of Oakley sunglasses boxes in the corner.
‘Love’s probably overstating it,’ Meg said, pulling a face. ‘I love Dolores but let’s face it, it’s not exactly scintillating selling walking socks and camping kettles.’
‘Listen, Dolores would be lost without you. She’s getting on. She needs you.’
Meg nodded but her gaze was still elsewhere. ‘I know, you’re right.’
‘Besides, what would you do?’ Lucy continued. ‘Waitress? Hand out the shoes at the bowling alley? Why is that any better than this? And at least the hours are good and you get to have Badger with you.’
Meg bit her lip. ‘Well, I’ve always liked the idea of having my own little business.’
‘Doing . . . ?’
‘I could set up a graphic-design consultancy. It was what I always thought I’d do, you know, back when I was applying to art schools. I kind of had all these plans and ideas. But then Mitch proposed and . . .’
Lucy arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying Mitch got in the way of your ambitions?’
‘No! Not . . . in the way,’ Meg stammered. ‘I just . . . had to choose, that was all. I could stay here with him or go to art school and follow my own dreams. And I chose him. I never resented him for it – it was my choice, I knew what I was doing. I was happy to do it. I loved him. But now that he’s gone . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Hey, Titch could be my first
client.’ She gave an awkward little smile.
‘But you already do graphic design for Titch.’
‘I know, and I love designing for the boards but there’s other things I could be doing too. I have so many ideas but nothing I can really do with them. Titch is great but two collections a year mean it’s just a sideline. I want to do more. I really think I could make a good go of it.’
Lucy stared at her, not sure whether she was successfully hiding the fact that she thought her friend’s idea was mad. She sighed, feeling weary.
‘Look, I get where you’re coming from, I do. But you have to bear in mind you’ve just suffered a major trauma. It’s natural that you’re feeling unsettled – there’s been a lot of change in your life recently. But what you really need at the moment is stability.’
Meg looked directly at her, apprehension in her hazel-green eyes. ‘You think so?’
‘I know so. You need to let the wounds heal. Setting up a business would be so majorly stressful, it’s the very last thing you should be doing. Be kind to yourself. Just eat, sleep, repeat.’
‘Eat, sleep, repeat,’ Meg echoed.
Repeated.
Lucy walked back down Banff Avenue feeling lighter, which was ironic because given what the scales had said this morning, she was now heavier than she’d been at any point in her life. But she was feeling better in herself. Ever since that wardrobe malfunction in Room 32 last week, things with Tuck had improved. It was almost as though, having seen her so wretched and despairing, tangled and trapped in another woman’s clothes like a whale in a net, he’d finally seen past his own grief, seen that he’d left her to cope all alone, and he’d made more of an effort. He’d started coming home earlier in the evenings, he’d cut down on his drinking (a bit) and when his hands had wandered at night, she hadn’t pushed them away.
Things were better than they’d been for a long time. He even seemed to be getting a little excited about the baby now that he’d got over that first thunderbolt of shock. She knew how daunted he felt at the prospect of becoming a father and her instincts had been right – the timing was wrong. Her growing bump was inexorable proof that his life was transitioning away from the one he’d known and loved with Mitch – young, carefree, careless. She knew he was just scared; he was being forced to grow up.
