Читать книгу A Sister Would Know - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 9

IT WAS JANUARY, and cold to be standing outside in the snow, but eleven-year-old Davin Fremont didn’t mind. He laughed as his aunt Amalie took a wild swing at the piñata strung up in his best friend’s backyard—and missed.

“Come on, guys,” his aunt pleaded, her eyes covered by a tightly knotted scarf. “Give me a clue. Right or left?”

“Left!” one of the kids at the party yelled.

“Right!” shot back Jeremy, the birthday boy.

Amalie stumbled in the snow, unaware that the papier-mâché sheriff hung precisely over her head. A gust of wind set it spinning and Davin yearned for the candies and trading cards he knew were stuffed into the hollow form.

“No clues,” he said, hoping he’d get another turn with the bat. “It isn’t fair.”

“Oh, sure. Fair. I didn’t hear any talk about fairness when you were up here, Davin.”

“Maybe we should give her another spin.” Jeremy’s mother was laughing almost as hard as Davin. When a couple of the boys started to run toward Amalie, she leaped forward to restrain them. “I was only kidding! She’s having a hard enough time as it is.”

“Just wait until it’s your turn, Jen,” Amalie threatened.

“No doubt you’ll have the piñata shattered before then.”

“Jenny, if I had any idea where you were standing, I just might be tempted…” His aunt raised the plastic baseball bat in her hands threateningly.

Davin saw Jeremy smirk and he laughed, too. It was fun the way his aunt and Mrs. Mitchell teased each other. They’d been friends a long time. Gone to university together, and now worked at the same hospital. Davin and Jeremy were going to do the same thing when they grew up.

“Come on, swing the bat!” urged one impatient party guest.

That was when Davin noticed his aunt wasn’t moving. It was like she’d frozen solid. A second later she moaned and collapsed to her knees.

“Aunty?” He glanced at Jeremy’s mom and dad. The concern on their faces made him scared. He ran for his aunt and threw both arms around her, as Jeremy’s dad whisked the scarf off her face.

Aunt Amalie didn’t seem to notice. She was bending over her stomach, her mouth open. “I ca-can’t breathe!”

Davin hugged tighter, more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. Was his aunt dying?

“Honey, give her some space.” He felt Mrs. Mitchell pry his arms away. His aunt was on the ground now, curled into a ball, her hands at her throat.

“Stand back, boys! Should I call 911?” Mr. Mitchell sounded tense.

“I’m not sure. It’s almost like an epileptic fit, but Amalie isn’t—” Crouched in the snow next to his aunt, Jennifer was holding Davin with one hand while she observed her friend. “She is breathing, though she seems to be having trouble drawing in air. Amalie, can you hear me? Is your chest hurting?”

“Yes. No. It’s my leg…” Suddenly, his aunt went still again. “I can’t move!”

What in the world was happening? Davin began to whimper; he was so scared….

He felt the cold bite of the winter wind as Jennifer withdrew her arm from his shoulder. As he watched, she reached for his now-motionless aunt. Gently she picked up her wrist with one hand, brushing snow from her face with the other.

“Amalie, it’s okay.”

His aunt blinked.

Davin rushed forward again, this time just taking her hand, the one Mrs. Mitchell wasn’t holding.

His aunt’s gaze shifted to him. She blinked, then gave a wobbly smile. “I guess I missed the piñata, huh?”

Relief was sweeter than the icing on Jeremy’s birthday cake. “You’re all right?”

“Of course I am, buddy.” But she looked shaky as Mrs. Mitchell helped her sit up from the snow.

“Amalie? What happened?”

“I’m not sure, Jen. It was really weird. But I’m okay. I promise.”

Jeremy glanced at Mr. Mitchell’s face. He seemed relieved. Mrs. Mitchell, too, was smiling. He scrambled to his feet and held out his hands to help his aunt stand. If all the adults thought this was okay, then it must be.

“I’m sorry to break up the party, Jen, but I think we’d better leave.”

Mrs. Mitchell gave her a hug. “Let Aaron drive you home.”

“Really, I’m fine.” Her smile was as bright as ever, and now that she was standing, she was steady and strong.

They were in the car, when Mrs. Mitchell suddenly remembered the treat bags and had Jeremy run to the house to get Davin’s.

“Thanks for inviting me to your party,” Davin said, accepting the bright blue-and-yellow bag through the open passenger window.

“Take care, now!” Everyone waved as his aunt pulled the car out onto the street.

It was cold in the car and quiet. Davin peered at the treat bag in his lap but didn’t feel like checking to see what was inside.

Instead, he checked his aunt. She looked normal, except her skin was kind of white and she was driving slower than usual.

At the next red light, she gave him a smile. “I’m okay. Really, Davin.”

“Then why—”

Her gloved hand reached for his shoulder. “Do you remember my telling you that when Helena is hurt I always know because I get the same feeling?”

Oh-oh. He should have figured this was all connected to Amalie’s twin. Everything bad in his life somehow tied in with her. The mother he wished he didn’t have.

Davin shut his mouth and didn’t ask any more questions.

AMALIE NOTICED Davin’s withdrawal, so common whenever the subject of Helena came up. When the traffic light turned green again, she took her hand from his shoulder and placed it back on the steering wheel.

She felt badly that she’d spoiled the end of the party for him. And just when they were having so much fun. But the urge to rush home was something she couldn’t ignore…maybe she’d find some word from Helena.

She and Davin lived in a rented duplex about six blocks from the Mitchells in Bloor West Village. The Toronto neighborhood was handy to the hospital Amalie worked at—she could take the subway with just one transfer. The neighborhood had once been run-down, but now it was considered trendy. Amalie appreciated the blend of new and old in the shops and cafés that lined both sides of Bloor street.

Since completing her training as a nutritionist, she had dreamed of one day buying the house she now rented. But real estate prices were sky-high for the two-story brick dwellings, with their tiny front porches and high-pitched roofs. It didn’t seem to matter that the buildings were small and packed tight together, many with original plumbing and wiring.

Location, location, location. They were close to the subway, to downtown Toronto, to the lake, to just about everything, it seemed.

Amalie rolled her Jetta behind the Dodge Omni that belonged to the neighbors who lived in the other half of her duplex, then turned to her nephew buckled into the front seat beside her.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Davin.”

He hadn’t uttered a word since she’d made that reference to her sister. Amalie put her hand to Davin’s head and brushed back hair so fair it was practically white. His eyes shone like clear blue topaz, in the dwindling afternoon light. With coloring just like hers, and her sister’s, Davin had been an exceptionally beautiful child.

But that was changing. Just this year his features had begun to lose their little-boy roundness, taking on a definite masculine shape. He was growing up. Inside, however, he was still her little boy. Too young to understand the odd emotional connection that existed between her and her identical twin.

“Hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Well, how about a cup of hot cocoa, then?” Amalie turned off the ignition and got out of the car. As she removed the glove from her right hand so she could search for the house keys in her purse, she felt the bite of the northwesterly wind on her cheeks and her hand. It was almost February, and while the days had begun to lengthen, the recent interval of cold weather was a reminder that spring was still a good two months away.

Warm air and the lingering aroma from the cinnamon French toast she’d made for breakfast welcomed her as she opened the front door. Letting her nephew go ahead, Amalie stomped the snow from her boots, watching it scatter over the gray-painted boards of the porch floor.

Once inside she passed along the narrow hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. Immediately, she scanned the kitchen counter. Sure enough, the red light on the answering machine was flashing.

Davin had disappeared into the living room. She could hear a murmur from the television, and decided against calling him back to pick up the ski jacket and mitts he’d left lying on the floor.

Looking past tired, oak-veneer cupboards, dull yellowed linoleum and cracked and chipped countertops, Amalie reached for the playback button on the machine with a shaking hand.

You have one message.

She dropped to a kitchen chair and stared out the window. A weathered maple dominated the narrow strip of yard. To her the branches appeared weary after a valiant season of struggling against freezing temperatures, driving winds and snowfall after snowfall.

The machine clicked, and her mother’s recorded voice came out at her.

“Hello, Amalie. Just wondering why you hadn’t phoned yet this weekend. Your father and I are fine, although Dad’s back is aching after shoveling all that snow from last night’s storm. I hope you and Davin managed to go to church this morning. Give us a call when you get in.”

No word from Helena after all. Amalie’s disappointment fused with the guilt she felt about not going home this weekend as usual and shoveling that long driveway for her father.

She knew the guilt was irrational. Jeremy’s party had been important to Davin, and he deserved a little fun. Weekends with her parents in the small town north of Toronto ran a predictable pattern. Saturday, she did the odd chores they couldn’t seem to manage on their own. Sunday, all four of them went to church in the morning, then came home for a big midday meal. Afterward, she and Davin piled in the car for the two-and-a-half-hour drive home.

Only occasionally did she and Davin remain in Toronto for a weekend, but when they did, her mother created such a fuss it was hardly worth it. For instance, that reminder about church. Her mother knew Jeremy’s party had been scheduled for Sunday at eleven.

Her friend Jenny was always bugging her about taking too much responsibility for her parents. “You need to lighten up and have a little fun,” she urged over and over again.

But Jenny had two brothers and a sister, and her mom and dad weren’t the type to make demands on their children.

Amalie’s family was totally different. Her parents had immigrated from Germany when she and Helena were only seven, and they’d never fully integrated into their new country. As they got older, they relied on her more and more, and she felt she owed them whatever help she could offer.

Especially since she knew that she and Helena had both been such disappointments to them.

Amalie reached for the phone, then decided not to return her mother’s call at the moment, in order to keep the line open. With any luck she would hear from Helena soon, so she could stop worrying.

If only there were some way for her to contact her sister. But Helena’s occasional note or gift for Davin rarely included a return address. Her phone calls were even less frequent, and Amalie had learned not to ask where she lived or what her phone number was.

The two sisters hadn’t actually seen each other since Davin’s birth, and he was already eleven.

Yet Amalie had never needed to see her sister to know when she was in trouble.

“Oh, Helena, where are you?” Amalie laid her head down on the kitchen table, atop her folded arms. Being an identical twin was part blessing, part burden. To be so close to another human being meant never to be truly alone. But it also meant having to struggle for a separate identity.

For Helena, that struggle had been harder. Amalie was certain that was why she’d moved so far from home, so rarely kept in touch.

It was because of her, and the knowledge hurt. Firstborn, Amalie had always felt responsible for Helena. Yet no matter how she tried, in the end she’d always let her sister down.

Closing her eyes, she attempted to focus in on her subconscious communication with her sister. Amalie pressed her hands to her temples, tightened her jaw. Phone me, Helena!

But it wasn’t until the following evening that the call finally came. And it wasn’t from her sister.

AMALIE WAS LIFTING the lid from a pot of boiling water when she heard the first ring. The lid slipped from her fingers and fell back on the pot with a clash, sending bubbling water spraying over the element, where it hissed angrily.

She turned off the heat, then reached for the phone, praying it wouldn’t be another call from her mother.

“Hello?”

A throat cleared over the line before a man identified himself. “This is Grant Thorlow. I’m the manager of the Avalanche Control Section of Highway Services in Glacier National Park.”

The bombardment of words, none of them familiar, had her groping for pen and paper. First she scribbled down his name: Grant Thorlow. “Where did you say you were calling from?”

“Rogers Pass,” he said. “That’s in British Columbia.”

“Yes. Of course.” The treacherous Rocky Mountain corridor of the Trans-Canada Highway was a well-known Canadian landmark.

“I was wondering…” He paused, and she could hear him swallow. “Is there any chance you’re acquainted with a woman named Helen Fremont?”

This was it. She clung to the receiver, fear and hope making her heart pound. “Do you mean Helena?”

“I don’t think so. It says Helen here on her bank card.”

Amalie discounted the small difference. Helena had never been happy with the old-fashioned German names their parents had baptized them with. “What does she look like?”

The resulting pause was alarming, giving Amalie time to consider possibilities. There’d been an accident. Helena was in the hospital.

“Tall, blond, blue eyes,” he said finally. “In her late twenties.”

“That’s my sister. Is she okay?”

With any luck the injuries would be minor.

Grant’s response crushed her hopes. “No. I’m afraid she isn’t. We’ve been searching for next of kin for most of the day. Your sister didn’t carry a lot of identification on her. We found your phone number in her apartment, but there was no name”

“Never mind about that.” The man’s rambling was driving her crazy. She gripped her pen and tried to keep her voice level. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Well…” Again he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry ma’am, but we believe your sister was caught in the path of an avalanche yesterday afternoon. At this point, we’re presuming she’s dead.” Another pause, then he added, his voice a little rougher this time, “Both she and the man she was skiing with.”

Dead. Amalie’s hand went to her heart. Oh, she’d known, she’d known.

But wait one minute. “Presumed dead? Does that mean there’s some chance—”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. We haven’t been able to retrieve the body, but there’s no doubt Helen Fremont was skiing on that mountain when the snow released. Her backpack and personal effects have been positively identified.”

“But…” Amalie remembered family vacations at Mount Tremblant, with Helena complaining about the cold, the discomfort of her downhill equipment, the long lineups to use the lifts.

“There has to be a mistake. My sister isn’t the type to go skiing in dangerous mountain terrain.” Still, this man had found her phone number….

Amalie dropped the pen and pressed her hand to her forehead. She was afraid she was going to burst into sobs. If only she could hold off a minute or two. While she had this man on the line, she didn’t want to break down.

“Are you sure it was Helena on that mountain, Mr.—” she glanced at the paper “—Thorlow.”

That throat-clearing business again, then he said, “Look, I realize this is a shock…”

“Yes, it is. But if you knew my sister…”

“I knew her.” His voice held a quiet certainty. “I knew her, ma’am, and I can assure you there’s been no mistake.”

Dear God, he sounded so positive and at the same time so callous, as if he didn’t want there to be any mistake. And the way he kept saying “ma’am” made her want to scream. This is my sister you’re talking about!

Amalie closed her eyes, desperately seeking that old connection that would tell her Helena was alive and not buried on some distant mountain.

She felt nothing, though.

The man was right. She’d known it herself. Helena was dead.

Hearing the horrible fact was one thing. Accepting it was another. Helena dying in an avalanche was just—preposterous. This Grant Thorlow didn’t seem to realize that. But this wasn’t something you settled over the phone.

“I’ll leave tomorrow, Mr. Thorlow.” She thought of rearranging her work schedule, Davin’s schooling. “Maybe Wednesday.”

“You’re not thinking of coming here!”

“Of course I am.” God, she’d have to travel across Ontario, through the prairies of Manitoba and Saskatchewan, then Alberta and the Rocky Mountains.

“We may not be able to recover the bodies for a while, ma’am. Conditions are—”

“You said you were calling from Rogers Pass—is there a town?”

“Golden to the east and Revelstoke to the west. Rogers Pass itself is midway between the two. There’s an information center and hotel on one side of the highway and our office compound on the other. That’s where I’m calling from.”

“Helena’s apartment—where is it?”

“Revelstoke,” he said. “But—”

“I’m coming,” she repeated firmly. “And I’ll be bringing my nephew—”

Oh, Davin. How would he take the news? He’d never been close to Helena, of course. How could he be—they heard from her so rarely. But she was his mother.

“Ma’am.” There was a new, hard edge to his voice. “I strongly recommend you stay home, ma’am. Roads are especially treacherous in these winter months. Besides, there’s little you can do.”

Amalie knew what he meant. If her sister was dead, nothing could change that. So why tackle an arduous cross-country trip?

But the alternative was staying in Toronto, never knowing exactly what had happened. She couldn’t live with that. “There may not be much I can do. But I’m coming anyway.”

A pause followed while he absorbed this. “Why don’t you give me a call in the morning, when you’ve had a chance—”

“I’ll call you when I get there. In about a week. And Mr. Thorlow?”

“Yeah?”

“When we meet, please don’t call me ma’am. My name is Amalie.”