Howl (2 page)

Robin hefted the last heavy box and carried it through the house. The sound of her footsteps echoed through the empty rooms. She could hardly believe this place used to be her home. The walls had strange, light-coloured squares on them where the pictures used to hang, and there were gashes in the carpet where the legs of the furniture had pushed big round indentations into the rug.

She heaved the box into the van, dug her way deep into the back and arranged a place for herself and Relentless. She crossed her arms tightly. It was stupid making them move. Beyond stupid. And why now? It was the beginning of March break, and all her friends were off doing fun stuff, but not her. Her entire holiday was going to be lost to packing, travelling, and unpacking.

“I know it’s asking a lot of you kids,” her father had said when he’d told them. “But I —”

A long, empty pause had followed. Robin had waited for Ari to protest. After all, Ari was the one with all the friends — friends she was either hanging out with or talking to on the phone. But she hadn’t argued at all. She’d simply put her hand over her father’s and said in a small, baby-like voice, “It’s okay, Daddy.”

But it
wasn’t
okay! It was gross making them leave their house, their school, their friends. The old family cottage at Leech Lake was fun to visit in the summer, but to live there? With Griff? The last time they’d been, Griff had just shot a wild turkey and was trying to get them all to help pull the feathers off. Squirm had done it eagerly, but Ari had just about lost her lunch. Then there were the leeches. Robin shivered. And the new school. And the new kids she’d have to face.

Now, sitting in the van, the stupidity of the move seemed colossal. She should just get out of the car right now and take off. Kaylie had said she’d hide her in the family shed. Robin would have gone if she could have taken Relentless. But she couldn’t exactly hide a dog! And there was no way she would ever give Relentless up. Her mother had given her the dog. They’d picked her out together from a mass of squirming puppies. The memory of that day cut into her before she could stop it. She dug her knuckles into her eye sockets in a vain attempt to push the tears back in. Then she tightened the muscles of her chest and back, pulling her arms and neck firmly into her body until she was rigid. Anything to stop the feelings.

The car door squeaked, and Squirm climbed into the front seat. Her father and Ari climbed in as well.

“Goodbye, caterpillars,” Squirm crooned. “Goodbye, ladybugs. Goodbye, bumblebees.”

His father leaned into him. “There are
lots
of insects at Leech Lake.”

“How could we forget,” Ari said. “I had mosquito bites and blackfly bites on every part of my body the last time I was there. Even in my ears!”

Their father carried on. “And there are ducks and loons and big animals too, like deer and moose — even bears sometimes. I used to track them when I was your age.”

“Bears?” Squirm’s voice rose, then fell. “I still wish we could stay here….”

Hearing the longing in his voice, Robin jammed in her ear buds and began scrolling through her playlists. The car started to back out of the driveway. She refused to look up.

“Wait!” Squirm cried. “Owlie! We forgot Owlie!”

Although Robin wouldn’t have minded forgetting the old stuffed owl, she was surprised her father had. But then he was forgetting things all the time lately. Last week, he’d gone shopping and left his wallet at home, and a few weekends ago, he’d dressed to go to work on a Sunday.

“He’s in the backyard,” Squirm cried, just in case his dad needed reminding. Their father got out of the car and headed off around the house. Squirm leaned back towards Robin.

He kept his voice low. “What if she comes back?”

“Squirm —” Ari said. Her voice sounded hollow and tired. And very, very sad. Squirm strained further towards Robin. He whispered, “But what if, I mean, what if there was a mistake and she didn’t really die, and she came to find us and —” His small face contorted.

Robin sat quietly looking at her brother. How could so many freckles get packed into such a small area? She reached out and moved her fingers through his reddish corkscrew curls. He needed a haircut. Their mother used to take him to a barber named Joe, but no one remembered where Joe worked.

Robin drew in a long breath. She knew she should say their mother was never coming back, but she couldn’t get her tongue to say such a thing. Besides, Squirm knew that. “We gave the neighbours our new address, remember?”

Ari let out a hot, irritated breath. Squirm’s face softened, and he turned in his seat.

Robin’s door opened, and her father positioned the huge stuffed owl beside her. The owl was almost two feet tall and had fluffy white, tan, and black feathers and large yellow eyes. Robin was used to her father’s stuffed animals. He had a friend who was a taxidermist, so there had been many over the years. But today she just didn’t feel like having a gigantic dead thing staring at her. She slunk down in her seat. Just when she thought life sucked to the max, there was something that made it suck more.

On the highway, an endless line of grey concrete buildings spewed charcoal-coloured smoke into the blanket of smog that covered the city.
No wonder the air stinks
, Robin thought. It put a funny taste in her mouth too. Last year, when she’d been the president of her Environmental Club, she’d read about all the toxins people carried around in their bodies from pollution.
Why don’t people stop it? Because they don’t care, that’s why
. She wasn’t going to care either.

She let herself drift off to sleep. When she awoke, all she could see were farmers’ fields. As they travelled towards Ontario, the fields became snowier, and soon there were huge hills of snow on either side of the road. Robin couldn’t see over them, so she was forced to stare ahead at the long black highway that snaked through the white landscape. Where were they driving to, the Arctic?

A car passed them on the highway. Robin looked at the people inside. The dad was driving, and two kids were in the back. The mom was up front. The woman smiled at Robin as they went by. Robin turned away quickly.

She slept again and woke to the sound of ice pelting the car. The highway had narrowed, and the huge snowbanks on the sides seemed to press against them. Robin felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Relentless made little whimpering noises in her sleep.

Ari called out, “Dinner time.” She leaned into the back seat and held out a sandwich.

Robin ignored the offering. Ari was acting like the mom again.

Ari glared and pushed the sandwich towards her.

Robin made no move to take it. Ari slammed it down on Robin’s jeans, and peanut butter squished out the sides. Relentless stared, her mouth watering. Robin opened the window and tossed the sandwich out. Relentless gave her a look of anguished disapproval.

“Dad! Robin threw her sandwich out the window.”

“Robin!”

Robin pushed her head back into the seat and closed her eyes. She turned her music up so loud, it made her teeth buzz.

They drove all day, then another, stopping at fast food restaurants and one night at a rundown motel. Hour after hour, all Robin could see were snowy fields and bush. At some point during the second night, the car stopped. Robin opened her eyes to the glare of streetlights. They were driving through one of the little towns near the cottage.

In the summer, the town always looked festive, with lots of people wandering around eating ice cream cones. Now, as Robin looked at the dark store windows and empty streets, the town seemed desolate. Even hokey.

“It looks so
small
,” Ari said.

“It
is
small,” their father said, “compared to Winnipeg.”

“There’s where we got worms last time,” Squirm said, pointing to a store that had a hand-written sign saying
LIVE BAIT!

“Great,” Ari said.

Robin was glad to hear the upset in Ari’s voice. She wanted her sister to feel miserable. It would serve her right. Their father would have listened to Ari if she’d tried to convince him. Robin didn’t have a doubt that the three of them could have handled things on their own. It wasn’t rocket science to shop and cook. They didn’t need some
eccentric
grandmother to help.

“There’s the Chinese restaurant,” their dad said.

Suddenly the town was gone and they were on the highway again. No one spoke for the next half hour as they continued to the lake.

Because of the snow-covered roads, it was more than an hour before they turned up a snowy lane. Branches scraped the sides of the car, and falling snow thudded on the roof. They went around a corner, and their father brought the car to a halt. The headlights flashed on a mountain of snow. It took Robin a few minutes to realize it wasn’t a mountain she was staring at but the old farmhouse, covered with snow. Someone appeared on the porch, a black profile against the lit window.

Squirm yawned. “Who’s that?”

“Griff.” His father’s voice was tired and irritated. “Grandma Griffith. You remember her.”

Ari sighed. “It all looks so different.”

“Of course it looks different. It’s winter. We’ve always been here in summer,” their father said.

“She looks old,” Squirm said. “Do we
have
to live with her?”

“I told you, we’ll be in the main house, the one you see, and Griff will be in the cabin by the water. You’ll remember it when you see it in daylight. Just grab your overnight stuff. We’ll take in the rest tomorrow. Bundle up. It’s cold.”

“Thirty below,” Squirm said, reading the car’s dashboard. “Wow. It’s colder than Winnipeg!”

Their father got out of the car, and Squirm yawned and followed. Robin stared after them, unmoving. Her brother looked so little beside their father’s towering height. Beside her on the seat, Relentless pulled herself to her feet and looked at Robin, waiting.

Ari yanked up her hood. “It’s frigging freezing in here.” She pushed open her door, got out and slammed it hard. Head down, she walked quickly towards the house.

Robin sat in the car feeling the cold creep under her clothes. Relentless whined, and Robin finally got out of the car. Darkness swallowed her. In the city, there were always lights; streetlights, car lights, even airplane lights. Here, it was blacker than black. She couldn’t even see Relentless.

She walked towards the house, her feet making loud crunching sounds on the hard snow. The farmhouse was dim inside and smelled of damp.

Griff, her long white hair tied in a thick braid, stepped forward and gave Robin a hug. Robin stiffened.

Griff led the three of them up a narrow stairway. She guided Squirm into one small room and the girls into another. Ari threw her things down on the wider of the two beds.

Too tired to argue, Robin collapsed on the bed without taking her clothes off. She heard Relentless clunk down on the wood floor beside her. In a few minutes, Griff came in and tucked the covers under her chin. Her hands looked huge.

“It’s going to be all right,” Griff said quietly.

“No, it’s not,” Robin said and turned to the wall.

Squirm pushed against Robin’s shoulder. “Rawwwbinnn! Wake uuuuuuuup!”

Robin’s eyes snapped open. She saw the old-fashioned wallpaper, realized where she was and groaned. Only moments before, in her dream, she’d been in her old house. It had seemed so real. She’d been with her mom and —

Squirm bounced on the bed. “You should see the snow. There’s mountains of it! Let’s go out and make a snowman.”

Robin turned in her bed, yearning to return to her dream, to her old life. “Make it with Ari,” she mumbled. Her mouth was dry, and it was hard to get her tongue to move.

“She’s gone to town with Dad. We’re supposed to go to Griff’s cabin for breakfast.” He tugged at her bedcovers, and Relentless barked.

Robin gripped the covers fiercely. “Leave me
alone
!”

The violence in her voice startled her, obliterating both her dream and any hopes she had of going back to sleep. Everything was ruined now. She thrust the blankets aside and stumbled towards the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wild, zigzagging in all directions. She tried to smooth it down, but there was no controlling it. There was no controlling anything.

When she returned to the bedroom a few moments later, Squirm was standing by the window in a column of sunlight. He looked like a lost little boy waiting for someone to find him. Robin went and stood behind him, and he leaned back into her.

“Sometimes I feel her,” he said.

Robin tensed, tightening her body so the feelings could not rise. She squeezed her brother’s shoulder and moved to the window.

A vast sea of snow was spread before her. Great gobs of it covered the trees, the fences, and barn.

“We have a whole other week till we have to go back to school,” Squirm said.

Robin stared out at the endless whiteness. And what were they going to do, make snowmen day after day?

“Wow, look at the lake,” Squirm said. The top of it was all silvery. “I think that’s ice,” he said, peering forward. “It’s like a giant skating rink.”