Her poor mother. She wanted Dash to go on and live her own life. She insisted that Dash should sail across the Atlantic and fly airplanes in the war, because she knew as well as anyone else that that was all Dash had ever wanted.
But everything had changed. Right now, all Dash wanted was family. Her mother and father. Her sister. Gus.
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes as she drifted off to sleep. She woke a little later, thinking she’d heard something. A branch of her maple tree hitting the wall outside, perhaps. Or the boards of the old house creaking. A soft thump and scrape, like a window opening. She’d been away for so long she’d forgotten the old sounds. They were reassuring, bringing back memories of happier times. She could almost imagine peering across and seeing her sister sleeping peacefully through the night. Dash closed her eyes again, soothed by the little noises, too tired to let her emotions rise up again. Slowly, she breathed in, breathed out, listening to the sounds and remembering.
thirty-sevenDOT— Oshawa, Ontario —
Dot held her breath, hidden in the shadows beneath her parents’ bedroom window. Gus swung onto the first branch as if he were a gymnast then shimmied up to the next, higher than even Dash had ever gone. It bowed as he sidestepped along its length, then there was a sharpcrack!followed by her own gasp. Dot covered her mouth, worried they had woken the entire neighbourhood, but other than a hound baying a warning down the street, everything seemed the same. Gus kept moving as if nothing had happened. When he was close enough, he pressed his face to the window. Dot held her breath.
“He’s alone for now.” He started climbing down. “I’m coming for you.”
There was no need. Dot knew how to scale this tree. She’d watched her sister do it a hundred times, and since then Dot had trained hard. She was strong, and that knowledge gave her the confidence to grab the lowest branch. She pulled herself up, got her feet under her, then reached for the next.
From his perch above, Gus observed her, not saying a word. She read the delight in his expression and couldn’t help smiling to herself.
“No more Dormouse,” he said when she reached him. “You amaze me more and more.”
He jimmied open the window then turned back and urged Dot along the branch ahead of him. The next step would be for her to vault off the tree and through the window. Peering down at the nighttime grass twenty feet below, she almost lost her nerve. Then she felt Gus’s hands on her waist, anchoring her to safety, and she knew with certainty that he would never, ever let her fall. She leaned forward and gripped the top of the window frame, then she kicked off the branch and hung halfway inside the window, just over the edge. As she had practiced in training, she tucked her chin to her chest, pushed forward, and somersaulted into the darkened room.
Gus followed, landing with cat’s feet behind her.
The room had a damp smell. She pictured her mother spending all day here, pressing cool cloths to her father’s brow and helping him sip water. Barely breathing, Dot tiptoed toward the bed, blinking through the darkness as she sought him out. When she made out the shape of his head on the pillow, she was shocked by how diminished he was. This specter in the bed couldn’t be her father, she thought desperately, a lump in her throat. She’d known he was ill, but seeing him now—He looked barely there.
Gus’s arm brushed hers as he came to her side, and though she longed to bury herself in his arms and escape this nightmare, she did not glance at him. She was determined not to cry. If there was ever a time when Dot needed to be strong, it was now. Her father needed her. She would not let him down. She knelt, pulling the black cap off her head so that her hair tumbled loose, then she touched the back of her father’s hand. His skin felt brittle, like paper, but she didn’t pull away.
“Dad,” she whispered. “Dad, it’s me.”
She feared he might not wake up, but his eyelids opened slowly, sluggish from pain, sleep, medications, she didn’t know. As soon as he saw her, his eyes filled with tears.
“I knew you’d come,” he exhaled.
The tears she had fought broke free, and she hugged him, soaking the collar of his pyjamas. She felt the sharpness of his shoulders—those shoulders she’d ridden on so many years before—and the weakness of his hands on her back.
“Oh, Dad,” she whimpered. “I am so sorry I wasn’t here. All this time.”
“I knew you’d come,” he said again.
The corners of his mouth twitched, and she was so glad she was there to witness it. And she was so, so grateful to Gus. Without him, she was certain she’d never have seen her father’s little smile ever again.
“Does it hurt?”
“Medicine helps,” he said huskily. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m…” She glanced up at Gus, seeking guidance. What could she say?
“Gus, my boy,” her father said, seeing him there.
Gus’s eyes shone. “Mr. Wilson, I’m so sorry…”
“It’s all right,” her father told them. “It will be all right now that you’ve come.”
Now came the hardest part. “Dad, we cannot stay. And you can’t tell anyone that we were here. Not Mom, not Dash. No one.”
Creases formed across his brow, catching the faint moonlight. “People are looking for you both.”
She couldn’t take her gaze from the lines of his face. They held her, carried her back. They had been there on those cool Sunday mornings at the kitchen table when they frowned at the crossword. Not even the sun had been awake on some of those mornings, just the two of them. When one solved a question, the other would nod, impressed. They would jot down the answer then sip at the cup of hot water they substituted for coffee, pretending to be satisfied.
Those same wrinkles had formed other times as well. Like whenever he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the pain she had never understood. How long had it plagued him? How long had he suffered silently?Why didn’t you tell us?
