guide and the other skiers saw it happen but were afraid to go too near, and within minutes of the accident it started snowing heavily and the helicopter pilot insisted on lifting them all off the mountain. It snowed for ten days: five or six feet of fresh powder. When the weather cleared, a search-and-recovery team from Banff was landed by helicopter, but almost immediately an avalanche buried two of the team. They were dug out unharmed but the helicopter pilot insisted on taking everyone off the mountain. An assistant head warden of Banff National Park and a geologist explained to the Heaneys that glaciers were unstable, that fissures opened up and closed again, that they might not be able to recover Bobbyâs body even in the spring. And they were right. They never did recover him.
Yesterday, without telling his parents, Mike had retrieved some of his brotherâs camping gear from the attic. He hadnât told his parents that he planned a visit to the glaciers on his way out to the Coast. And he hadnât told them that he had no intention of returning to Montreal in September, or going back to university. He needed to start his real life, and out west seemed the best place to do that.
Before getting out of bed that morning he had been listening to Mr. Dylan on headphones. The songs had all taken on new meaning since his decision to go out west. They were like the voice of his own feelings and memory, Dylan whispering, I shall be released .
Alix Heaney glanced at her husband while he sipped coffee and studied the architectâs plans. For two years she had wanted to get the kitchen redone and now they were finally going ahead with it.
Her husband sighed. âDo we really need all this, Alix? The kitchen seems fine to me.â
An estimate had been included with the plans, and she had been shocked by the figure, but she did not want to grow old with everything getting old around her. Her parents had died in a house full of 1920s furniture. She wanted everything modern and well designed, the most functional and beautiful appliances, the best lighting and tile.
âThe kitchen seems fine to you because you spend absolutely no time here except when youâre eating breakfast,â she said. âI donât think youâve ever actually used the toaster, let alone the stove or the dishwasher.â
Mr. Heaney smiled and laid the architectâs plan aside. âI guess youâre right.â
âOf course Iâm right. Are you ready for more coffee?â
Sheâd had a terrible sleep, finally dropping off just before dawn. In the dream she was at their summer cottage in Maine. She was leaning across the old iron range and polishing the tiny kitchen windowpanes when the contractions stuck in her throat like a piece of meat. She went to the crank telephone on the wall and tried calling old Mrs. Snow, who lived in the farmhouse on the main road. The phone rang and rang and no one answered. Ocean light poured in, gleaming on floorboards she had just finished painting with shiny boat enamel. She grabbed her red coat and headed to the car. Crouching over the wheel of the DeSoto she drove fast for the main road. The sandy little track was littered with yellow leaves. The car startled a doe and fawn, and the deer went bounding into the spruce woods. The pain was terrible. She leaned forward and bit the steering wheel, clamping her teeth around the plastic and biting down as hard as she could. Then the baby started coming out of her. Then, before she reached the Snowsâ, the dream stopped and she awoke.
Standing in her kitchen in Westmount, Alix lifted a soft-boiled egg from a pot and put it in a silver cup, which she set in front of her husband. She could still feel the steering wheelâs dense pressure on her teeth, the neutral taste of hard plastic.
âI had a peep in Mikeâs room,â Mr. Heaney said. âWhat an unholy mess.â
He tapped open his egg and began to
Yesterday, without telling his parents, Mike had retrieved some of his brotherâs camping gear from the attic. He hadnât told his parents that he planned a visit to the glaciers on his way out to the Coast. And he hadnât told them that he had no intention of returning to Montreal in September, or going back to university. He needed to start his real life, and out west seemed the best place to do that.
Before getting out of bed that morning he had been listening to Mr. Dylan on headphones. The songs had all taken on new meaning since his decision to go out west. They were like the voice of his own feelings and memory, Dylan whispering, I shall be released .
Alix Heaney glanced at her husband while he sipped coffee and studied the architectâs plans. For two years she had wanted to get the kitchen redone and now they were finally going ahead with it.
Her husband sighed. âDo we really need all this, Alix? The kitchen seems fine to me.â
An estimate had been included with the plans, and she had been shocked by the figure, but she did not want to grow old with everything getting old around her. Her parents had died in a house full of 1920s furniture. She wanted everything modern and well designed, the most functional and beautiful appliances, the best lighting and tile.
âThe kitchen seems fine to you because you spend absolutely no time here except when youâre eating breakfast,â she said. âI donât think youâve ever actually used the toaster, let alone the stove or the dishwasher.â
Mr. Heaney smiled and laid the architectâs plan aside. âI guess youâre right.â
âOf course Iâm right. Are you ready for more coffee?â
Sheâd had a terrible sleep, finally dropping off just before dawn. In the dream she was at their summer cottage in Maine. She was leaning across the old iron range and polishing the tiny kitchen windowpanes when the contractions stuck in her throat like a piece of meat. She went to the crank telephone on the wall and tried calling old Mrs. Snow, who lived in the farmhouse on the main road. The phone rang and rang and no one answered. Ocean light poured in, gleaming on floorboards she had just finished painting with shiny boat enamel. She grabbed her red coat and headed to the car. Crouching over the wheel of the DeSoto she drove fast for the main road. The sandy little track was littered with yellow leaves. The car startled a doe and fawn, and the deer went bounding into the spruce woods. The pain was terrible. She leaned forward and bit the steering wheel, clamping her teeth around the plastic and biting down as hard as she could. Then the baby started coming out of her. Then, before she reached the Snowsâ, the dream stopped and she awoke.
Standing in her kitchen in Westmount, Alix lifted a soft-boiled egg from a pot and put it in a silver cup, which she set in front of her husband. She could still feel the steering wheelâs dense pressure on her teeth, the neutral taste of hard plastic.
âI had a peep in Mikeâs room,â Mr. Heaney said. âWhat an unholy mess.â
He tapped open his egg and began to
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