In the Clear Read Free Page A

forced out and then drawn into my lungs. In and out. Slowly, amazingly, I began to feel a little better. I’d had no idea I’d been fighting to breathe.
    Whoosh, whoosh. In and out. Tired. I was so, so tired. Finally I slept.

3.

D REAMING WITH
T ANTE M ARIE, 1959

    First thing I do every morning when I get up is check the calendar. I’m counting the days until Tante Marie’s arrival.
    I write B a letter. He lives up north so I haven’t seen him since we both left the rehabilitation hospital four years ago. He’s still a great fan of Tante Marie’s and will be happy for me that she’s coming. I also finish two more books from the pile to make the time pass quickly, but I read them in secret so my mother won’t know. Last year, the summer I turned eleven, we had a family reunion in Québec. My two aunts called me spoiled and self-centered, thinking I wouldn’t understand when they whispered gâtée in French. Maybe they’re right. I don’t care.
    I can’t wait to see Tante Marie. She never speaks a word against me, not in any language.
    My father brings Tante Marie and Grand-mère home from Union Station. My mother has welcoming hugs and kisses for Grand-mère, but when she turns to Tante Marie, she freezes and pulls herself back stiffly. She’s the ice queen.
    Tante Marie kisses her cheeks anyway and asks how she is. “Agathe. Ça va bien?”
    I am so excited. Tante Marie is here. I want to jump up and down.
    My turn! Tante Marie gathers me close and calls me beautiful. “Ma belle.” She kisses both my cheeks and she is soothing and electric, all at the same time. I feel special. Even the scent of her perfume embraces me. “You’ve grown so tall. Come, get your coat and we’ll walk and try to get caught up.”
    My mother protests, “Outside? It’s too icy; she could fall.”
    â€œRidicule!” Tante Marie laughs and gently brushes my perfectly bobbed, chin-length hair back from my face, behind my ears. “Pauline can’t stay in all day.”
    My heart races. Mom and Marie have started, like they always do. If they don’t fight over me, it will be over Grand-mère, or what we’ll eat for dinner.
    â€œWhat do you know about it, Marie? She’s my daughter and you should mind your own business.”
    â€œI’m still her aunt and whether you like it or not she’s my business. Besides, a total stranger could see how you’ve got her cooped up in here …”
    â€œMes filles!” Grand-mère scolds them from the living room where Dad is settling her in a comfortable chair. She shakes a bony finger at her bickering daughters. “Ça suffit.”
    But they can’t stop, not even with Grand-mère as referee.
    â€œShe needs to walk and get outdoors. Books aren’t enough, Agathe.”
    â€œPolio crippled her legs, not her mind.”
    â€œAgatha!” My father leaves Grand-mère’s side. He’s angry; he rarely raises his voice against my mother. “She just got here. At least let them go for a walk.”
    My mother crosses her arms over her chest and glares at her sister. “Pauline doesn’t like to walk at this hour. Ask her yourself.”
    My mother’s right. I have to walk every day, to strengthen my muscles. But on weekdays I walk in the morning, after kids go to school, and on weekends I walk when it’s dark and I don’t have to endure curious stares.
    Feeling reckless in Tante Marie’s company, I do up my coat and shuffle out the door without looking at my mother. “I just got a letter from B. It’s in my pocket. You can read it while we walk,” I say to my aunt.
    Tante Marie holds the door and follows me. “We’ll be back in time for drinks,” she laughs over her shoulder, just before the screen door clicks shut. “We’ll run the whole way back.”
    Outside, I lurch slowly down