Travelling Light Read Free Page B

with short sleeves. The dress needed cleaning and a seam at the shoulder was a little torn.
    Joan lit a cigarette. “Who’s your favourite player?”
    â€œBeliveau!”
    She laughed. “Monsieur Tremblay says Beliveau is even better than the Rocket. How’d you like to go to the Forum? I won a pair of tickets for the fifth game. I might as well take you.”
    â€œWho’s Monsieur Tremblay?” said Anna.
    â€œMy fiancé.”
    â€œHow come you don’t go to the game with him?” said Anna.
    Joan didn’t answer. She stabbed out her cigarette and picked up the newspaper from the floor, snapping it open and hiding behind it. All they could see were her chipped red fingernails gripping the edge of the page. Looking at Ross, Anna raised her eyebrows.
    Ross heard the icebox being opened and shut and ice cubes rattling. The flat was so small he could hear the bottle being opened and ginger ale fizzing into the glasses.
    â€œYou know what?” Joan spoke from behind the newspaper. “Don’t you wish it were summer? I wish the snow was all gone and I didn’t have to wear a coat.”
    Catching Ross’s eye, Anna pointed her finger at her head and twirled it around. She thought Joan was crazy. Mrs. O’Brien came in with four glasses of ginger ale on a tray.
    â€œJoan! Put down the paper. I thought you said you weren’t going to wear that awful dress anymore.”
    â€œJoan invited my brother to a hockey game,” said Anna primly.
    â€œWe’ll see about that,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “Why won’t you go with your precious monsieur?”
    Joan was silent. Ross felt sorry for her. If she felt like taking him to a hockey game instead of Monsieur Tremblay, what was so bad about that?
    Mrs. O’Brien, Ross, and Anna drank their ginger ale. Joan stayed hiding behind her newspaper.
    â€œWe’re leaving now, Joan. Mind, I don’t want to see things going on like this,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “Drink up, children.”
    Mrs. O’Brien collected her heating pad, her iron pills, and an orange-juice squeezer and put everything in a shopping bag. Joan put the newspaper aside and followed them to the door. She grabbed Ross’s hand and said, “I was only joking. Monsieur Tremblay isn’t my fiancé. He’s married to someone else.”
    â€œCome, children, we’ll miss our bus.” Mrs. O’Brien herded Ross and Anna out the door.
    â€œGoodbye, goodbye,” Joan called gaily, as they descended the steep iron staircase.
    Dr. and Mrs. Ormonde had been gone a week when Mrs. O’Brien put Anna’s red skirt into the washing machine with her white blouse. The red dye ran out, ruining the blouse. Anna was furious. “You’ll pay for it!” she yelled. When Mrs. O’Brien told her to calm down, Anna stamped around the kitchen. “Stupid old bitch! Stupid old bitch!” she screamed. When Mrs. O’Brien said to hold her tongue, Anna picked up her wet blouse and whipped it at the housekeeper. Mrs. O’Brien leapt forward and slapped her, and Anna grabbed the old woman’s hand, digging into the flesh with her fingernails. Mrs. O’Brien screamed. Anna ran down the hallway and slammed the door of her room.
    Mrs. O’Brien leaned against the sink, wearily. Her eyes were very pale blue.
    â€œShe always has a big fight with someone when they go away,” said Ross.
    â€œWhy?”
    Why did their parents have to go away? He knew Anna shared his anxiety, but neither of them wanted to talk about it because talking about it made the possibility of their parents not ever coming home seem more real.
    When she came home from school the next afternoon, Anna apologized to Mrs. O’Brien and the housekeeper made cinnamon rolls for their tea. They were sitting at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang.
    Ross went to the door and found Joan already turning away, as if she