Waiting for Unicorns Read Free Page B

course, just like I knew her. Dad had spent the last several weeks talking about her, where she lived, how her culture was different than ours. He was preparing me, I suppose.
    I did my best to return Sura’s warm smile, but the cold had seeped into me, slowing everything down, and I couldn’t seem to get my lips to move much. I leaned against the house, comforted by the shingle siding, rough as sandpaper under my palm.
    â€œBlue, like the bay in August when the ice is out,” Sura said, nodding at the siding.
    She could have told me how good it was to finally meet me, how much she hoped Churchill would feel like home, or what great friends she knew we were going to be. But she didn’t. Maybe Sura knew better than to pretend. She traced the edge of a blue shingle with her fingers and then glanced out over the snow and ice to where the vast expanse of Hudson Bay finally met the horizon.
    I could live here, if I had to, in this house that leaned into the arctic wind. It wasn’t home, but it was certainly better than the hotel where Dad and I had been staying for the last three days while we waited for our things to arrive.
    â€œWelcome to Churchill, Talia Lea,” Sura said finally. Her words gently broke the silence that had crept into all of us, standing out there on her porch.
    Her English was smooth, though I could tell she used a different language more often than the one I was familiar with.
    â€œIt’s just Talia,” I said. Her gaze and unexpected warmth made my face feel hot.
    She nodded and held the door wide, leading Dad and me inside.

THE BLUE HOUSE WAS TALL and skinny with two bedrooms on top and two bedrooms below. The bathroom, kitchen, and main living spaces were all squeezed onto the main floor. Dad and I would sleep upstairs, and Sura downstairs, leaving one room empty. She would rent this out to tourists later in the season.
    My bedroom was exactly the same as Dad’s—small with low ceilings. Dad could only stand upright in the middle of the room, where the ceiling rose up to the peak of the house, otherwise he bumped his head. It was easier for me because I was smaller, but I still had to watch my head around the window alcove.
    The blue house sat on the edge of town, and when I craned my neck just right, I could see Hudson Bay from my bedroom window. It was frozen solid, which is how it would stay until July, and I tried not to be too discouraged about that.
    â€œBy July things will warm just enough to break up the ice,” Dad said, his voice echoing in my small, empty room. “And it will begin to form all over again just a few months later.”
    He wanted me to be as amazed as he was. It
was
pretty amazing that a place could spend so much time frozen solid and still live. But all I could think about was how cold it was, and how cold it was going to stay. I don’t like having to pull on layers of socks and sweater after sweater until my body feels thick and I can’t bend my elbows very well. Even in mid-summer, temperatures in Churchill hang right around sixty-two degrees. I wouldn’t need my bathing suit.
    Breathing on the window, I made a small patch of fog and wrote my name on the glass with my finger. Then I drew a sad face. Dad cleared his throat and I turned around, kept my gaze on the small bed frame and mattress, the dresser, and the empty bookcase before meeting his eyes. My dad stood with his hair brushing against the ceiling. A giant man in a tiny room full of echoes.
    â€œWhad’ya say we bring up our stuff?” he asked, motioning toward the door. I followed him downstairs and out into the cold.

    Until Mom got sick, I never really had to think about how much stuff I owned. I had tons of collections; Mom called me a pack rat.
    â€œLook at all of this junk, Talia!” she said one afternoon. I was supposed to be cleaning my room, but I’d gotten distracted.
    â€œIt’s not junk!” I said. “These things