Page 117 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

she’d said it. Must’ve been the steak. “Well, he used to.”
She put a large forkful in her mouth so she didn’t have to
speak again.
“That right?” Elgin said. “Maybe we can cook together
sometime.” He didn’t seem to notice the color on Ash’s cheeks
or his murderous glare at Greta.
After Ash went into personal lockdown, Greta made
small talk with Elgin. He had one daughter—Alice—and

had taken an early retirement from Canada Post. “I’m
waiting for spring,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the
kitchen window facing the backyard, “to put in my garden.”
He stared at the foggy black rectangle for an uncomfortable
amount of time.
After dinner Greta tried to wash the dishes, but Elgin
waved her away. “You kids take care of this”—he pointed at

the fat flakes falling outside the window—“and I’ll do the
dishes. The shovel’s by the front porch.”
In their bedroom, they made a plan. Greta would shovel
the walk first, before bed, and Ash would do it in the morning
before going to school. And they’d do a good job, to pay for
the steak.
Greta started to say, “Ash, I’m sorry—”
The door swung open wide, whacking Ash’s cardboard
box behind it. A woman a few years older than Ash and Greta

stood with her arms and legs wide, ready for a shoot-out. They
shrank from her long blond hair, upturned nose and frown
lines on her forehead—Cinderella meets biker chick. Her
nostrils flared as she looked back and forth between them.

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