Snowhook by Jo Storm

The radio crackled as Hannah turned the knob that doubled as both the on/off switch and the volume dial. As the speaker warmed up, the voice of the announcer became clear.

“This is a CBC Radio One Special Report for northeastern Ontario: Environment Canada reports that a massive storm system continues to develop in eastern Quebec and is growing larger, dumping extreme amounts of precipitation.”

“Are we northeastern Ontario?” asked Kelli.

“Yes,” said Hannah.

“Pre-cip-i-tation, pre-cip-i-tation,” chanted Kelli.

It snowed a little again after lunchtime. The first fat flakes drifted down like friends, landing on their upturned faces as they stood in the front yard.

“I hope we get lots,” said Kelli. Hannah said nothing, but she was hoping the opposite.

“Well, let’s not let the work you did yesterday go to waste,” said their mother to Hannah. “Let’s go out for a sled ride.”

They took the small kicksled out to the end of the driveway with Rudy and Nook and took turns racing up and down the empty road. The snow came and came and came, each piece part of a large wave of white.

“Can you hear that?” asked Kelli as they trooped back. Her face was mostly hidden by her scarf and the snow that clung to it, but the sides of her dark-brown eyes were crinkled, so Hannah knew she was smiling.

“What?” said Hannah.

Her sister spread her arms and twirled, landing on her butt in the snow. “The nothing between the flakes. It’s snowing so hard, it’s even taking away sound!” Kelli was delighted with the whole spectacle.

Her mom was not as happy. She spoke less and less as the day went on, and when Hannah’s dad called again just before dinner, she spoke to him in short, angry sentences. “George, we’re fine. Hannah is bored,” she said, flicking a quick glance at her daughter. “We went out on the sled. Rudy is getting fat.”

Hannah heard a scratchy, tinny sound and realized it was her father laughing. Her mom turned her body so that she was facing away from them, hunching over a little, but when she looked back and saw Hannah watching, she turned around again, straightening up.

“We’re fine. Everything’s fine. Good. You’d better get back to them, then. I’ll see you at home.”

She hung up and walked back to the table.

“Is he coming back?” asked Kelli.

“No, they’re leaving.”

“For Quebec?”

“Yes.”

“How long will he be gone?” asked Kelli.

“Kelli,” said her mom. Her tone said stop bothering me.

“Great,” said Hannah. “Are we stuck here until he gets back?” Their vacation was supposed to end that week. It was Monday, and they were meant to leave on Saturday to be back in time for school.

“No. If he’s not back, we’ll close up and leave,” said Mina.

“What about Nook and Rudy?” asked Hannah.

“Pierre will get them, Hannah, like he always does.”

“It’s not fair that he left us here.”

“Hannah, be quiet.”

Her mother shutting her up as though she were a child made Hannah even angrier. She went and sat on one of the backless stools that lined the counter, leaning an arm on it and staring out the window at the snow that continued to fall in fat, ugly blobs.

“I’m not coming here anymore after this,” she said. “I can stay at home by myself or at Lindsay’s. I already asked and she said it would be okay. I hate it here.”