A Hole in My Heart by Rie Charles

though Mum and Aunt Alice came every day. I remember a nurse with a large, wide-brimmed cap who swept in and out of the room like a boat in full sail. I’m sure she was kind, or at least okay, but I still can feel the fear. I wonder why.
    But the bus ride to Vancouver will be great. I’ll have Mum all to myself. I never get to be with her much because of the boys. We can read and talk and stare out the window. She says the leaves might be pretty in Manning Park. Sorry. You don’t get to be with your mum at all. That was thoughtless of me.
    Hope you’re fine and all my worrying about you is for nothing. I will stamp this and send Dougie to the mail box.
    Your favourite cousin (I’d better be),
    Lizzie
    PS I took Anne of the Island back to the library. I didn’t finish it. Ooops, I think I told you that in my last letter. Or did I?

8

    I fold Lizzie’s letter into my pocket. I always re-read her letters — sometimes over and over and over. I’m glad, really glad, Lizzie knows she’s insensitive about wanting to talk more with her mum. Because she is. Was. She should be sorry . She should know better. At school I overhear kids saying nasty things about their mums and I get furious. I want to yell at them, Don’t you realize how lucky you are to have a mum? or, No matter how bad she is it’s better than having no mum . But I don’t. They’d all look at me like I’m a fool, and they’d find out about Mum. I am glad I told the Quinns, though. It feels like I don’t have to hold myself in quite the same.
    One more day until Lizzie comes. I wonder if she’s changed since the summer. Will she look different?
    I skim through the letter a fourth time and pause on the part about Lizzie looking forward to being with her mother. I feel the tears well up again. Why do I have to be such a sop? No one else cries. Is there something wrong with me?
To my friend Nora,
    Honey in the morning
    Honey in the night
    Honey in the afternoons
    And everything’s all right.
    Micki Arase
    Everything is not all right.
    â€¢ • •
    On Tuesday I make it home from school in seventeen minutes. I run up the back steps two at a time. Aunt Mary’s in the kitchen washing the breakfast porridge pot. I wrap myself around her in a huge hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you. To see someone from home. Where’s Lizzie?”
    â€œLying down. Travelling is tiring. Oooh, I’m going to get porridge-y water all over you.”
    â€œCan Lizzie and I sleep in Jan and Dot’s room and you sleep in my room?” I hop up and down.
    â€œHold on. Calm down.” Aunt Mary upturns the pot on the wire rack and wipes her hands on her apron. Now she squeezes me in a rocking sort of way. “I don’t see why not, as long as you girls sleep. You have school tomorrow and Lizzie has her tests.” She turns back to the counter. “But your dad should be the one to say.”
    â€œWe’ll sleep. I promise.” I give my aunt another hug from behind. “I just can’t wait. When can I see Lizzie?” I dump my school bag on the floor under the telephone.
    â€œIf she’s awake she’ll have heard you come in.” Aunt Mary unwraps some beets and onions from old newspapers. Clumps of dirt fall away. “First let me hear what you’re doing at school.”
    I feel my shoulders sink as I plop down on a kitchen stool. “Not much. I hate school. I miss Penticton and you and Lizzie and my friends there.”
    â€œWhat about friends here?”
    â€œI don’t have any. No one talks to me.”
    â€œDo you talk to them? Do you smile?”
    â€œWhy should I? They laugh at me, at my shoes, at my clothes.”
    Aunt Mary pushes aside the beets, washes her hands, wipes them on her apron, leaving a pinky dirt stain, and puts the kettle on the stove. I can tell from the slow, careful action that she’s going to say something. It