Fish Change Direction in Cold Weather by Pierre Szalowski Page B

took a deep breath. She’d walked right into the trap.
    ‘All of us together?’
    By the look on her face, she hadn’t seen it coming. I knew I’d hit home but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to tell her about helping myself. As for her, she really
wasn’t helping herself at all.
    ‘Not necessarily, darling. The main thing is for you to have some good times together . . . And just think, dividing the time between your father and me will mean twice as many holidays at
the cottage. You’re one lucky boy!’
    I just looked at her. She understood that I didn’t think I was lucky at all. She closed her eyes for a second and came closer. I could feel her hands on my cheeks, ever so soft. She took
her time.
    ‘Forgive me, darling, I know this isn’t easy for you. It’s not any easier for me, for either of us. No one wants to have this happen, but that’s life. Things will get
better with time and besides, we’re going to do everything we can to make it right for you. For your father and for me, you are the most important thing on earth.’
    Thing!
She’s a teacher and that’s all she could think of to say?
    She kissed me tenderly. She seemed moved. I am sure she didn’t go into the kitchen just to make something for me to eat. I hoped she was crying, maybe not a lot, but a few tears at least.
It was her turn now.
    There was no answer. But I let it ring a long time. I redialled the number at the summer cottage and waited some more. My dad wasn’t picking up. Where could he be?
    ‘He must have gone somewhere to eat. It’s hard to make dinner without electricity. Particularly when you don’t know how to cook.’
    My mum wanted to lighten the mood, but it didn’t work with me. I could detect a certain amount of affection in her words, but knowing that my dad might not get enough to eat made me really
sad. No child deserves this. We should have all been together, Dad in front of the television, Mum reading in the kitchen, and me somewhere in between. My mum wasn’t relaxed. I think that for
her too this situation wasn’t as easy as she’d thought it was going to be. I was discovering what it meant to be a kid who’s divided between two adults, and she was finding out
what it meant to be half a parent.
    My mum wanted to watch television. She sat on the armrest of my dad’s chair. I don’t know why – maybe deep down it was as if he were still here? Maybe she too would have liked
him to be there with us, with the remote in his hand? Often the moments we miss the most are the ones we didn’t especially enjoy at the time.
    ‘At last I’ll be able to choose the programme tonight!’
    She chose the news channel, the one my dad always switched on first.
    Could it be the sky was overdoing it, after all? All they could talk about was what it had been up to. My mum didn’t like it one bit.
    ‘Damned black ice . . . It sure picked the right time!’
    All they were showing on television was the ice storm.
    ‘You should film it. Think of the memories.’
    ‘I don’t really feel like remembering it . . .’
    She grimaced, as if everything she said turned against her. But I could hardly come out and tell her that the video camera my dad had given me was in a desk drawer at school with a close-up of
the neighbour’s boobs stored on it.
    ‘You know what? The educational director fell and broke her coccyx!’
    ‘How’d she do that?’
    ‘She slipped on the ice in the playground while she was sprinkling salt. She fell right on her behind.’
    ‘Oh, poor woman, that must really hurt.’
    In bed I thought about the educational director lying on her stomach in her hospital bed. Even if she was strict sometimes, I could remember all the times she’d been
nice. Maybe she had kids who were sad to be at home without her. Maybe I’d really gone too far?
    My mum came in to wish me good night. She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked my hair.
    ‘Sleep well, darling . . .’
    ‘Can I ask you a