In Winter's Grip by Brenda Chapman

I turned to leave.
    Sam answered on the second ring. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when you got the news,” he said. “Is it very bad being there?”
    â€œNo. It’s okay.”
    â€œStill, it’s always a shock when a parent dies. It must have been sudden?”
    I could have told him then that my father had been murdered, but for some reason, I didn’t. “It was...unexpected. The funeral’s in a few days so I’ll stay till then. Can you call Judith to let her know to cancel my patients for the next week?”
    â€œOkay. Will it take that long?”
    â€œI think so. There’s a bit to straighten out.”
    â€œWas it a heart attack or stroke?”
    â€œNo. They’re still not certain. The autopsy will show the exact cause. How was your trip?”
    Sam’s voice lightened, “Great. I sealed the deal, and it means a big bonus. I was hoping to take you out to celebrate, but that will have to wait.”
    â€œYes. But we can do that when I get home.” I heard a voice in the background saying something to Sam. “Is someone with you?”
    There was muffled speaking then Sam removed his hand from over the receiver. “Lana stopped by with some papers I have to sign. George should be here any minute.”
    â€œWell, I won’t keep you then,” I said, suddenly not wanting to keep the connection any longer.
    â€œI’ll call tonight,” Sam said. “Try not to let your dad’s death get you down.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “That’s the last place I want to go.”

SIX
    A round two thirty, Claire, Gunnar and I decided to drive up the mountain to go cross country skiing. Claire more than any of us was showing signs of stress, and she’d leapt on my suggestion of an outing. She was unable to convince Jonas to leave the sanctuary of his workshop, to which he’d retreated after Claire and Gunnar had returned home early afternoon, and by the rigid way she held her neck and shoulders, I knew she was angry. It wasn’t until after we’d parked in the empty parking lot backing onto Christie trail, unloaded our equipment, fastened our skis and started down the path, that she started to relax.
    Claire had been a champion skier in her late teens and early twenties, even trying out for the U.S. Olympic team. Although she hadn’t made the cut, she’d been first on the waiting list—no small accomplishment. Marriage to Jonas, a child and the need to make money had ended her Olympic dream. I sometimes wondered if she regretted the decisions she’d made. I’d known Claire in high school but hadn’t been in her circle. Her father was a lawyer who started up a practice in Duved Cove when Claire was in tenth grade. By then, she was away training most of the year and back in the summers. We’d both worked as life guards one summer at the community pool, and through me, she’d met Jonas. I was still baffled as to how they hooked up, because Jonas was as far from self-assured and competitive as a dove from a hawk. Claire must have seen him as a gold-medal challenge, because she’d done all the pursuing.
    â€œI’ll meet you at the lookout,” Claire called over her shoulder just before she picked up speed crossing the field and disappeared onto the trail into the woods. She was wearing navy spandex pants, a turquoise shell and a red toque and made a vibrant splash of colour against the white snowscape and the darkness of the trees ahead. Gunnar was well in front of me, dressed completely in black with a grey toque. His gangly limbs couldn’t match his mother’s smooth strides, but he managed to widen the distance between himself and me with every ski stroke.
    I’d borrowed Claire’s old set of skis and boots that pinched. It had been twenty years since I’d last skied, and I struggled to find my rhythm. After a bit of awkward trial and effort, my