Tell It to the Trees by Anita Rau Badami

don’t be a giant squib!” But I was worried too. It was so unlike Suman not to be waiting for us—she’s there every day, sun or snow. What if she had had one of her fits of illness? What if she’d fallen and broken her arm again? Or if Akka had finally died, as she kept hoping? I started to walk homewards fast, dragging Hem behind me.
    “Do you think she’s dead?” He sounded tearful.
    “I don’t know,” I snapped. “Come on, hurry up and stop behaving like a baby.”
    We passed old Mrs. Cooper’s house, the only other home on that long road. It’s shuttered and silent now. I always wish, when we pass the house, that Mrs. Cooper’s granddaughter, Gilly, was still around. She’s the only friend I’ve had. After moving to Calgary to live with her dad, she sent me a single letter. Then I heard nothing more from her. Mrs. Cooper moved away a few years ago as well, to live with one of her sons—Billy or Dave. They were both construction workers and Mrs. Cooper told us stories of how they spent the winters in the ski resorts nearby, busy renovating, maintaining or building the posh hotels and cottages that had grown up around the resorts. They came home every weekend to be with her, sometimes bringing beautiful girls with long legs who walked with a swing and a sway of their tiny hips. Once I tried to copy the walk to entertain Hem,swinging awkwardly around the house, one arm bent at the elbow and hand glued to my waist, my nose in the air, until Papa noticed and slapped me about the head for being silly. Good thing he didn’t figure out who I was mimicking—I’d have been beaten black and blue for sure. Papa used to remark that the girls looked cheap, like tramps, even though they had seemed perfectly nice to Hem and me. Even Suman had liked them, but then she likes everyone. Papa says that she has no discernment . Afterwards, as always, he was sorry for smacking me. But as he explained over ice cream treats the next day, it was only to teach me the difference between good and bad, dross and gold. Poor Papa, it’s not his fault that he has to be hard with me sometimes. I know he’s worried I’ll turn out like my real mother, the one who abandoned us to our fate.
    So I always stare at the shuttered windows of the Cooper house when we walk past. They’re like dead eyes. When Mrs. Cooper was there, even after Gilly had left, she’d watch for us to go by, sometimes call us in for some fresh-baked cookies, and we would run up her driveway guiltily. And Suman would follow, saying, Only one cookie each, hurry up, and don’t tell Papa, don’t tell .
    In winter, the old lady would keep the living room lights on warm and friendly as her smile, and reassuring, informing us that we were only about twenty minutes from home, not lost in the wilderness of snow that spread out in every direction, borders and edges blurred and lost.
    “It’s a long time now. I don’t think she’s coming back, do you?” Hem said, thinking my exact same thoughts again, like he’s my twin.
    “Don’t know. I miss her.”
    “Me too. Her cookies were the best in the world.”
    “Greedy little thing, all you can think about is food.” I yanked his arm. “Race you home. Last one there is a miserable, bandy-legged spider.”
    I swung my bag over my shoulder and started running. We slowed down out of breath as we approached the gate. Noticed the car parked outside.
    “I wonder who that is,” I said. The car looked crappy, worse than ours, which Papa calls his rusty steed . Sometimes my father can be really nice and really funny.
    Hem started running again and barged through the front door. “Mama! Mama! Where are you?”
    Sounds of laughter floated out of Akka’s room. I thought, would they be laughing if someone’s hurt? We dropped our bags and went into our grandmother’s room. There was Suman, sitting on the bed, cool as you please, and Akka, leaning against the pillows piled up in her chair, her white hair like silk threads