C.J. Carmichael - A Sister Would Know

But that was changing. Just this year his features had begun to lose their little-boy roundness, taking on a definite masculine shape. He was growing up. Inside, however, he was still her little boy. Too young to understand the odd emotional connection that existed between her and her identical twin.

“Hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Well, how about a cup of hot cocoa, then?” Amalie turned off the ignition and got out of the car. As she removed the glove from her right hand so she could search for the house keys in her purse, she felt the bite of the northwesterly wind on her cheeks and her hand. It was almost February, and while the days had begun to lengthen, the recent interval of cold weather was a reminder that spring was still a good two months away.

Warm air and the lingering aroma from the cinnamon French toast she’d made for breakfast welcomed her as she opened the front door. Letting her nephew go ahead, Amalie stomped the snow from her boots, watching it scatter over the gray-painted boards of the porch floor.

Once inside she passed along the narrow hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. Immediately, she scanned the kitchen counter. Sure enough, the red light on the answering machine was flashing.

Davin had disappeared into the living room. She could hear a murmur from the television, and decided against calling him back to pick up the ski jacket and mitts he’d left lying on the floor.

Looking past tired, oak-veneer cupboards, dull yellowed linoleum and cracked and chipped countertops, Amalie reached for the playback button on the machine with a shaking hand.

You have one message.

She dropped to a kitchen chair and stared out the window. A weathered maple dominated the narrow strip of yard. To her the branches appeared weary after a valiant season of struggling against freezing temperatures, driving winds and snowfall after snowfall.

The machine clicked, and her mother’s recorded voice came out at her.

“Hello, Amalie. Just wondering why you hadn’t phoned yet this weekend. Your father and I are fine, although Dad’s back is aching after shoveling all that snow from last night’s storm. I hope you and Davin managed to go to church this morning. Give us a call when you get in.”

No word from Helena after all. Amalie’s disappointment fused with the guilt she felt about not going home this weekend as usual and shoveling that long driveway for her father.

She knew the guilt was irrational. Jeremy’s party had been important to Davin, and he deserved a little fun. Weekends with her parents in the small town north of Toronto ran a predictable pattern. Saturday, she did the odd chores they couldn’t seem to manage on their own. Sunday, all four of them went to church in the morning, then came home for a big midday meal. Afterward, she and Davin piled in the car for the two-and-a-half-hour drive home.

Only occasionally did she and Davin remain in Toronto for a weekend, but when they did, her mother created such a fuss it was hardly worth it. For instance, that reminder about church. Her mother knew Jeremy’s party had been scheduled for Sunday at eleven.

Her friend Jenny was always bugging her about taking too much responsibility for her parents. “You need to lighten up and have a little fun,” she urged over and over again.

But Jenny had two brothers and a sister, and her mom and dad weren’t the type to make demands on their children.

Amalie’s family was totally different. Her parents had immigrated from Germany when she and Helena were only seven, and they’d never fully integrated into their new country. As they got older, they relied on her more and more, and she felt she owed them whatever help she could offer.

Especially since she knew that she and Helena had both been such disappointments to them.

Amalie reached for the phone, then decided not to return her mother’s call at the moment, in order to keep the line open. With any luck she would hear from Helena soon, so she could stop worrying.

If only there were some way for her to contact her sister. But Helena’s occasional note or gift for Davin rarely included a return address. Her phone calls were even less frequent, and Amalie had learned not to ask where she lived or what her phone number was.

The two sisters hadn’t actually seen each other since Davin’s birth, and he was already eleven.

Yet Amalie had never needed to see her sister to know when she was in trouble.

“Oh, Helena, where are you?” Amalie laid her head down on the kitchen table, atop her folded arms. Being an identical twin was part blessing, part burden. To be so close to another human being meant never to be truly alone. But it also meant having to struggle for a separate identity.

For Helena, that struggle had been harder. Amalie was certain that was why she’d moved so far from home, so rarely kept in touch.

It was because of her, and the knowledge hurt. Firstborn, Amalie had always felt responsible for Helena. Yet no matter how she tried, in the end she’d always let her sister down.

Closing her eyes, she attempted to focus in on her subconscious communication with her sister. Amalie pressed her hands to her temples, tightened her jaw. Phone me, Helena!

But it wasn’t until the following evening that the call finally came. And it wasn’t from her sister.

AMALIE WAS LIFTING the lid from a pot of boiling water when she heard the first ring. The lid slipped from her fingers and fell back on the pot with a clash, sending bubbling water spraying over the element, where it hissed angrily.

She turned off the heat, then reached for the phone, praying it wouldn’t be another call from her mother.

“Hello?”

A throat cleared over the line before a man identified himself. “This is Grant Thorlow. I’m the manager of the Avalanche Control Section of Highway Services in Glacier National Park.”

The bombardment of words, none of them familiar, had her groping for pen and paper. First she scribbled down his name: Grant Thorlow. “Where did you say you were calling from?”

“Rogers Pass,” he said. “That’s in British Columbia.”

“Yes. Of course.” The treacherous Rocky Mountain corridor of the Trans-Canada Highway was a well-known Canadian landmark.

“I was wondering…” He paused, and she could hear him swallow. “Is there any chance you’re acquainted with a woman named Helen Fremont?”

This was it. She clung to the receiver, fear and hope making her heart pound. “Do you mean Helena?”

“I don’t think so. It says Helen here on her bank card.”

Amalie discounted the small difference. Helena had never been happy with the old-fashioned German names their parents had baptized them with. “What does she look like?”

The resulting pause was alarming, giving Amalie time to consider possibilities. There’d been an accident. Helena was in the hospital.

“Tall, blond, blue eyes,” he said finally. “In her late twenties.”

“That’s my sister. Is she okay?”

With any luck the injuries would be minor.

Grant’s response crushed her hopes. “No. I’m afraid she isn’t. We’ve been searching for next of kin for most of the day. Your sister didn’t carry a lot of identification on her. We found your phone number in her apartment, but there was no name”

“Never mind about that.” The man’s rambling was driving her crazy. She gripped her pen and tried to keep her voice level. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Well…” Again he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry ma’am, but we believe your sister was caught in the path of an avalanche yesterday afternoon. At this point, we’re presuming she’s dead.” Another pause, then he added, his voice a little rougher this time, “Both she and the man she was skiing with.”