After the Fire by Becky Citra Page B

around.
    Sharlene seemed bemused rather than upset by what had happened. “He certainly wasn’t very neighborly,” she said. “Although your friend Alice sounds like a nice girl. I’ll ask Marge more about the family next time I’m at the store.”
    â€œIt’s none of our business,” said Melissa firmly. The magic had gone out of the evening. It was harder to paddle back; a small breeze had kicked up and the water had roughened and was pushing against the bow of the canoe. Melissa thought about the boy on the porch. It must have been Austin. Alice made Austin sound like so much fun, but he didn’t look like a boy who would have popcorn fights and take his sister on picnics. He looked like a boy who wanted to be left alone.

Twelve
    T he next day, Cody still refused to go any deeper in the lake than his waist. He hugged his chest and watched Melissa walk on her hands in the shallow water, her legs floating behind her. “I’m a crocodile,” said Melissa. She bumped her head against Cody’s legs and he scrambled back onto dry ground and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
    â€œThere’s something on your leg,” said Melissa, staring at a dark blob stuck to Cody’s ankle. “It’s a weird kind of worm.”
    Cody stared at the thing that stretched across his ankle. It looked like a long thin smear of black mud. He screamed.
    Melissa stood up, water streaming from her shoulders and hair, and waded out of the lake. She brushed the worm thing with her fingers but it was stuck tight to Cody’s skin.
    Cody screamed harder.
    â€œWhatever is the matter?” said Sharlene from the porch. She had been sitting in the shade, reading a battered paperback copy of Hamlet .
    â€œThere’s some kind of worm thing on his leg,” said Melissa.
    â€œLet me see,” said Sharlene, and Cody raced to her. He hopped up and down, hysterical. “It’s a leech, not a worm,” said Sharlene calmly.
    â€œOh, yuck,” said Melissa. Cody burst into tears.
    Sharlene disappeared inside the cabin and came back with a box of salt. She sprinkled salt on the leech and then peeled it off Cody’s leg and flung it into the bushes. “It’s no big deal. We had them all the time at Grandpa’s cabin. Salt is the best way to get them off.”
    Cody’s sobs had turned into hiccups. Sharlene wrapped him in a big striped beach towel and cuddled him on her lap. For once he didn’t pull away but snuggled deeper into her chest. Sharlene kissed the top of his rumpled blond hair and then leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
    Melissa studied her mother’s face for a moment. Campstoves, J strokes, fishing rods and now leeches. What else did Sharlene know? If Melissa were drawing a picture of her mother, the lines wouldn’t be clear anymore. They would be smudged, like when she shaded the logs on the log cabin.
    Sharlene made bannock for lunch. She had found an old wilderness cookbook in the back of a cupboard and had announced with enthusiasm that they had all the necessary ingredients.
    Melissa helped. She had never heard of bannock, but according to Sharlene it was kind of like a wilderness fried bread that First Nations people made.
    â€œTwo and a half cups of flour,” read Sharlene. “We don’t have a measuring cup but we can use a mug. We’ll estimate.”
    Melissa measured the flour into a bowl and then stirred in four teaspoons of baking powder. “What’s lard?” she said, peering at the recipe.
    â€œSomething margarine-like,” said Sharlene. She dolloped three spoonfuls of soft margarine into the bowl. “Mix it in with your fingers until it’s kind of crumbly.”
    â€œDid you do this at your grandpa’s cabin?” said Melissa as she sifted her fingers through the mixture.
    â€œNope. First time,” said Sharlene.
    Melissa added water to make dough. Soon, round mounds of