November 12th, 1971

    We’d been out most of the day, driving from one place to another on a mission to show Cameron and Lee what a real winter was like. Breakfast was ardently enjoyed in a sugar shack, conveniently only a 40 minute drive from the house. The cabane à sucre served a full breakfast— eggs, toast, bacon, ham, sausage, and home fries— in addition to the pancakes, waffles, and made-on-site maple syrup.
    The next stop had been the town of Mont Saint Hilaire. The titular mountain is an imposing sight, especially when viewed from the main street, as Cameron and Lee found out. I hadn’t visited the area since I was a teenager and I greatly enjoyed showing off the steep cliffs and thick woods that covered the mountain.
    Now, though, we were snug inside Liliane’s home and enjoying the warmth. The snow, which had been drifting lazily down since sunrise, had intensified since we returned from the outing. I estimated that another four inches or so would fall before the end of the day, adding to the three inches that Cameron and I were currently shovelling off the driveway and path to the house.
    “I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen this much snow,” Cameron muttered in annoyance.
    I turned to look at him as he flung a shovelful of snow onto the white lawn. His breath came out in white puffs; it wasn’t too cold for this time of year but even I had to admit that five degrees below freezing was quite a change from this time last year, when it was a good ten degrees warmer than this in Scotland.
    “There’s blankets inside, and hot drinks,” I reminded him cheerily. I found that I’d missed the ritual of dressing up to shovel, but Cameron clearly thought that his winter ensemble— a thick coat and men’s boots, both taken from the boxes in the basement, along with a hat, gloves, and a scarf— was too much trouble.
    “I look forward to it, trust me.” Cameron stopped for a moment and rested his hands on the handle of the shovel. “I wanted to ask you something, while we’re out here,” he added slowly.
    We only had a few feet of the path left to clear, so I stuck my shovel into the pile of snow we’d moved and walked over to him. “Is something wrong?” I couldn't help but ask; his tone seemed a little off.
    “No,” he answered with a shake of his head. He brushed snow off of my hat before speaking. “I was just thinking, and wondering,” he explained. He paused, but only long enough for me to open my mouth. “Do you miss this? Living here, I mean.”
    “A little, maybe. I don’t miss winter, though.” I met his eyes and saw that I’d been right; he was worried about something. “What is it?”
    “It’s cold, Emily. We should finish up and head inside.”
    I widened my stance and shot Cameron a look, daring him to test me. “I’ll stay out here all day, until you tell me.”
    A smile tugged at his lips, and he sighed, albeit quietly. “We live so far from here. You wouldn’t like to live closer to your home?”
    I laughed, but it came out sounding more like a snort. “Do you think I’d have stayed with you, if I wanted to be here instead?”
    “I suppose not,” he admitted shyly.
    “You suppose right,” I told him, my tone firm. I recognized his urge to press the question, so I pointed a finger at him in an attempt to look menacing. “Keep talking and you’ll have to fight me.”
    Cameron burst into a smile, obviously pondering the prospect of fighting me in the snow. He brought his face to mine and kissed me, his cold lips warming me despite the freezing temperature. I was feeling quite warm by the time he pulled away, a teasing look on his face.
    “And I suppose I’d lose that fight, wouldn’t I?”


    The pot of tomato sauce had been simmering on the stove top for most of the afternoon. Liliane had long since mastered the recipe and was excited to show off, as it was one of the few meals she could make without worry of disaster. The original recipe card had been given to our mother as a wedding present from a neighbor who’d passed away when we were children, and we were using a copy of the copy.
    “I hope they’ll both like it,” my sister said under her breath.
    “You’re worried about that now, when I’m boiling water for the pasta?” I teased. “They’ll devour it. It smells so good I’m sure I’ll do the same.”
    We could hear the men talking in the living room, their voices drifting into range to be heard above the sounds of cooking. I could make out a few words here and there but not enough to make a guess as to what they were discussing.
    I stood in front of the open cupboard and saw multiple jars filled with pasta, stumping me on a decision. “Penne or spaghetti?”
    Liliane didn’t answer. I turned my head towards her to repeat my question, but I wasn’t surprised when I realized she was distracted. I could hear Lee’s cheerful voice clearly, and that’s what had drawn her attention.
    I took the jar of penne noodles and closed the cupboard, then returned to the stove. “Have you decided on it yet?”
    Liliane turned to me, looking lost. “Decided on what?”
    I raised my eyebrows as I clarified. “Him.”
    “Oh.” She glanced back towards the living room for a brief second, then returned her attention to the stove. “It’s complicated,” she finally whispered.
    I handed her the jar of noodles and she poured a few handfuls into the boiling water. “When isn’t it complicated?” I retorted.
    “God only knows, Emily.”


    As expected, both Cameron and Lee greatly enjoyed the meal. I had too, and it was a nice feeling to sit with my family— Lee included, of course. Even if Liliane hadn’t figured it out yet, I knew he’d be family soon enough— and share a meal with light conversation.
    We’d likely drank half a bottle of wine each by the time coffee was made and served. No dessert had been made for tonight but there were left over nun’s pastries from yesterday, which were received with delight alongside the coffee. Pets de soeur was a popular dish in French Canadian households and though the literal translation of the term was nun’s farts, the baked pastry dough filled with brown sugar and butter was more akin to ambrosia than the farts of nuns.
    It was now past eight o'clock, and the coffee had long since been replaced with a bottle of fifteen-year single malt Scotch. The living room was nicely furnished; the two loveseats and the end table between them were placed at an angle facing the television, but tonight we'd put the stereo to good use.
    "Put the radio on if you want," I suggested. Liliane was putting away the last album we'd listened to, a soft rock album with folk elements. "You won't have to keep getting up to flip the record."
    She nodded, tucking the record back into it's place on her shelf. "Good idea." With the press of a button, the stereo mode was switched from phono to radio, and Liliane reclaimed her seat beside Lee.
    I recognized the song being played, and turned my head towards the speakers to listen. “Is this that Toronto folk singer?” I wondered aloud.
    Cameron shrugged, and it was Liliane who answered me. “Yes. He has a soft voice,” she replied, with a glance to Lee. “I think this song has the mandolin part in it, too. I love a good mandolin piece,” she cooed. Lee then murmured something to her, taking her attention from the radio.
    “Here,” Cameron said quietly. He took the empty glass from my hands and replaced it with his. “Finish mine off, if you’d like, and I’ll go refill them,” he explained.
    ‘Too sweet,’ I said to myself, though the accompanying grin was plain on my face. His own face lit up with a smile and I leaned closer to kiss him, pulling away from him and standing much sooner than I wanted to.
    “Who needs a refill?”
    “Definitely me,” Lee replied with clear enthusiasm.
    I moved forward to take his glass to the kitchen, but Liliane stood and took it from him. “I’ll get these,” she assured me.
    I led the way into the kitchen with Liliane close behind me, and put the two glasses on the counter. "It's a good thing you brought this back with you. If not, we'd be drinking water," I teased, faking disgust at the notion.
    "Water's not so bad," my sister retorted as she filled a glass halfway. "Besides, I've got vodka. You don't drink it, but I'm sure they would."
    "You're likely right about that."
    The shrill sound of the doorbell cut through our conversation. I glanced at Liliane, and then the clock. Who would be at her door at this hour?
    "Lee, can you get that, please?" she called out.
    With a shrug at my unspoken question, Liliane handed me the bottle and poked through a plate of crackers for an unbroken one. I did the same, and it was only when Lee came into the kitchen a minute later that either of us spoke.
    "It's a man at the door, and he says he knows you," he said, though he was looking at Liliane. "I didn't think to ask for his name."
    "What does he look like?" I couldn't help being curious, and wondered what man it could be.
    "I can't quite tell." Lee's features fell. "I let him into the sunroom, though. It's snowing quite hard."
    Liliane huffed. It sounded like she was bothered, but I'd known her long enough to see that she was more intrigued than upset. "Let's find out," she sighed.
    Only a small lamp illuminated the sunroom, but the man had removed his hat and brushed the snow from his beard. He was instantly recognizable, at least to us, and I felt my whole body tense as I stood beside my sister.
    "What are you doing here?" Liliane's sharp voice cut above the wind I could hear through the windows, but I didn't move.
    Our father didn't answer, but the tone she'd used had roused Cameron and Lee from the living room. Fifteen seconds had passed in tense silence before Cameron stood beside me, his hand on my arm.
    "You two get married?" Bertrand jeered. I could feel his eyes on us, traveling from Cameron to me, then to Liliane with Lee, who stood behind her.
    Cameron made a sound bordering on a growl, but I wasn't sure if anyone else had heard it. "That isn't any of your business." Evidently, he'd realized who was asking the question.
    Bertrand took one step forward and raised his eyebrows at Cameron. "Since when has that become none of a father's business?" His tone was mocking, and I felt myself shivering with rage.
    "When were you ever a father to us?" Liliane shouted abruptly. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lee stifle his surprise. Had he ever seen her this angry? How much did he know of her past? I didn't know either answer.
    "Do tell me of your fatherly accomplishments," Liliane added in a steely tone
    To my contentment, Bertrand's expression changed; he felt insulted by her words. "You girls think I haven't been your father?" he asked slowly.
    It was my turn to speak. "We know."
    I could almost see Bertrand the way I had known him, and hoped the turmoil inside my mind didn't show on my face. Cameron could feel it, though. His hand tightened imperceptibly on my arm and I was glad for the anchor, even if it wasn't meant to be restraint. After all, things hadn't gone well the last time I saw him.
    Bertrand cleared his throat loudly. "I came by to speak to you girls. I've wanted to explain why—"
    "I don't care. We don't care," I interrupted. I glanced at Liliane from the corner of my eye, looking for reassurance. Her lips were set tight and I knew that Lee's hand on her back was the only thing keeping her from erupting.
    "Well, I do!" Bertrand stomped his foot once, but it was the rising volume in the small space that made me shiver. "Do you think I've been happy? In all these years since your mother died?" he asked in a near-shout, his face getting red. "I've been miserable, and I'm tired of it!"
    It was Cameron's presence beside me, and Lee's beside my sister, that gave me the courage to reply to our father. I didn't want it to escalate into a fight but I knew that if it did, neither of them would let him touch us.
    "Really?" My sarcasm didn't completely hide my resentment, but it stopped him short. "I've had a great time these past fifteen years," I added casually. I turned and spoke to my sister. "What about you?"
    "I miss Gran, and Mom," she answered, her tone as nonchalant as mine had been. "But overall, I've been having a good time."
    I turned my attention back to Bertrand as he made a poor attempt at a smile. "I'm glad," he muttered. "You girls deserve it."
    Liliane laughed at him. "No," she began firmly. "We deserved safety. A childhood. Good memories. And we didn't get any of that, in no small part thanks to you."
    The air was thick with tension, but I felt oddly calm. Bertrand stood still, except for his eyes. He looked at all of us without a word; I watched his face as he stared at Lee, then Liliane, and myself. The silence was only broken when he reached Cameron, who was staring back at him with barely-restrained contempt.
    "Whatever you came here for," Cameron began in a firm tone. "It clearly won't happen. They don't want you."
    Bertrand glanced down at the ground, but anger and something near to confusion was clear on his face. "I can see I'm not welcome here."
    Cameron was right in his words, despite their apparent harshness, and I felt no sympathy for the man standing before us. Neither did Lee, who was next to speak.
    "You should leave."
    A simple declaration, but with immediate effect. Bertrand nodded once and turned away from us, though he hesitated momentarily with his hand on the doorknob. He jerked the door open and stalked out without another word.
    Liliane stepped forward to shut the door; he hadn't closed it behind him. She stuck her head out into the cold night air and yelled out. "Forget this address. Forget us!"
    She slammed the door shut but I barely heard it, I'd already made my way into the house. I was down the hall before I heard my name being called, but I ignored it and shut the bathroom door behind me.
    There were no words in my mind. I sat down on the edge of the bathtub and closed my eyes, feeling the intensity of my confusion and shock in my chest as if I was an aerosol can in a campfire. My teeth jabbed into my bottom lip and I realized I was shaking. I put my hands on my thighs and took a deep breath; then another, and one more.
    A light knock, and I opened my eyes.
    "Emily."
    It wasn't a question, and that comforted me, though my eyes welled with tears. "Cameron," I said quietly.
    He stepped into the bathroom and clicked the door shut behind him. He'd only looked at me for a moment before crouching down in front of me. "You're alright, Emily." If the conviction in his voice hadn't soothed me, the look in his eyes did.
    Quite suddenly, I was weeping. Cameron moved to sit beside me and held me close to him, his arms tight around me. ‘I'm safe,’ I told myself, repeating it twice. I was safe, here in my sister's bathroom with Cameron holding me, despite my emotions giving the impression I was a teacup precariously close to the edge of a table.
    It was the certainty that Cameron would keep me safe that eased my crying. He hadn't let go of me, and I didn't want him to, but I eventually peeled myself off of his shoulder.
    "Is she okay?" I asked quietly. Shame was creeping to the surface, despite my efforts to ignore it.
    "She's fine." Cameron put his hand under my chin and looked into my eyes. "But it's not your sister I'm worried about. It's you."
    I chuckled, though it was barely more than a huff of air. "I really wasn't expecting that. Any of it," I confessed. "Though it went better than last time I saw him."
    "Just barely." Cameron put his hand on my cheek and peered into my face. "How are you feeling?"
    I struggled to find a fitting word, but finally settled on one as I held his hands in mine. "I feel dazed. All this time, and it's now he wants to talk. What do you mean, it ‘just barely’ went better?" I'd only just registered his words, and decided that dazed wasn't too far off after all.
    Cameron glanced down at our hands. "I knew a man, years ago," he said slowly. “Everyone knew not to piss him off, but if you started to irritate him he'd tell you not to let him see red.” He paused for a moment. “I've never given much thought to what I'd feel when I met your father, if I ever would.”
    He lifted his head and looked at me, but a moment later he was looking down again. I couldn't tell if he was shy or embarrassed; maybe both. I squeezed his hands in reassurance.
    "I know what he's done to you and your sister, but seeing him tonight… Arrogantly demanding to have you listen to him, as if he's entitled to your time." Cameron shook his head as he lifted his gaze to me. "I'm far from being a monk, Emily, but I've never been so angry to see red. Though I'd be lying if I told you that wasn’t the darkest orange I’ve ever seen."
    “Oh.” No other words came to mind. I hadn't noticed the extent of Cameron's anger as Bertrand stood a mere ten feet from us; I had been too caught up in my own emotions.
    I hadn’t done a good job of hiding my thoughts, because Cameron’s face reddened. “I’m not proud of it,” he mumbled sheepishly. “But I think I would have enjoyed turning him to minced meat.”
    I wasn't upset with him for feeling that way, but I couldn't admit aloud that it was strangely endearing— Cameron didn't like fighting, but he would fight for me if he felt he had to.
    Caught in my struggle for words, I didn't hear the footsteps approaching us. There was a light knock on the door followed by Lee's cautious voice.
    "I hate to interrupt," he began slowly, "but my bladder might explode if you don't let me in."
    "One more minute," I answered.
    Lee muttered a thanks and walked away from the door. It came to me, as he'd mumbled about his dire need to pee, what I had to say to Cameron. Only now it had to wait.
    I looked at Cameron, and said his name softly. I felt his reluctance to meet my gaze, but he did, and I took his face in my hands and kissed him. I didn't plan on making out in a bathroom but I did have a point to make, and I stared into his eyes when I pulled away.
    "It doesn't matter, because I love you regardless," I reminded him firmly.
    Cameron stared at me, looking stupefied, though he wore a shy smile.
    "Later, when we're alone," I promised. "But we really should let Lee use the bathroom."


    It had just passed midnight when we called it a night and went to bed. The four of us had been talking for a couple hours, about anything and everything. Although this evening's incident wasn't avoided, we tried to soothe ourselves with other things.
    I'd noticed Lee, throughout the conversation, try to broach the subject. He'd been unable to so far, but he spoke up when Liliane told them why she'd frozen: I was less likely to jerk into action from my own shock if she didn't remind me that movement was an option.

    "I haven't seen him since Gran's funeral, and before that, it must have been five years."
    "At least five," I agreed.
    "When was the funeral?"
    "April of last year," she answered Lee. "A week or so before we left for Scotland."
    Cameron tilted his head towards Lee and elaborated. "Do you recall last year while we were in England? Emily and Willie had a clash," he asked. Lee nodded, but my throat tightened at the memory. "It was much the same thing that happened in April,"
    Lee nodded, a question clear on his face. I pressed him to ask it, knowing it wouldn't leave his mind until he voiced it.
    "Well…" he mumbled reluctantly. "If Bertrand was going to apologize or talk to you both or whatever it was he wanted, why didn't we let him?"
    Liliane's mouth curved into a smile; she'd heard him say 'we' and enjoyed it as much as I did. "Have you ever seen a molting snake?" she asked him.
    He shook his head.
    "Well, before they shed, their skin starts to detach and turns pale. After it's all come off, the snake looks shiny and the colours are brighter." Liliane shrugged, as though her explanation made complete sense.
    "I think we need a summary," I said, pressing her to continue.
    "A snake that sheds its skin it's no less a snake."

    “Sorry?” I mumbled.
    Cameron had spoken, but I hadn't been paying attention.
    "You're on the moon," he said to me, a small grin on his face.
    I sighed and stretched before standing. "It's not the moon, but yes."
    Cameron kept his gaze on me while I climbed into bed beside him. “Where is it, then, if it’s not the moon?” he wondered aloud.
    “Doesn’t matter,” I answered truthfully. “I’d rather be here with you, than over there.”
    He put his arms around me and I leaned into him, my head resting on his chest. “You smell good,” I whispered.
    “Do I?”
    I hummed in agreement. “Like home.”
    I’d spoken quietly but I knew Cameron was listening. His muscles were tense, though, and I thought back to what he said to me when I’d sought refuge in the bathroom. ‘I’m not proud, but I think I would have enjoyed it.’ Would I have let it happen? Bertrand getting a beating didn’t bother me at all, but the thought of Cameron getting hit made my stomach knot.
    He shifted beside me, muscles stiff, and I pulled myself out of my thoughts. “What’s on your mind, Cameron?”
    He answered immediately. “You.”
    “I’m sorry to give you stress.”
    “It isn’t you, Emily.”
    “What is it, then? Something’s bothering you.”
    Cameron ran his fingers along my arm softly, his other arm still holding me close. “I’ll tell you,” he assured me, after a long pause. “But I need to know you’re alright, first.”
    I closed my eyes. “I’m alright,” I lied.
    He chuckled. “And that’s why you cried in the bathroom, is it?” He’d spoken softly, but I took his meaning. I didn’t answer, so after a moment he spoke again. “I know you’re hurting, Emily. I’ve known it for a long time,” he added. “But I’ll be damned if I let you suffer alone.”
    I took deep breaths to steady myself, but it took a few minutes before I said anything. “It felt like I got slapped when I saw him. After the funeral, I prayed that I wouldn’t have to see him again. The next time we meet I’d better be talking to a headstone.” The words tumbled out of me without hesitation. “If wanting that makes me a lousy person, I can live with that.”
    “It doesn’t,” Cameron said firmly. “It’s likely even a benefit to your personality, rather than a detriment.”
    “And how’s that?” I asked skeptically.
    “You’d visit his grave even with all he’s done to your family.”
    “A semi-valid point,” I conceded. “I just thought I was done with him. He seemed to be done with us anyway, when he walked out on two teenagers. Fifteen years pass, and now he wants to talk and explain himself?” I laughed. “Explanations aren’t always verbal.”
    Cameron squeezed my arm, lightly tightening his grip on me.
    “It was just unexpected. If I’d known he was coming or that he was nearby…” I let my sentence trail off. “I’m sure Liliane will want to talk about it tomorrow. I just need sleep, and I’ll feel better.”
    “Sleep, then, my love.” He kissed my forehead softly, then reached out to the lamp beside the bed and switched it off.
    I debated whether to tell him now, or wait for him to bring it up himself. Cameron did say he would tell me, but my need to reassure him overtook the part of me that would let him take his time.
    “Cameron?” I murmured, my head resting on his chest and my arm flung over his waist.
    “Yes?”
    “You don’t have to be proud of it,” I said slowly, “but you don’t have to be ashamed, either.”
    He sighed but didn’t speak.
    “You would do the right thing, if it ever came to that,” I added. I could hear the gears in his brain turning. He didn’t believe what I was telling him. “I trust you. I know you’d do the right thing.”
    “Should you, though?” he whispered, his voice full of doubt.
    “It’s a little late to try to dissuade me,” I noted. “I trusted you from the first time we met, Cameron. You said you’d help me and you did. You understood me, too. You loved me.”
    “I still love you,” he said assertively. Had my use of past tense worried him? “I always will.”
    I lifted myself off of him and put my hand on his cheek. “I hope so,” I said with a light chuckle, “because you’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me.”
    Cameron laughed then, a soft noise that made me grin widely.
    “I could burst when you laugh,” I admitted. “I love you, Cameron, and I’ll keep your heart safe.” I punctuated the reminder by pressing my lips to his. “I promised you I would.”