Ms. Zephyr's Notebook (18 page)

“He's always been too busy to notice that things aren't right, Cleo. Why would that change now?” Logan grabbed at the stump of a broken tree and hauled himself to his feet with a grimace.

She shrugged. “I don't know. But he's here, not in Denver. That's got to count for something, even if it's only a start.” She tossed another rock away and sighed. “I guess since they are the only parents we've got, we'd better start figuring out how to deal with them.” She swiped a mitten across her nose. “I'm sorry you had to run out on the ice like that. It was a stupid thing for me to do.”

Logan reached down to help her up.

“I was mostly worried about you,” he said. “And I promised myself I'd give Abbie her notebook back, so I couldn't let it go into the lake without a fight. But the reason I came here was to make sure you were all right, and instead you're the one giving me advice.”

Cleo scrambled to her feet and looked up at him, surprised. “I guess it's kinda nice to think about someone besides myself,” she admitted.

He brushed a tendril of hair away from the corner of her mouth and kissed her gently where the crease of her lip curved into her cheek.

She put her mittened hand up to the place he had kissed her. “Where did that come from?” she said slowly.

“I'm not sure,” he said, and grinned a little. “It just felt like the right thing to do under the circumstances.”

She grinned back at him. “Your gut hurting?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Yours?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I'm pretty cold, though.”

“What else is new? How many sweaters are you wearing today? Ten?”

“Hey, my record is only seven. But I'm not doing that anymore. Giving it up — just like the barfing. I'm only wearing two today. But right now I kinda wish it was more.”

“Well,” he said. “You might be cold, but I'm cold and wet.”

“Yeah, well you might be cold and wet, but I'm cold and wet and…,” she looked straight at him this time, “… I'm maybe a little hungry.”

He grinned. “That Nona. She must've had some pretty powerful things to say to you before she died.”

Cleo shrugged. “She didn't say much, but just seeing her again made me think. I guess I haven't done any real thinking in a while.” She walked along beside him, quiet apart from the snow squeaking under her boots. “I can't eat a lot yet, you know. Like, I'm not ready for hamburgers with the works just yet.”

“That's okay. I can't really eat 'em either, anymore. Sure do miss those bacon burgers with mayo, though.”

She turned to make a face at him and slid a little on the ice.

He took one of her red-mittened hands to steady her. “I know a good coffee place in town. Will you settle for tea and toast before we head back to Evergreen?”

Cleo nodded. “One condition,” she said, and reached into his pocket for the key. “You drive.”

To:
[email protected];
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]

Hi Logan and Cleo,

I'm using Abbie's laptop to send this e-mail. She says hi! My new kidney is so good, I get to go home this week, just in time to put up the Christmas tree. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Life is always full of surprises, right?

Abbie says you will be coaching rugby at my school next year, Logan. Cool. I don't know how to play, but I can be the best cheerleader ever. You'll see.

I like your new e-mail address, Cleo. It's easier to spell. Things are pretty boring here without you guys. There's this new little kid. Her name is Rachel and now that her tonsils are gone she's
supposed to go home tomorrow. She keeps following me around and driving me crazy. If you guys have any ideas to help me I sure would appreciate hearing them.

Kip — the New Kidney Kid

My thanks, as always, go out to those members of my friends and family who variously tolerate and abet my endeavours, thus allowing me to indulge in the egregious pastime of lying for my living. This book would not have been possible without teachers Kate Coombs and Elizabeth Raikhy for sharing their experiences and giving form to Abbie Zephyr. Thanks also to Doctor Jenny Druker and Doctor Linda Horspool for sharing their expertise of all things medical; to Spencer Corlett for the straight goods on decent cars and to Michael Hiebert for celestial inspiration and feedback on all things Sagan. Finally, thanks to my editor Barry Jowett for taking in his stride the concept of a novel named for a character who never actually appears, and to designers Alison Carr and Erin Mallory for realizing the shape of my ideas into two-dimensional form. Any errors that have occurred in the course of manoeuvring this story from out of my brain onto the page are my own.

This book goes out to anyone who, at one time or another in their lives, finds themselves somewhere outside the range of normal. Who says normal is so desirable, anyway?