That evening I tried re-reading Thackeray’s Vanity Fair but I couldn’t concentrate.* * * * * * * *It was obvious I had to bring my obsession under control and put my life back on track. So I cleaned the flat, shopped, cooked meals and consigned portions of them to the freezer, went to local football matches with friends and then to the pub after the final whistle, cleared my backlog of editing, and polished two more short stories for publication. On a dry day I swept the leaves from the pavement and the back yard, chatting to neighbours. Those humdrum activities enabled me to put the undead memories of Laura back into their fireproof caskets and forget about Mandy. Well, not quite ‘forget’. I kept checking my inbox to see whether she’d e-mailed again. She hadn’t. Kelvin Marker sent me a message, though. He and Margaret were worried about me. He didn’t say it in so many words, but his inquiry left no doubt about their concern (his, at least). I was simultaneously touched and irritated.. .they were learning from a neighbor, a woman who I was sure was gay, to organize and drive Norwegian draft horses, to pull logs from the woods with sleds and horse teams...One day I expected to see her come home chewing tobacco, but she spared me that.That is where the story of Colie, my eighteen-year-old granddaughter, Sadie, and their friend Jessica begins...Colie had a half-sister, sixteen years older, my daughter, from my first marriage. Sharon was a complete grown-up, more than her dad, had a doctorate in clinical psychology, had passed every exam she had ever attempted, always at the top of any class she was in. She was uncomfortable cracking a smile or and had yet to get the knack of administering a proper hug. She called herself a ther****t. She administered a program for the needs and support of mentally ill people with alcoholism and d**g problems in the maritime provinces. She was living in Newfoundland with her mother, a place where the climate and her personality were as.
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