Whiteout

by Vicki Delany

  “Joanna, this is my granddaughter, Tiffany Jordan. Tiffany, this is Joanna. She has kindly agreed to teach you a bit about computers, dear. That’s very nice of her, isn’t it?” Maude beamed.

  Tiffany grunted.

  “I won’t be staying, I have some errands to run in town. I’ll let you two get to know each other. I’ll pick you up in an hour. How does that sound, dear?”

  Tiffany grunted again. Maude took that as agreement for she turned and bustled down the stairs waving good-bye the entire way to the car.

  Joanna and Tiffany stood at the door and watched as Maude backed out of the driveway. Joanna sighed, “Come in.”

  Tiffany grunted for the third time and shrugged her shoulders as she walked into the cabin. She showed no interest in her surroundings, just plopped herself down on the couch to gaze intently at her nails.

  Joanna sighed again. “For starters why don’t you tell me what you know already. So I have some idea of where to start.”

  “I don’t know nothing.”

  “You don’t know anything about computers?”

  “No.”

  “But haven’t you taken some computers in school?”

  “That stupid country hick school? They’ve only got a couple of real old things. From the dark ages. But they think their computers are soooo special.” Tiffany rummaged in her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  “Please don’t smoke. Not in my house.”

  The teenager shrugged and stuffed the pack into her bag.

  “Even an older computer has many of the features of newer models,” Joanna said through gritted teeth. “You can still learn a lot on them.”

  “Well, they don’t let me near them.”

  “Why not?”

  The girl admired her nails. “‘Cause I told them that I didn’t want to use their stupid computers. So they said, ‘Fine, don’t then.’ So I don’t. My school in Toronto, they had good computers and lots of them.”

  “Why don’t you tell the school that you would like to be allowed to use the computers again. Your grandma shouldn’t have to pay for private lessons if you could be doing the same at school.”

  Tiffany looked directly at Joanna for the first time since her arrival. “I’m not going to tell them anything. I hate them all there. My grandma doesn’t have to pay for me to come here. I told her I didn’t want to come. Computers are for losers. I’m not a loser.”

  Joanna groaned inwardly. She wondered if she could be paid enough to deal with this angry child.

  “Nevertheless, you’re here now. Come over and sit by me and we can begin. But first take off your coat.”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes at the ceiling but dragged a chair over to the desk and shrugged out of her coat. She slouched in the chair, legs straight out, arms hanging at her sides.

  “To begin with, you have to sit up straight to type. Can you type?”

  “No.”

  “My children all took typing. Keyboarding they call it in the schools now. Didn’t you have to take it?”

  “Yea, but I failed.”

  Joanna was not surprised. “There is no point in starting any of the software packages if you can’t even type yet. So I think that first I will have to teach you. I have a typing tutorial program in here somewhere. Move the mouse to where it says, ‘Start.’ That’s right. That pulls up all the functions you will need. Move the mouse up here to ‘Programs’ and that will open another menu. Now choose ‘Mrs. Beeton’s Typing Tutorial.’ You choose by clicking the left mouse button again.”

  “Have you got any games on this thing?”

  “Yes, I have games.”

  “Can I play them?”

  “No, certainly not. You’re here to learn some skills, not play games. First let me tell you what kind of computer this is…”

  “Not interested.”

  “Oh, fine. Just follow the instructions in the typing tutorial as they come up on the screen.”

  Tiffany poked at the keys lazily for about five minutes. Then she stood up suddenly. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Past the kitchen, to the left.”

  The girl was gone for a long time. When she returned it was noticeable that she had reapplied her makeup.

  “I don’t think your grandma wants to pay me for my time while you fix your makeup, you know.”

  Tiffany shrugged. Joanna was getting tired of that shrug. It was a sharp, very painful reminder of her own troubled teenager.

  “So, she has lots of money. She can afford it. She sure doesn’t spend any of it on me.” She wandered casually around the living room, looking at things. She stopped by the table with the photographs and picked up the picture of Wendy. “Is this your daughter?”

  “Yes it is.”

  She put Wendy’s photo back onto the table and picked up the next one. “And your son?”

  “Yes.”

  Then she chose the photo of Alexis.

  “Who’s this?”

  “My other daughter.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Alexis.” Joanna rose to her feet, her fists were clenched at her sides and she was trying to breathe steadily. “Put the picture down, please, and come back to work.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Why doesn’t she live with you?”

  A cold fist closed over Joanna’s heart. Tiffany had crossed the line into uncomfortable territory. “Put that picture down now.”

  “‘Course I can see why she wouldn’t want to live here. This town is such a dump. Everyone here is a loser. Alexis is lucky she doesn’t have to live here.”

  Joanna rushed forward to grab the picture out of Tiffany’s hand. The girl moved to snatch it back but instead knocked it flying across the room to fall to the floor with a crash. The sound of breaking glass echoed throughout the small room.

  Joanna gasped and fell to her knees. She gently placed the broken frame to one side and frantically picked up the shards of glass.

  Tiffany had the grace to sound embarrassed. “Gosh, I’m sorry. You can buy another frame anywhere.”

  “Look,” Joanna said through clenched teeth. “You don’t want to be here and I don’t want you here. So I think you had better go.”

  “But it’s not time yet.” The girl shifted anxiously from foot to foot.

  “Good-bye. You can wait for your grandmother on the road. Or better yet, walk home. Tell her that you’re not interested in learning and I don’t want to waste any of my time on you.” Joanna sat back on her haunches and glared at the teenager. “Now get out.”

  Tiffany grabbed her coat and struggled to put it on. A large logo of the Chicago Bulls was featured prominently on the back. “Shit, lady I can see why your kids don’t live with you. Lighten up. It’s only a picture frame. I’m not interested in learning about your fucking computer anyway.” She slammed the door on the way out, rattling the windowpanes.

  Joanna sunk to the floor and carefully brushed broken glass out of the frame. She sat there for a long time rocking the picture in her arms as large silent tears crept down her cheeks.

  Chapter 5

  “Yoo hoo, anybody home!”

  “Just a minute. Hold on, I’ll be right there.” Joanna rushed out of her bedroom pulling on her robe and trying to flatten her unruly bed-head of curls. To her surprise Nancy Miller, the grocery store clerk, stood smiling at the porch door. She wore a faux-fur coat that was the absolute latest in fashion in the 1970s, with a matching hat. Her face was ruddy from the cold but she was beaming brightly. She towered over the old man who stood stone-faced at her side, barely reaching her fake-furred shoulder. He was dressed in working man’s clothes, well worn but clean, a cloth cap with little pull-down ear covers protecting his head from the cold. A scruffy gray beard covered most of his face. He was so thin he appeared almost skeletal beside the larger-than-life Nancy.

  “Bit early for a visit, isn’t it?” Joanna asked.

  “Is it?” Nancy waved
her hands. “Sorry if we woke you. But I’m on my way into work and thought it would be a good time to stop by.” She paused expectantly.

  Damned if I’m going to offer uninvited guests coffee at seven AM, Joanna thought. She stood firmly in the doorway and waited for Nancy to continue.

  “This here is Luke Snelgrove. Luke lives further up the road. I know that you’re out here by yourself like, and I thought that maybe Luke could help out a bit. You know, shovel snow, repair things, chop wood. That sort of thing.”

  Luke nodded. No expression crossed his face.

  “Chop wood,” Joanna echoed. “Please come in. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  They stepped eagerly into the cabin. Joanna went into the kitchen to put on the coffeepot while Nancy and Luke removed their boots and hung their coats on the wooden coat stand by the door. Luke sat at the table immediately but Nancy moved through the living room, eyeing everything.

  “My, you’ve done this place up nice. Oh, here is your computer. Is it ever fancy. Is must be one of them PCs.”

  “Yes. It’s a Pentium Three with 633 megahertz, 256 megabytes of memory and a 20 GIG hard drive. It has a CD ROM and a 56 K Baud Modem.” The instant the words were out of her mouth Joanna wished she could call them back. It was a condescending remark.

  Nancy didn’t seem to mind. She waved her hand. “Oh my, lots of numbers. Is this where you do your writing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would love to read something that you write some day. Maybe I could make some suggestions.”

  Joanna caught herself before she made another smart remark. “Perhaps you could. Coffee’s ready.”

  She placed coffee mugs on the table along with a plate of bran muffins.

  “This is wonderful coffee,” Nancy said. She took a bit of muffin. “Umm, great muffin. Did you make it yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  Nancy helped herself to another. “Now, I know that Luke would be happy to do any sort of odd job that you might have around the place. You can be sure he will charge you a fair price and do real good work.”

  “I need some wood chopped,” Joanna said. “The stack under the cabin is being used up faster than I thought it would and I was getting worried about having to chop it all myself.”

  Luke sipped at his coffee and nodded. He did not take a muffin.

  “Would you like to start today, Luke?” Nancy asked.

  Luke nodded.

  Joanna smiled awkwardly. Couldn’t he talk?

  “How about if I just leave you here ‘cause I have to be getting to work now. You can walk home when you’re finished, can’t you?” Nancy said.

  Luke nodded again.

  After a third muffin, Nancy pushed herself away from the table. Joanna walked her to the door. While Nancy struggled with coat, hat, mittens and scarf Joanna whispered, “Can’t Luke talk?”

  Nancy looked at her in surprise, “‘Course he can talk. He just ain’t had nothing to say, yet. Bye now. Bye Luke.”

  Luke waved.

  The morning passed quickly as Joanna typed up letters to computer industry magazines outlining proposals for articles she would like to write and surfed the internet looking for contract positions. She enjoyed working to the steady thud of the axe chewing up logs outside. She sat struggling over the proper wording of one of her letters for several moments, then got up for another cup of coffee while she thought about it.

  She stood at the kitchen window waiting for the coffee filter to do its magic and watched Luke hard at work in the back. For such a little, old fellow he was remarkably energetic.

  She opened the back door to call Luke in for a coffee. His thanks were so effusive that she was glad she remembered her manners.

  Again they sat down at the table-this time Luke accepted a muffin.

  “Have you lived around here for long?” Joanna asked.

  “Whole life,” Luke replied. Without Nancy to speak for him Luke’s conversation apparently consisted of the shortest possible sentences.

  “Are you related to Nancy?”

  “Sister’s daughter.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes while Joanna sipped her coffee and tried desperately to think of something else to say.

  Finally, Luke cleared his throat. “People in town are saying that you’re gonna teach Maude Mitchell’s granddaughter to use the computer. That right?”

  “Well, I’m not sure about that.”

  “Stay away from her. That girl is no good. She’ll do nothing but break her old grandma’s heart.”

  Joanna was taken aback at the vehemence in his voice. “A few computer skills might do her some good.”

  “Nothing’ll do that girl any good but time in the county jail,” Luke said. “Just the look of her is enough to tell you what kind of girl she is.”

  “Lots of teenagers dress like that these days, or worse. You should see them in Toronto.” Unexpectedly she found herself coming to Tiffany’s defense.

  “Well this ain’t Toronto. And that kind don’t belong here. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be getting to work now.” He slammed the back door on the way out.

  Joanna remained at the table, stunned. What could Maude Mitchell’s granddaughter have done to so rouse Luke’s anger? Whatever it was, it was none of her business. Joanna resolved to keep as far away from Tiffany Jordan as she could.

  Mid-November and another snowfall blanketed the landscape. This one was heavy and laid a white carpet across the countryside that would probably last until spring.

  A few small contracts had come in, mostly from her contacts in the computer world. The work kept Joanna busy and her head above water-just-but she desperately hoped for a big job that would promise some steady income. Fred Blanchard continued to put her off. Work was apparently going very badly on the big job, several of the top programmers had quit all at once and they were scrambling to find replacements. But earlier in the week he had called to set up a meeting with the powers-that-be to discuss the documentation and manuals as well as additions to the company’s web pages.

  Joanna filled the bird feeder with seed and scattered a handful of leftovers onto the ground for the squirrels and anyone else who might be in need of a snack. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of movement in the woods. She held her breath and turned her head, trying not to make a sound. She hoped that it was the little fox she had seen only that once and had been looking out for ever since. She gasped in astonishment. A deer stood at the edge of the forest, sniffing the air carefully, not moving. Joanna stood in awe, watching the beautiful animal as she checked her surroundings for signs of danger. Then, with a flash of dappled brown and white rump, she dashed across the path that led down to the lake and was gone.

  Joanna moved her head in a bow of good-bye, picked up the snow shovel and trudged through heavy drifts up the hill to her car. Because the radio had predicted “light snow of two to five centimeters,” she parked the car close to the road last night so as not to have to shovel out the whole drive. This was no two to five centimeters, more like twenty-five, and certainly not light. The snow was thick and wet. Every shovel-full was an effort. She stopped frequently, placing a hand on her aching back and stretching backward to work out some of the kinks. A fierce wind was all that remained of the storm. The cold sliced through Joanna’s mittens and snow pants and sent its cold fingers searching out openings in her scarf. Her fingers and toes were freezing and as she worked she gradually lost contact with the end of her nose.

  At long last the top of the driveway was clear and she was digging out the car itself when she heard the groan of the snowplow making its slow progress down the road. The driver waved at her as he passed and she lifted her shovel in reply. Then she bent once again to dig though the packed snow deposited by the plow. When last in town Joanna noticed several flyers posted on telephone poles and on the grocery store bulletin board advertising shoveling or plowing of driveways, but she thought she would save money by doing it herself. She leaned on
her shovel and wiped her brow with her mittens. She would reconsider the expense.

  At long last Joanna was able to stand back and admire her handiwork. Lifting her shovel once more she fought her way back through the snow to the cabin.

  She picked up the phone and trailed its long cord into the kitchen. She put the kettle on for a cup of hot chocolate and punched in Wendy’s number.

  “It’s stopped snowing, dear. I’m going to have a quick dinner and then I’ll be leaving.”

  “Oh, Mom, it will be so late by the time you get here. Perhaps you should cancel your appointment and come down another time.”

  “I can’t do that, Wendy. They have been so hesitant to come to a decision about this that I have to strike while the iron is hot. I’ll be fine. If it’s all right with you I’ll stay an extra night so we can spend some time together before I have to come back.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “See you soon then, dear. Say hello to Robert for me.”

  “Uh, Robert’s not here right now. He, uh, had to go away for a couple of days.”

  Very interesting, Joanna thought as she hung up the phone. Wendy’s strong, confident voice changed tone as soon as her husband was mentioned.

  Joanna fried two eggs and heated a can of beans. Time for a quick bite and then be on her way. The meeting with Fred was scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning in Toronto. Her plans were to leave for Toronto early this morning, have dinner with Wendy at one of their favorite restaurants and spend the night at the apartment, but the snowstorm had put an end to that. Now she would be driving through the winter’s night, arrive late at Wendy’s, tired and harassed, and then be irritable for her interview in the morning.

  After her meal, gulped standing up over the kitchen sink, she headed out the door, power suit tucked into her suitcase. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Luke’s battered old cap resting on the windowsill. The last time he was here, he placed it on the table while she counted out his pay, and left it behind. Joanna hesitated; she intended to take it back to him but never got around to it. Now she was going away for a couple of days. His cupboard was probably full of identical caps all lined up in a neat little row; if he wanted it he would have come back for it, wouldn’t he? She started to close the front door behind her, then ran back in and grabbed the hat. It would only take a couple of minutes to drop it off. She locked the cabin door and struggled up the hill with the heavy suitcase, the cap under her arm. The night was inky black. Thick storm clouds still covered the sky, blocking out any light from moon or stars.