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too serious,” said Dad.
    “No, it’s not. It’s just slowing things down a little. Frankly, I’m worried about Gran. She’s exhausted. It’s two bus transfers every time she goes to the hospital. I don’t mean that she doesn’t want to go,” she added quickly. “It’s just that she sounds so tired.”
    Dad slid Mom’s plate away and set down a bowl of tapioca. “Why don’t you fly down for the weekend?”
    Mom made a little humming noise. Robin could tell she was digging in her mind for complications.
    Dad steamed ahead. “I’m off tomorrow morning. I could take you to the airport in Kamloops first thing, and you could fly back on Monday.”
    “That might work,” said Mom.
    “Otherwise you’ll just sit here and worry.”
    “Can I go with you?” said April. “Please.”
    “You can’t!” said Robin instantly. “We’re staying overnight at the cabin on Saturday!”
    As soon as she said it, she realized how horrible it sounded. Like she didn’t care about Aunty Liz at all. And she did. “I mean—”
    April gave her a frozen look. Then she turned back to Mom. “Please, Aunty Jen. She’s my mother.”
    Mom glanced at Dad. He shook his head slightly. Mom said slowly, “Not this time, honey.”
    “ Please! ”
    “You just got here,” said Dad. “You’re just getting settled in at school.”
    “I’d only miss a few days. I could make it up.”
    “It’s not a good idea this time,” said Mom softly. She reached out for April’s hand. April pushed herself away from the table. With a small cry, she stood up and ran out of the room. A few seconds later, the computer-room door slammed.
    Mom gave Dad a drowning look. “ Are we being unfair?”
    “If April goes with you now, she won’t want to come back,” said Dad. “And that’s going to create a whole new set of problems.”
    Robin felt something cold and hard in her stomach.
    Molly’s eyes widened. “Why won’t she—?”
    “Shut up, Molly!” said Robin.
    “Hey!” said Dad. “Enough of that kind of talk, Robin!”
    “About this overnight at the cabin,” said Mom. “I’d feel better about it if I were here. I think the girls can wait until next week.”
    “ What? ” said Robin.
    “Agreed,” said Dad.
    The notes of April’s saxophone drifted through the house. Robin pushed back angry tears and stirred her tapioca slowly. She took a big, steadying breath.
    “It looks like fish eggs,” she said in a loud voice. “Now that’s gross.”

Chapter Eight
    Robin dug out some of her Christmas bubble bath and retreated to the tub with a book. Three pages into her chapter, she could sense Molly hovering outside the bathroom door.
    “Molly, scram.”
    “You promised you’d play Madeline tonight. Nobody ever plays Madeline—”
    “Ask April.”
    “She’s in her room, and she locked the door.”
    Robin squeezed a handful of bubbles and watched them seep between her fingers.
    “Pleeeeeease.”
    Robin made a huffing sound. “I want to read one whole chapter without being bugged.”
    “I’ll wait.”
    “Not there. I can hear you breathing.”
    “I’ll be in my room. But don’t forget.”
    Robin slid into Hatchet . It was great, about a boy who crashed an airplane in the wilderness. All he had was a hatchet his mom had given him, and he had to learn how to survive. Food, shelter, fire—easy problems. Robin sighed. She wouldn’t mind trading places with him right now.
    When the water was lukewarm and Robin’s fingers had wrinkled up like soft raisins, she remembered Molly. Guiltily she pulled the plug and got into her dressing gown.
    Molly’s bedroom door was three-quarters shut. “I’m here,” said Robin. “Sorry, Mol.”
    “Shh,” said Molly in a cross voice. She was bent over her blue dolls’ bed. “Visiting hours in the hospital are over. You’ll wake Aunty Liz.”
    Robin stared at the plastic doll tucked under a baby blanket. One eye was missing its eyelashes, the yellow hair was sparse in patches and the