I was paralyzed on the top step, Minnie's hand in mine. “But,” Mama added.
“Watch out!” I said.
I did say that, but was it before or after Mama's foot was on the truck? Before or after the audible crack of ankle bone? Her leg flew up, hand grabbing for the orange rail, and her body jerked in a strange, whiplash turn so she was facing us. The fire truck clattered down the stairs as Minnie screamed. Mama's eyes and mouth were wide open. She seemed to pause, to look straight at me before flailing into a back dive. I yelled, absurdly, “Wait!” and there was a thud, a crack louder than any human head should ever make. Dad would draw diagrams, trying to figure it out. He sketched Mama's brain inside a stick-figure body flying backwards down a staircase, lines and equations indicating the velocity of the fall, the force of impact. He drew an arrow pointing at the front right of her forehead, sketched it over and over, perplexed.
Minnie stopped screaming, and it was strangely quiet. I was aware of rain against the door. On the bottom step, the plastic fire truck had landed upright and unharmed, and Mama's high heels pointed up the stairs at me, her left foot twisted at an unnatural angle. Usually, after an accident, Mama would swear at the top of her lungs, but this time she didn't make a sound. Her body slid backwards down the stairs as slowly and peacefully as a bag of sand.
I developed these characters and ideas throughout my master's degree at the University of New Brunswick, and I'm grateful to my mentors there, especially to John Ball for his guidance and for pushing me to send that first attempt out into the world. “The Guiding Light,” a story from a previous draft of this work, won the 2007 Fiddlehead fiction contest and appeared in the Spring 2007 issue of the magazine. The Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and the Canada Council for the Arts provided financial assistance during stages of writing this book. Laurel Boone, my editor, gently and expertly showed me how to turn a collection of ideas into a novel. I thank everyone at Goose Lane Editions for making me feel in such capable hands, especially Dawn Louwen, proofreader extraordinaire.
I am grateful to all the people who wittingly or unwittingly sparked ideas, those who provided essential details, and those who critiqued bits and pieces along the way. I owe a special debt to my constant first reader, Barbara Romanik, who read every word between these covers, along with many other words she wisely advised me to delete; my parents, David and Christina Lewis, and my sister, Chloe Lewis, for always telling me to write and never suggesting I do something more practical; my Oma, Mary van Embden, for many hours-long talks about everything from Dutch phrases to the depth of the ocean at a particular beach; and all my family for teaching me, from a young age, that the world is full of eccentric, loveable characters with mysterious pasts. Everything is easier with the love and support of Melissa Kehoe, Nomi Claire Lazar and Sarah Steele. And thanks to Jason Markusoff, for every little thing.