Of Ice and Hopitals

Chapter 21

November 1st, 2008

Eleanor was helping ALis cook dinner; the smell of roasted chicken and grilled broccoli and zucchinis was everywhere in the cosy little cottage. There was nothing like walking into a home with homemade food cooking in the oven.

The sky was pitch black. Had been for a solid hour and a half. Winter was right around the corner. Was just about knocking at their door with its icicle hands and freezing breath.

Soon, there would be a blanket of snow covering the fallen leaves and decaying grass. Burying the dead matter only to replace it with a fresh coat of white powder, giving the land a new type of life altogether.

There would be ski days followed by the traditional hot chocolates filled to the brim with mini marshmallows, which they would drink in front of the crackling fireplace in the living room. Quilts and woollen throw sprawled over their shoulders.

She was peeling the potatoes she would use to make her famous mashed potatoes, irregular strips of earthy brown skin coming off the produce in twirls before falling down into the double sink.

Eleanor found it to be a relaxing process. Did not have to think about the movements she needed to do with her hands while peeling. Just did it, the potato rolling into her palm as she applied pressure with her thumb over the peeler.

Her gaze was pulled to the closed door of her oldest daughter's bedroom as she finished peeling the miniature mountain of starchy tubers. The door had been closed for most of the day. And the day before.

Lines creased her forehead as the blonde-haired woman sucked her bottom lip in, hands still moving.

Something was off with Lisa. Weighing on her mind. Eleanor could tell.

The high school senior did not need to say anything for her mother to know. Feel it in her gut.

Lisa was not one to hide in her room, to barricade herself within four walls.

The seventeen-year-old was usually up on her feet doing something. Walking the dog. Entertaining her little sister. Hiking around or even reading in the hammock tied between the willow trees in their backyard.

The only times she was in her room was when she slept or did her homework.

If something was lowering her spirits, Eleanor wanted to know. Needed to. Wanted to make it better. Make things okay.

Without notice, the woman dropped her potatoes and pivoted on herself until she was facing her husband, who was pumping a few droplets of water on the chicken as it cooked in the oven to make sure it stayed juicy.

She nudged his calf with her slipper-clad foot, the palms of her hands resting on the thick wooden counter as she waited for ALis to turn around.

"What is it, El?" ALis asked, one or two beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, a result of having his face right in the heat radiating off the double oven. Once again, he had his damn dishcloth draped purposefully on his left shoulder.

"Your daughter has been holing herself up in her room for the entire day. Something's wrong," Eleanor said, matter-of-factly.

The baker sighed gently, nodding in agreement as he cupped his neck with his hand. "I know. I tried to get her to talk but you know how she gets when she's in a bad place in her head."

Eleanor arched her eyebrow, crossing her arms on her chest. "So, you just gave up?"

ALis turned away for the few seconds it took him to stir the marinated cranberries that were slowly cooking in the saucepan. Gave it a few twirls with the wooden spoon before turning back to his wife again. "You know we can't force her to talk, honey. She'll just block us out even more," he said, hands in his jean pockets.