Falling From Grace Read Online Free Page B

Her lower lip trembled. “They said they’d have lots of room for us.” She pointed at her pack. “I have sleeping bags.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” Paul said quickly. “We’ll manage.”
    I raised my eyebrows and cleared my throat. Paul ignored me.
    â€œHow?” I demanded. Paul and I slept in two lightweight backpacking tents. “If you think I’m shar—”
    â€œWe’ll figure it out,” he interrupted.
    â€œDid you bring food?” I shifted my laptop to a stump and stepped out from behind the log to face them. Rainbow’s eyes widened, her mouth opened in a perfect O, and she gawked at me until her mother noticed and tugged on her sweater.
    Mary shook her head, cheeks growing redder with each question. “They . . .”
    â€œ. . . said they’d provide food too?” I finished her sentence. “They told you lots of things. What did they tell you about this protest?”
    Mary smoothed the baby’s fine hair with the tip of a finger. I strained to hear the woman’s soft voice. “A man handed us a leaflet outside the library. It said the logging company is cutting the last big trees.” She turned to Rainbow. “Do you still have it, honey? This was Rainbow’s idea. To come and help.”
    The child reached into the pocket of her jacket, pulled out a crumpled pamphlet, and held it out to Paul with a grubby hand. The photograph on the front page of the cheap photocopied brochure showed the massive trunk of a Douglas-fir encircled by a ring of people. The caption read: “Save Big Mama and the Ancient Giants.” The inside text described the imminent clear-cutting of the upper valley, a surprise move by the forest company, licensed by the government without public notice. The group called itself the Ancient Forest Coalition.
    Paul and I exchanged a troubled look.
    â€œYou must be mistaken”—I pushed away a mounting uncertainty—“We haven’t seen any group.”
    Paul handed the pamphlet back to the little girl. “We’ll help you find them tomorrow.”
    Dinner with Mary and her children tried my patience. When Paul handed Rainbow her bowl of canned tuna, rice, and cheese, she crossed her arms, pointed her nose in the air, and announced, “We don’t eat other animals. We’re vegetarian.” Paul cooked a new pot of our precious rice and served it with cheese and rehydrated vegetables. My shoulders ached with irritation, our meals planned down to the number of slices of cheese allowed per person per meal. The leftover tuna casserole would moulder in a garbage bag suspended in a tree or in the back of the car away from prowling animals until we managed to drive to town for supplies. I needn’t have worried though, Paul wolfed it down, apologizing to Mary and Rainbow for his barbarous ways as he licked the last of the sticky tuna off the spoon.
    We finished dinner in the dark. I lit the kerosene lantern and heated water for dishes on the camp stove. The orange glow of Paul’s headlamp shone through the translucent wall of his tent, where he played peek-a-boo in a sleeping bag with a delighted Cedar. Their silhouettes danced like puppets on the pale green nylon, Paul’s gear scattered on the ground outside the tent. I sloshed the bowls and cutlery around in a pot of water and biodegradable soap and slapped them on a log to dry. I didn’t dare to ask him where he planned to sleep. The car? A head too short for his six-foot frame. His bivy sack? The air smelled of rain.
    A shadow fell across my arm and I jumped. Rainbow, her finger in her mouth, stared at me out of dark pupils colourless in the glow of the lamp.
    â€œDon’t ever sneak up on me again,” I growled. “You scared the shit out of me.”
    Rainbow removed her finger and twirled a lock of hair around it. “You sweared.”
    â€œIf you don’t go away, I’ll swear