being thrown from the track and the oncoming train. She remembers it feeling like an electric shock, the same type you would feel if you were to foolishly put a knife in a toaster for half a second, which she’d already done in her so-far-short life. It was that little shock that brought her back to real time.
Wren remembers the sound of that train speeding past her a moment later as she sat on the dirt, now breathless, mere metres away. She finally heard the train’s whistle and engine. She gasps even today, knowing that she’d have been squished if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of that bright light, and the force that pushed her off the track. She remembers feeling the light checking on her once again, to make sure she was safe, before it disappeared. Then the wind carried Raven’s voice to her, and Wren ran into the bush toward the sound of her sister calling. Wren was saved. By light.
On that day there was some kind of shift between two worlds, and for a few moments in time one of them stood still. That day on the tracks Wren acquired a special gift of knowing, which is how she has since been able to tell the moods of people, or to know things about them without them sharing any information, without even saying a word.
Arrival
Wren still thinks about that moment she saw the bright light. She doesn’t know if it’s a real memory. Did it really happen that way or was it just something someone read to her once from a storybook? Maybe a scene from a movie she watched? Her questioning of her memory happens each time she sees a flash of light, which is pretty much a regular occurrence—especially on these days when magic has again come into her life.
Three decades have passed since that near-accident, and she’s done so much living since. Wren suspects she might be pregnant but doesn’t know for sure. Her period is quite late, but that can sometimes be due to stress, she knows. An appointment with her doctor isn’t scheduled until next week. Wren’s never been one to believe in the accuracy of a store-bought pregnancy test, so she will be patient.
In the meantime, she also looks forward to more excitement. Her sister will be visiting tomorrow. Raven is coming home. That’s why Wren is in a big grocery store in the city, picking up some items so the girls can cook and chat and carry on as they always do when they find themselves together. They cook, they eat, they laugh—and so much more goes on in between. Magic.
Wren is reminded of the light when she sees a young girl shoplifting at the store. The youth looks to be no older than twelve, wearing an oversized, grey bunny hug. Wren saw her put some beef jerky into the big front pocket of the sweater. Her first instinct is to tell someone, but she looks at the girl closely, intuiting something. She can tell this teen isn’t stealing on a dare, or as a bad habit.
She’s doing it because she’s hungry, Wren assures herself. It’s like she is able to read the girl’s thoughts. Wren examines a soft light that seems to be following the girl: light blue and hovering over her as if to protect. At that, Wren’s instinct is to remain silent and carry on with her own business. That girl needs food, she tells herself, and I will not be the one to deny her something so basic. Wren dismisses the concern and pushes her cart to another aisle.
As she walks by the frozen foods section of the grocery store, Wren wants nothing more than to pick up a large frozen turkey. It’ll have to wait for some other time when we have a family, she muses, smiling and patting her belly. Someday soon, she’ll let her husband in on the secret she has been keeping. She chooses the Butterball stuffed turkey breast.
She places the frozen half-bird in the cart among a few other items that she’d selected: a bagged salad, some baby potatoes, potato chips, chip dip, a can of Spam and readymade gravy packets. She’ll stoke the outdoor food smoker in the morning once the bird is thawed. By the time Raven is expected to arrive, it’ll be ready.
“That’ll be $49.87,” the cashier tells Wren, without making eye contact. The clerk checks her long, red fingernails while Wren reaches into her wallet for some twenty-dollar bills.
Sheesh, I have hardly enough cash left for a nice bottle of wine with dinner, Wren thinks while counting how many bills are still in her wallet. No matter, she assures herself. It’s not like I plan on drinking anyway.
But Raven likes a nice bottle of Malbec, so that’s what Wren will pick up before making her way out of the city. She misses her sister’s smile, their thorough and frank discussions, and she can hardly wait for the two of them to get on their bikes once back at the farmhouse. They’ll let the wind run through their long hair as they pedal along the bike path near the lake, just being outdoors, like they always did when they were girls.
Wren hands over the cash to the waiting cashier. Out in the parking lot, while settling her groceries in the hatch of her small Nissan Versa, Wren finds herself offering prayers of gratitude. The twins have done well for themselves even though the odds growing up were against them.
Raven practises family law with a firm in Calgary. She was recruited even before writing her bar exam. Wren has travelled in another direction, choosing instead to express her creative spirit, completing her bachelor’s degree in Fine Arts from the University of Regina. Her dedication earned Wren a place on the dean’s list. She now specializes in pottery, creating what look more like sculptures.
The unique designs have attracted many commissions, allowing Wren to make a living as an artist. It’s a career so many in her youth assured her couldn’t be possible. “Be reasonable,” her high school volleyball coach would say, “and choose something more practical.” He’d suggest that Wren follow her sister into law or become a teacher, social worker or administrative assistant. “It isn’t easy for girls like you to make a difference. Besides,” he’d add, “no one makes a living as an artist. You will starve.” He was wrong.
Wren couldn’t stop smiling. This time tomorrow, she’ll be slowly stewing up some wild cranberries. She’d had them shipped, by air, from Robertson’s Trading Post in La Ronge. Nothing like wild cranberries to excite the taste buds. And they only grow in the north. The first time she’d tasted them was a couple of years ago when she travelled up there to facilitate a pottery workshop. The flavour has stayed with her since. Along with the turkey and wild cranberries, Wren knows that her sister will prepare her world-famous potato salad. Sharing recipes and blending flavours—it’s what they’ve always done, adding up to everything in the world being right, just because they are together.
“I wonder if I should tell her the news?” Wren mutters to herself as she comes to a stop at the red light at the corner of Albert Street and 9th Avenue North, on her way out of the City of Regina toward her home in the Qu’Appelle Valley.
Wren wants to tell her she might be pregnant because she knows Raven needs to be reminded that there is still good in this world. It’s news that might help Raven balance out the stress that’s been happening at her work. In recent phone conversations, Raven has told Wren that a daily deluge of sadness, heartbreak and loss of hope has been causing her to lose sleep. Raven has taken on a case representing a Blackfoot family that is desperate to persuade police to reopen a missing person’s case. Their daughter, just sixteen, disappeared two years ago while walking home from the rink one night following hockey practice.
“But there has been misstep after misstep in every area,” Raven explained. “Police not properly investigating. The Crown not presenting evidence. The family left behind feels like they are being victimized over and over again. No answers, just jargon. No one seems to care. Like it’s normal. Like no one cares about our girls.”
Raven says their case has led her to others. She’s been meeting with other mothers who’ve also lost daughters. “It’s unbearable to sit and listen as they sob uncontrollably, recounting stories of sexual exploitation
