As the chopper takes off, the four of us watch, squinting through the wind it has stirred up. It’s stronger than I would have thought, and I have to grab on to Finn and Mom to keep from flying off into the night with the helicopter.
“So here’s the plan,” Harvey says when the chopper is finally on its way. “We’ll convoy our way back to the highway. I’ll drive Dwayne’s rig and leave it in Winnipeg with the company he’s driving for. They can figure out how to get it to him. Finn, you drive our truck and pick me up. And ladies, you keep us steady through the middle.”
Mom nods. “Sounds good. The sooner we’re off this ice road, the happier I’ll be. My truck’s been sitting in one spot with its engine running way too long. Let’s get this parade moving.”
As we jog off to our trucks, we wave and call our goodbyes.
Mom pulls forward by a truck length and then sticks the semi back into neutral, while Harvey frees the nose of Dwayne’s rig from the snowbank and repositions the semi on the ice. A blast from his horn signals he’s ready, and he moves forward. Mom and Finn reply with horn blasts of their own and fall in behind him. Ten minutes later we’re off Round Lake and back on the snow road.
My frazzled nerves uncurl a bit. Not that the snow road isn’t treacherous too, but if it crumbles, we’re not going to end up at the bottom of a lake. We’ll merely be stuck in the middle of nowhere at the mercy of the elements and wild animals. Definitely the more preferable option.
“How far behind schedule are you?” I ask my mom. “Will you still be able to connect with the next shipment?”
“We were on Round Lake for over an hour. That means a bit less sleep, but I should be fine for tomorrow.” She smiles, but I can see the strain on her face. We still have a long drive ahead, and she’s already tired. Clearly, the situation with Dwayne has taken its toll. Suddenly I feel guilty. If I was spooked seeing Dwayne unconscious and helpless, my mother is ten times more rattled. I have a feeling it was me she imagined lying on the floor of the truck.
“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” I say.
“The paramedic said they’d let us know.”
I nod. Though I am concerned about Dwayne, I can’t stop thinking, That could have been me. From the day I was first diagnosed, part of me has been denying my condition. Stupid as it sounds, I’ve wanted to blame my mother—not like she made the diabetes happen, but that by making it the center of my life and forcing me to follow the rules to the letter, she’s made it worse. I don’t feel horrible, so how can I be sick? But seeing what happened to Dwayne, I think it’s finally starting to sink in. I feel okay, because my mom is on top of things. She doesn’t let a single thing slide. I didn’t realize how important that was until now. And with everything else she has on her plate, I’m starting to feel guilty about dumping that burden on her. I’m the one with diabetes, so it’s my job to deal with it. It’s time I faced up to that.
The winter road is closed two days later. Lucky for my mother, her next run is highway driving only.
This time, she lets me stay home by myself. I don’t even have to plead. In fact, she’s the one who suggests it. She leaves all the appropriate emergency numbers, phones me several times a day and arranges for Tina to check in on me, but otherwise I’m on my own. It’s only for three days, but it’s Mom showing faith in me, and me getting a chance to prove I deserve her trust.
Mom and Gran arrive home on the same day, and to my surprise, neither of them rushes to check my insulin and sugar-level readings. I am obviously still alive and well, and though I’m sure they’re curious, they don’t let on. I make dinner, setting the table extra special. I stick to Mom’s menus, but maybe because I’m the one doing the cooking, everything seems more appetizing. I can hardly wait to serve up my “masterpiece.”
The doorbell rings just as I’m about to do so.
“Company?” Mom asks.
Gran shrugs. “No one I know.”
“Don’t look at me,” I say. “I didn’t invite anyone.”
Mom and I open the front door together and blink in disbelief. Standing on our porch is Dwayne Bradley. Mom is first to shake off her surprise.
“Dwayne!” She opens the door wide and smiles. “Come in. Come in. It’s so good to see you back on your feet. You had us all pretty scared there for a while.”
He hangs his head sheepishly and shuffles inside. “Yeah. I’m really sorry about that. That’s why I came round. I got your address from your dispatcher. I hope that’s okay. I could’ve phoned or sent a card, but you guys saved my life. That’s huge, and I needed to thank you in person.” He offers us a nervous smile.
Mom squeezes his arm. “We’re just glad you’re up and about again. So come and sit down and tell us how you’re doing.” She pulls him into the living room. I follow behind and sit beside my grandmother.
“I’m a lot better,” Dwayne says. “I only found out I have diabetes a couple of months ago. I guess I didn’t want to believe it. I never really listened to the doctor or nurses at the clinic when they were explaining things. I figured if I took the insulin, that would be good enough.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Obviously it isn’t.”
“Well, now you know, and that’s the important thing,” Mom tells him. “You can’t expect to adapt to something like diabetes overnight. It takes time.”
I enter the conversation for the first time. “My mom’s right. I haven’t had diabetes long either—only about six months—and I’m still wrapping my head around it. What you need is a support system. The Diabetes Information Center is a great place to start. They help you understand what’s going on with your body, they regulate your medication, and they teach you how to make sense of your glucose readings. And they’re always there to answer any questions.”
He nods. “Yeah, since I got out of the hospital, I’ve been going there. They’ve already helped me a lot. I’m taking some time off driving, until I get a handle on things. My parents have been great. I’m back home with them for the time being.” He smiles and rolls his eyes. “My mom has made it her personal mission to see that I eat right.”
I lean forward and whisper behind my hand, “Moms are like that.”
Of course, Mom hears me, and we all laugh. “Hold on a minute,” she objects. “Who made dinner tonight? It wasn’t me.”
Dwayne instantly jumps to his feet. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I’m keeping you from your supper.”
“Yes, you are,” I agree, ignoring the disapproving glare from my mother. “And that’s not a good thing, since we diabetics need to eat regularly. That means you too, Dwayne, so you are officially invited to dinner. We can’t risk having you pass out again. I’ll set another place.”
Before Dwayne can argue, I jump up and head for the kitchen. Halfway there, I hear my phone ring. I spin around to retrieve it from the coffee table, but Mom already has it in her hand. She looks at the screen and then raises an eyebrow as she holds the phone out to me.
“It’s Finn,” she says. “Now where do you suppose he got your number?”
I shake my head and assume a puzzled expression. “Huh. I wonder.” But when I take the phone from my mom, I can’t help smiling.
“Katarina Mulholland,” Mom growls sternly.
I give her a peck on the cheek. “Love you, Mom.” Then I swing the phone up to my ear and race for the privacy of the kitchen.