There’s a snowstorm on the horizon, and it’s unclear if it’s going to come this way or not.

Jaxon watches TV and Mike takes a conference call. My grandmother and I go to the market to pick up groceries. I want to call Oliver, but by the time we’re home it’s late already, Jaxon’s lingering around, and my grandmother wants to cook with me. And how am I going to tell Oliver everything that’s happened in the last week? It feels impossible. So I text him, Sorry, let’s try tomorrow.

My grandmother shows me how to steam asparagus while I make a garlic soy marinade for the tofu. We listen to Mozart and she takes out a bottle of wine; I sneak a few sips straight from the bottle but feel tipsy almost immediately. By the time I plonk down onto the couch to join Jaxon for a movie, I’m not thinking about Oliver or my father carrying guns to the car— not at all.

The next morning Jaxon and I are up before Miriam.

‘Snowman?’ He looks out the window. ‘Check out the fresh powder! Have you ever made one?’

‘No, no more snow!’ I laugh, although it does sound fun. I’ve seen a million movies of people making snowmen, but freezing my fingers off again? Just no. ‘Where’s the museum we’re going to? Downtown again?’

‘Yeah. And we can check out a few of the back-alley galleries too.’

My grandmother appears, elegant as usual, and smacks a kiss on my cheek. She ties on a fresh apron—she must have brought a stash of her own—and together we make the vegan pancakes I told her about yesterday. Before I take a bite, I send a picture to Paula. She’ll be impressed.

Miriam tells me Mike isn’t coming; he has board papers to go through and a conference call later on.

‘Are you going out like that?’ My grandmother looks at Jaxon—and it’s true, he’s pretty dishevelled.

‘I can go home first and get clean clothes.’ He sniffs his armpits, making a horrified face.

‘Gross!’ I laugh as my grandmother turns away, unimpressed. I think Jaxon’s been wearing the same black T-shirt and hoodie for three days.

We take a taxi and ask the driver to stop at Jaxon’s house on the way to the museum. As we pull up, I see the postbox has been knocked over and there’s a truck parked on the lawn, totally missing the driveway.

‘My dad’s back,’ Jaxon says, flying out the taxi door and breaking into a jog.

‘Hold on,’ I say to Miriam. I run after him and catch him lingering by the front door.

It’s ajar and we go inside.

‘Dad?’

No answer.