Chapter 1

“It’s a kind of cruel joke. If I know God, and I think I do, he is playing games with my head - for lack of other amusement. Maybe he’s made some kind of sadistic bet with Satan, and I’m the new Job. If I’m wrong, then tell me, if you can: why else would he make it so beautiful today? What other reason is there for a sky to be so perfectly blue? Furthermore, the sun is far too yellow for its own good, and the trees are too many shades of green. Every lake we pass by has a golden crescent beach, like some northern paradise, and every one of them is calling to me, tempting me to lay myself down on the sand, to let myself become part of the picture and for once, just to be happy. It is a terrible, terrible cruelty indeed.”
Jesse lifted her eyes and her pen from the half-filled page to look through the dirty, rain-stained window. The outside world rushed by at 100 kilometres an hour, leaving hardly enough time to say hello and goodbye to each scene. The bus was her prison.
She sighed without realizing it. Usually she loved this trip north, which marked the beginning of every summer. It was all so familiar - the lakes, the trees, the rocks, everything - year after year of making this journey had planted them firmly in her memory. But never before had the sky been so crisp and clear. The clouds were more often thick and low, darkening the forest colour of the evergreens and only occasionally allowing the sun to peek through. Not today, though; she could feel the freshness and warmth of the day even from inside the air-conditioned bus.
Once again she bent over the journal lying open on her knee.
“Part of me is glad for the sun. It makes everything seem alive - even me. Almost. Oh, it is so hard.”
Thoughtfully, she stared for a moment at the back of the seat in front of her, pen automatically tapping her lower lip, before continuing.
“Why is it I’ve been given sunshine, this year, of all years? Any other summer I could have rejoiced in it so innocently. I would have loved it so much, then.”
She really did want to enjoy this day, and this summer. She fought to push the cloud back, to some corner inside herself where it could be invisible, if only for a little while. That was something in itself, the wanting to be happy. It had been a long time. It must be something in the air, memories of carefree days spent on buses like this.
“I will be happy,” she whispered under her breath, and leaned back into the seat she had woken up in just a little while ago. She tried to rest, to let the lines of concentration melt from her forehead, and to ease the tension in her muscles; but relaxation eluded her. Her body was cramped and her mind was full. There was nothing to do except turn again to the window, and try to lose herself in the picture. Try not to think so much.
Minutes later the bus turned into a familiar rest stop for breakfast. Taking her backpack along, Jesse followed the line of her fellow passengers anxious to stretch their legs, and looked around her. They were almost there. As she breathed in she knew she had been right about the air: it already smelled cleaner than it had at the last stop. It was a delicious smell, like mountains, trees, soil and rain. It was the purest smell in the world.
After walking around a bit to work the knots out of her muscles, she automatically started to head toward the restaurant, then realized that she wasn’t hungry. She switched directions and aimed instead for the payphone at the opposite end of the building. She would phone her parents, even if it was a little early for a Sunday. It was always reassuring to hear their voices after a night spent driving farther and farther away from them. Leaving was the hardest part. She always cried.

The call left her inexplicably weary. Whether it churned up a fresh longing for home or some other feeling, when she boarded the bus once again she found herself yawning. Soon her eyes closed, and she was home again. She saw her parents standing on the sidewalk in front of their house, in slippers, waving goodbye with their arms around each others’ waists. It was the first time her older sister had driven them north, and the front seat was loaded with sandwiches, bottles of frozen water and their combined comprehensive cd collection. Then it was night: she was walking home from choir practice at church, one foot after the other on the cement sidewalk, gazing at the millions of stars above that made her seem so small, and struck her as looking like little diamond pins stuck in a God-sized pin cushion. A gust of wind blew her hair back and she squeezed her eyes shut. She shivered, tucked one arm around herself and grasped at the top of her jean jacket where it was missing a button...
She lurched forward suddenly. With a nervous, almost hunted look in her eyes she searched the bus for something... something. What was wrong? She looked all around her, but nothing unusual presented itself. The other passengers looked as unenthusiastic as ever, the bus driver was still humming to himself, and there were no other vehicles in sight. She must have been dreaming, but what about? No, she didn’t want to remember after all. She leaned back in her seat.

It was 11:00 am when the bus pulled in to a Husky station on the highway. As she stood in the parking lot surrounded by her luggage, she realized just how deserted the place felt. There were no other buildings visible; although she knew there were houses nearby, they were hidden by bush. The only signs of life were the gas station and the highway, and one lone, red dirt road leading off it a few yards to the left. Little by little she brought her belongings to the side of that dirt road. Then she sat down on a suitcase, her guitar in her lap.
She made a pretty picture sitting there, to the Husky patrons who cared to look. Her light brown hair, which usually hung neat and straight down to her shoulder blades, was blown crazily by the wind and dust. She was comfortable in loose jeans, runners and a t-shirt, a wide hemp bracelet on her right wrist her only ornament, and became almost a part of the landscape. Her fingers drummed expectantly on her guitar case, the only sign of impatience. She was almost there.
Presently, a rusty station wagon turned onto the road off the highway and stopped. A door opened, and after a few words the girl climbed in the back seat, lugging only the guitar in after her. As the tires rolled once again they kicked up clouds of dust behind them, covering the rest of her bags with a thin red film.