Free Ice Storm by Penny Draper Page A

Hartley. Wow. Then she had a horrible thought. “How much insulin is in your snowbank?”
    Mrs. Hartley leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes. “Two more days worth.” Alice spent a minute taking in that little piece of information. Babysitting Mrs. Hartley was not going to be easy.
    Alice escaped to the kitchen, promising to make some hot tea. She needed to think. All of a sudden, her plans for dealing with the cold and the dark and the loneliness had changed. Now she had Mrs. Hartley, who couldn’t walk and was going to die in two days if Alice couldn’t get her more medicine. Unbelievable. Were pharmacies even open? Could she get to one if they were? And didn’t diabetics need special food? It wasn’t like her kitchen was offering a lot of choice.
    While Mrs. Hartley drank the tea, Alice asked her about the food thing. It wasn’t so bad after all; Mrs. Hartley could eat tinned spaghetti and baked beans and they had lots of that kind of stuff. Mrs. Hartley gave her a list of the other drugs she needed from her house and Alice collected them all up in a plastic bag. She also brought over some of the non-perishable food from Mrs. Hartley’s kitchen. So far, so good. They had a pretty good larder and Alice’s barbecuing skills were improving. After a couple more hot drinks, Alice was pretty sure she could move on from boiling water and actually cook something.
    They both napped after lunch. Alice left the tent flap open again. It seemed rude to zip the door shut with somebody else in the room. She woke to find Mrs. Hartley staring into the tent right at her. She could be really creepy sometimes. Alice glanced down at the nails. They were safely in Mrs. Hartley’s lap. Unfortunately, the old lady noticed the glance.
    “Worried I’m going to tickle you to death?” she said ominously.
    Alice’s jaw dropped. “You know that’s what the kids say about you?”
    “I’m not blind or deaf, girl. Course I know. Kept all of you off my property, didn’t it?”
    Alice didn’t know how to respond. “So you don’t like kids?”
    Mrs. Hartley didn’t answer. There was an uncomfortable silence. Alice decided to crank up the radio.
    Montréal is a photographer’s dream – the icy vistas are intensely beautiful. It is also being called a war zone. Today, thousands more head for shelters in Ontario and Québec after more freezing rain delays repair work and Hydro-Québec admits there can be no quick fix. Even Rideau Hall, the Governor-General’s home in Ottawa, has no power.

    Alice sighed and turned the radio off. Mrs. Hartley shot a look Alice’s way.
    “Does your Dad drink?”
    “What?!” Alice was shocked. “He doesn’t, but that’s none of your business!”
    “Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I want to know if you have any alcohol in the house.”
    “So you drink?” asked Alice belligerently.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” exploded Mrs. Hartley. “Stop being so prickly, girl! Just because you think I’m a monster doesn’t actually make me one! I’m worried about the toilets.”
    Alice just stared. This conversation was making no sense at all. Toilets? To her surprise, Mrs. Hartley’s lips began to quiver. In another moment she was smiling and after that came a great big belly laugh. Alice shifted from wondering about toilets to wondering how such a scrawny body could make so much noise. Maybe Mrs. Hartley was a full-on lunatic.
    “I got up to go to the bathroom while you were sleeping, girl,” said Mrs. Hartley between chuckles. “Lucky it wasn’t far away, because old ladies like me, well, we gotta go when we gotta go. I noticed your taps dripping. That’s smart.”
    Alice, still bewildered, said, “My Uncle Henri told me to do that.”
    “Whatever,” said Mrs. Hartley. “Toilets have to be protected from freezing too. You need to pour in some anti-freeze, if you’ve got it. If not, liquor will work as long as it has a high alcohol content.”
    “How does that stop them