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All this wood. Worn cedar siding on the outer walls. Wood shingles stapled and glued to particle board in the entrance hall in the basement. Firewood piled up inside and outside. In the side porch. Against the living/dining room wall. Under the bathroom and main bedroom windows. And logs for next winter piled up at the end of the driveway. And finally, 49 acres of Upper Valley woodlot in a long wedge-like shape extending behind the house and to either side. Isadora is already hunched and pale having negotiated the 40 odd feet between the unheated green wooden garage and the front door. There´s a smell of woodsmoke and I gather father has been gamely keeping the fire going in honour of our arrival. I call out.

Father?
David looks at me.
He´s sleeping less. Very tired. He mutters looking tired himself now.
I thought you said they didn´t get the virus ..
Dr. Langlois said probably not. But she´s not absolutely sure.
Not sure if he got the Hantavirus??
His lungs are hardening ...
Is he at the hospital?? Here? Ottawa ... ?
David shakes his head as we head up the steps to the main floor.
No, he´s back again. He was in Renfrew two weeks ... I think.

I turn to look for Isadora. Here we are at last in Renfrew and I´ve been ignoring her. But she´s right behind us, listening intently. She asks,

Was that when you were in the hospital David?
At the end ... yes.

He gives his head a little shake like a silent mutter. And he looks at me. His eyes are direct. Then at Isa. As if looking for support. She reaches out and pats his arm maternally. He lowers his head a moment but then recovers. It must have been bad. We had spent most of the drive back home talking about how someone had hacked into my parents accounts. Fortunately, they only managed to get the spare cash which was fairly low since they were nearly fully invested. Mother had noticed the cash was missing at the branch and they had changed the password and the account numbers within an hour or so. But then again, it hadn´t been Kabe´s intention to empty the accounts. I don´t think. Although the cash came in handy he was actually looking for a safe resting place to enable him to launder his funds. And I´ll bet he regretted swiping a few thousand since it had closed off his access to those accounts. I had tried to remain concerned and suitably offended without giving anything away. Hopefully I had succeeded. As I fill the kettle while Isa gazes around the living/dining room and kitchen, I hear the toilet flush down the hall. That must be Mother bumping around in the bathroom. David has disappeared down the hall to see about Father, who´s likely napping. But then again, it´s not even noon. Too early for him to be napping. I fill the teapot and try to smile at Isa despite my fears.

The bathroom door opens and Mother appears in the hallway, walking in that increasingly wandering gait that makes me nervous. Is she still leading her aerobics class in Renfrew? I step towards her and gather her fit, bony frame in my arms. She hugs me hard.

Welcome back sweetheart.

Isadora is moved, but hovers a few feet away, uncertain. Mother turns to her and neither shaking her hand nor offering her a hug says,

Bienvenida Isadora

In her German sounding accent. Her Spanish has grown very rusty since we moved back to Canada. Back to Canada. When we were born there and Mother in Sweden. But that´s how we thought of our move to Canada. Back home. So we were gringos through and through. I nod at Isa and she reaches forward and embraces Mother saying,

Gracias Barbro.

Pronouncing the word almost perfectly. A shred of paranoia sticks inside me. Did she know her name before she met me? Impossible. Mother returns the embrace after a brief awkward pause. David returns down the hall. I notice it´s fairly cool inside the house. Did Mother try to add wood to the furnace. Is she having to deal with the furnace nowadays? I ask her.

Yes. I added some just now. I´m not sure if I did it right ...
That´s ok. I answer quickly. I like playing with the furnace.
Is Father awake?
As if in reply I hear his voice float down the hallway.
Hello? Is that you Allard?

We look at each other and then I lead her by the hand towards their bedroom. I notice she throws a quick glance towards my bedroom. We enter. Father is awake but not sitting up in bed quite as much as he used to. He looks pale and thinner amongst the pillows. Quite thin. I feel anger and guilt and a need to protect. He looks at me and says,

Mother was worried about you.

I try not to cry. I lean down and hug him, his grizzly stubble scratching my cheek but the strength in his arms is surprising. He was always a fighter. We disentangle and he turns to Isadora.

Bienvenido señorita he says with a touch of comedy but also sounding old fashioned and seignoral. She loves it.

Gracias señor Keeley! She leans down and kisses his cheek and Father smiles. His eyes are a clear blue, not the greenish gray shade of usual. That worries me as it reminds me of when his heart accelerated ( not a heart attack insisted the orthopedic surgeon at the Ottawa General ) due to an anticlotting agent. His eyes had been the same shade of blue. He was now nearing 90 and any change could be a dangerous indication. But he was tough, tougher than me. Isa hates that in me. She says I´m healthier and tougher than I allow and I should get over my neurotic physcosomatic reluctance to drink coffee and more than a glass of wine. I tell her to quit smoking when she complains like that. I hear the kettle whistling and then it stops. Mother must be filling the teapot. And the sounds of cutlery as well.

Father, we´re going to eat lunch I think.
Oh! The meatloaf is lovely!

He grins enthusiastically and I have to wipe my eyes again. I kiss his forehead and Isa tenderly kisses his cheek. David is sitting in Father´s easy chair reading the Citizen and we sit at the table rather than the counter. It´s been very cold this winter and the snow came early, staying on the ground from the first week of November. I didn´t notice any more of it than usual on the ground when we came in. Just the dry cold pushing in everywhere. It will take some getting used to for Isa. And immigration will be tricky but we are married after all. Stop it. We won´t be staying. In two weeks we´ll be back on a plane heading to Ezeiza and Diego will be waiting for us with his Ford Flex. Mother is trying her Spanish with Isa. They´re discussing berenjenas. Eggplants. She seems to be eating enthusiastically, but I wonder if she really finds the food a little heavy. Tomorrow we´ll go to the bank. We´ll have to manouvre carefully. I hope my story holds up. Maybe I should go alone. Isa looks at me as I chew thoughtfully. She knows exactly what I´m thinking. Is that good?