Glancing sideways at Baba Janet, who sat imperturbably knitting at one of her endless afghan squares, she said, “Sylvie, honey, is there someplace we can be private?”

Taken aback, Sylvie had no idea what to say. How long had she been gone? Would her room still be available to her? How many people were staying here now? She didn’t want to risk barging in on somebody else’s private space. She might have been gone for weeks, for all she knew. For a long moment, her thoughts whirled in confusion.

“Mom,” she said, after a lengthy pause which had become uncomfortable, “You might think this is a weird question, but… what’s the date today?”

“It’s the sixth, Sylvie. Why do you ask?”

“Uh… the sixth of what month?”

“What? Sylvie, have you been taking drugs?” Her mother’s voice slid toward that edge of maternal worry mixed with authority that Sylvie hated.

“No! I haven’t, I swear. Please, would you just tell me what the full date is? I really need to know.” She cast about for some sort of rationale. “It’s, ah, sort of a game, I guess, but it’s important to me.”

Looking stonily at Sylvie, Adele said in a freezing tone, “All right, Sylvie. I don’t like the game, but I’ll play along. It is the sixth of August. Does that help in some way?”

The sixth of August… why, that was the very same day she and Father James had left on their walk, the day of the August Full Moon. So she was back before she had left? How was that even possible? Her head pounded. She would think about that later.

“Oh… okay,” she said. “Thanks, Mom. I did have a good reason for asking, but… I really can’t explain, though. I’m sorry. We can go into my room if you want.”

As they rose and moved toward the room that Sylvie used, she remembered to ask, “Hey, Mom, how did you find me here, anyways?”

“Give me a moment, honey. I’ll get to it. It’s a long story, and I want to start from the beginning.” Adele’s voice shook slightly. Sylvie worried that she might start to cry again, though she could feel her Snowpepper self calmly accepting the possibility. It felt strange, being two personalities at once, but she hoped she would get used to it.

As she led her mother through the cramped kitchen to get to the hallway where her bedroom was, Sylvie/Snowpepper was struck by the otherworldly beauty of this very ordinary and rather dingy apartment. The sun’s rays, slanting through the dirty windows and igniting the floating motes in the air, took her breath away.

She began to understand Father James’ attitude better. Everything was so much more vivid after a visit to the other side of things. Even a cracked teacup filled with the milky dregs of someone’s morning Earl Grey struck her as exotically fascinating. She wanted to wander over and stare into the contents of the cup. She wanted to swirl the cold milky tea and watch the patterns that would form. Reaching her hand out, she stroked the dirty peeling wallpaper as she passed, fingering the shreds, thrilling at the texture, gritty on one side and smooth on the other.

She noticed her mom’s tightened lips and anxious eyes, watching her. Of course she worries that I’m on drugs, she realized with a pang. I’m acting like a stoned-out hippie. I have to pull myself in! Her Snowpepper part protested, but Sylvie overrode her. Listen, Snow, we need to act normal if we’re going to survive in the world now, she explained. People who act like they’re stoned get locked up in mental institutions. You wouldn’t like that, trust me. Reluctantly, Snowpepper acquiesced.

Keeping her eyes firmly pointed in front of her, Sylvie led her mother into the bedroom, disciplining her impulse to stare at the interesting forms and colours it contained. She offered Adele the sole seat in the room, a hard plastic chair that looked like it had begun life in a schoolroom, while she sat on the bed.

“Okay, Mom,” she said. “What is it that you want to tell me?”

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