Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island by Sandy Frances Duncan, George Szanto Page A

trivet, reached back to the counter—
    Alana stood quickly. “Let me help.” She grabbed the salad bowl and brought it to the table. Linda added bread, butter, grated parmesan.
    â€œThis looks great,” Kyra said, picking up the pasta server. “Alfredo?”
    â€œClam alfredo,” Tim informed her. “We collected the clams yesterday.”
    Clattering of dishes and cutlery, passing of bread and salad, munching.
    â€œWhat’s your first competition this fall, Shane?” Alana asked.
    Her tone was sprightly, as if she’d practiced the question in her head. Noel looked up. Her face was flushed.
    Shane gave her a shadow of the smile his family knew from competitions. “September 24th. An Olympic qualifying event.”
    â€œThat’s exciting! Where will it be?”
    Kyra wished Alana would tone the worship down a bit. But maybe she had. Maybe this was mild. She hadn’t leapt onto his lap. Yet.
    Shane kept his smile on her a moment longer: rewarding the fan. “Germany. If I go.” He forked another mouthful of alfredo into his mouth.
    Kyra saw a glance pass between his parents.
    â€œWhaddya mean if ?” Tim’s voice squeaked and he coughed.
    Stuffing in a last mouthful, Shane pushed back his chair and left the table. His footsteps banged up the stairs.
    Linda called, “Shane!”
    Tim said, “Woooweee!”
    â€œTimothy. Behave.”
    â€œIt’s Shane who’s gotta behave,” said Tim.
    Jason said to Noel, Kyra and Alana, “I apologize for him. But he’ll apologize to you too.”
    â€œJase, no need. We were all eighteen once and—”
    â€œEighteen’s plenty old to be civil. He goes out on the ice and he smiles at the whole world.” Jason glared. “So we know he knows how to smile.”
    Tim said, “He thinks he’s the great Shane. What he really is is the great Shame.” He giggled.
    Alana tried not to. She covered her mouth. Tim caught her eye. She made an effort to sit straight and look serious. She rolled the two rings on her right thumb.
    â€œWhatever else he is, Tim, he’s a member of this family. And tonight it’s his turn to do the dishes.” To the rest, Linda said, “Have more. There’s still dessert.”
    â€œLet him miss it. Let him be hungry.” Tim drank his water.
    â€œThis is delicious, Linda.” Kyra helped herself to more salad and bread. She passed the alfredo to Alana, who shook her head and passed it to Noel.
    â€œMaybe I shouldn’t have asked him about his next competition. I’m sorry.”
    â€œIt’s not your fault,” Jason reassured her. “Shane knows better.”
    The rest of the meal passed in strained small talk. Linda brought strawberries from the fridge, ice cream from the freezer. They finished. Linda stood. “Jason, please tell him he has to be down here and finish his supper.”
    Alana, getting up, said, “I could do the dishes.” She reached for a dessert plate.
    Linda glanced at Alana’s ringed fingers. “Thank you, but this is Shane’s responsibility. He’ll clear, too. You three go to the den, that’d be best.”
    Jason got up. “I’ll get Shane.”
    The three guests stood and left the table. Tim followed them.
    Linda realized she felt more worry than anger. Even when he’d come home last Christmas, Shane had been easy to spend time with. Proud of his skating, of course. Though the terrible fall, that must have unnerved him. But he’d got up, and seemed okay. Still, this business of living mainly inside himself, acting as if no one else were around, this wasn’t her Shane. She’d already let herself wonder, could it be some form of depression? She worked occasionally with patients diagnosed as bipolar. Shane didn’t act like those people, but some symptoms were similar. Did it have anything to do with Derek’s beating, that