Nobody Cries at Bingo by Dawn Dumont

Saskatchewan I was normal. Weight like real estate was just a matter of location.

T HE B EAVER D AM
    S HANE AND D YLAN WERE G ERRY AND R ICHARD’S foster kids. Geraldine and Richard needed boys because they were ranchers. Nobody told me this; I figured it out for myself. Richard was a real live cowboy who looked after the reserve’s cows.
    We met the boys outside Geraldine’s house. In a rare burst of extroversion, Mom had driven us over to Geraldine’s house to visit. “I hear she has some foster kids about your own age,” she said as she pulled into their yard.
    â€œSo? Who cares?” I said under my breath, annoyed that I’d been dragged away from my books.
    â€œWhat are foster kids?” asked Celeste, who was forever curious.
    Mom explained. “They can’t live with their own mom and dad so Geraldine and Richard took them in. They even got separated from their brothers and sisters.”
    Celeste and I exchanged shocked looks.
    Our own family had survived a rickety time a few years before when money problems had forced Mom to split us up. Celeste and Dave got sent to our Uncle Johnny’s house on the reserve while Tabitha and I were sent to our Auntie Bunny’s in the valley. Mom had stayed at the boarding school where she worked looking after other people’s children. Our separation had lasted only a couple of weeks until she found a place for all of us to live. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to us and we were still wary.
    â€œWhere is their family?” I asked.
    Mom shrugged. “Who knows?”
    I made a face at her behind her head. She did not understand the importance of solving other people’s problems, especially kids’. If a child needed something, it was an adult’s responsibility to get it immediately. These boys needed their brothers and their sisters and their mom . . . probably not their dad . . . and they needed them now!
    â€œI’m not discussing this with you,” Mom said. “It’s none of our business.”
    Geraldine and Richard lived about ten minutes away from us, high on a hill. Their house was perfectly situated with views of the country from every window. Their driveway went all around the house in a way that would have driven my mom crazy. She said it was a lazy way of avoiding backing up and proper parking; I could tell that it saved a lot of time.
    Their house had a special surprise. Just behind it was a long road that led to stables and a few corrals. Down in the corral we could see horses pulling at bales. Right next to the house there were two towering stacks of bales. We could barely take our eyes off them as Mom ushered us into Geraldine’s tiny kitchen.
    Once inside, Geraldine just as quickly swept us out the door. “The boys are out there somewhere. Go meet them.”
    Obedient and silent, Celeste, David and I walked outside. We were bundled up in coats and scarves with socks on our hands because there was still snow on the ground. We had recently moved from town where we had spent a lot of time playing indoors. As a result we were unfamiliar with making fun by ourselves or using what Sesame Street called our imaginations.
    â€œWhat should we do?” asked Celeste.
    David plopped himself into the gravel and began making truck noises with a rock.
    â€œI know I’m not doing that,” I replied, impatient as usual with my brother’s lack of creativity. “Maybe we could go down to where the horses are and ride them?”
    Celeste looked doubtful. “They look pretty big. And we’ve never ridden horses before.”
    â€œYou guys are such chickens,” I declared. And then I sat down on the steps. (I immediately lost interest in my plans if they weren’t enthusiastically supported or if I was nervous about carrying them out.)
    Celeste and I stared up at the stacks of bales that loomed two storeys high beside us.
    â€œHow many bales you think is in