“So Andy is leaving for Portland today?” Paul asked, trying to sound non-chalant.

            “Yeah, why?” I countered.

            “No reason.”

            Right. The fact that Brad was already there had nothing to do with it. I wondered about Paul sometimes, wondered if I wasn’t the only member of the family with a secret. He dated a lot, but only during the summer, when Brad was home. He spent the rest of the year moping.

            “Andy said that he’ll be rooming with Brad on the road,” I volunteered, and Paul shrugged.

            “Good for him,” the hint of jealousy in his voice gave him away.

            “I may only be your little brother, Paul, but you can tell me stuff,” I said.

            “Oh, so now that you’re, what…14 and a few days old, you think you can nag me?” he snapped. “Don’t ask questions, Mike.”

            I didn’t ask him anything else.

            The year went by slowly; school was boring, only a formality I had to get out of the way before I could get back on the ice. Paul started visiting college, and by early December, he’d announced his intentions of going to university in the states—the University of Denver.

            Christmas came and brought Andy and Brad home, Andy having changed while he was gone. He’d shaved his head bald. Paul once again started going out every night, and the forced smiles and exaggerated laughter concerned me, although I refused to ask questions.

            New Years Day, 1995, was Andy’s last day in Edmonton before he had to go back to Portland. Despite my internal protests, I spent much of it with him. We ended up in my back yard, staring at the steadily falling snow.

            Unfortunately, I’d forgotten what a troublemaker he could be.

            A solidly packed snowball hit me square in the back, and when I spun around, another one caught me in the right thigh. “You’re going down,” I threatened, chasing after him. I made a loose ball of snow, tossing it in his direction. It caught him right at his neck, and he shrieked as the snow slipped under his shirt.

            “Dammit, Comrie! That’s cold!”

            He’d paused to brush the snow away, and I caught up with him. “Cold? Really? Who’d have guessed?” I teased, dumping another handful of snow over his head, then turned on my heel. He reached a foot out, and I tripped, falling to my knees.  “Whoa…wet…” I cried, trying to get up.

            “Wet? Really? Who’d have guessed?” he repeated mockingly, pulling back the seam of my turtleneck sweater, dropping snow down my bare back.

            I arched in a vain attempt to get away from the frigid dampness, then growled at him. I swung a foot around, taking out his legs so that he fell face-first to the ground. He rolled over quickly, but I draped myself haphazardly over him, holding his wrists tightly.

            “Stop, or else I’ll pack your boxers so full of snow that you’ll shrink to the size of a toothpick.”

            He arched an eyebrow, “As opposed to what, Mike?” he countered with a smirk.

            “Ugh, screw you,” I spat, rolling to lie next to him in the snow. It was cold, seeping into my jeans, but also a welcome relief from the acute awareness of the way he’d felt under me.

            I expected to see the same arrogant grin when I looked at him. Instead, he was watching me curiously. He didn’t ask any of the questions flickering in his eyes, but I could read the unspoken inquiries. Yes, I was fine. Yes, I missed my mother. No, I didn’t want Paul to go all the way to Colorado for school.

            “How were things in Portland?” I asked when I found a question that I didn’t want to answer. “Did you date much?”

            He shrugged, “Not really. I went out a few times, but nothing came of it. None of the girls interested me much.”

            “What about Isbister?”

            A shadow crossed his features for a moment, “What about him?” he asked, his voice pinched.

            “Does he date much?” I clarified, though his reaction had surprised me. Why was he so anxious?

            “Oh, same as me, I guess,” he answered. “We spend a lot of time there just hanging out.” He paused, then added, “You know, just watching TV or a movie or listening to music.”

            Still jumpy. I wondered what battle was being waged in his head. “Sound like fun,” I commented.

            “Yeah, fun. Exactly.”

            So now Andy was avoiding my questions. It was a strange reversal of roles, and I didn’t like it. I wanted to know what he was hiding.