Chapter 4 Before He Wakes

Charlotte

Charlie wakes me up early. He’s crouched beside my bed, rubbing his hands together and blowing warm air into them like that might actually do something. His breath fogs in the cold air of the room. “Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of here before he wakes up.” I blink myself awake and roll out of bed. The cold hits immediately, completely unforgiving. For a second, I stand there, teeth clenched, trying to remember if the house was always this cold or if I’ve just forgotten what warmth feels like. I swear the inside of this place is colder than the snow outside. I pull on the warmest clothes I own. Which, honestly, is not saying much. A thin jumper, my least worn jeans, socks with holes I pretend not to notice. I sweep my blonde hair into a ponytail and tug my shoes on quietly, wincing when the floor creaks under my weight.

Dad is sprawled halfway up the stairs, exactly where he collapsed last night. His mouth is open, one arm twisted at an odd angle. I step over him carefully, holding my breath because that noise alone might wake him. Charlie’s already at the door, sandwich in hand. The cold rushes in as soon as he opens it. He takes a bite and then pauses, holding out half to me without saying anything. I shake my head quickly. “Nah, I’m good. I had two last night.” It’s a lie, but sometimes you have to lie to protect those you love. H nods anyway and keeps eating, while I will my stomach to stay quiet as we trudge down the drive with snow crunching under our boots. The sky is still pale, that soft grey-blue that comes just before morning properly starts.

It takes us an hour to walk into town. The snow slows everything down, turning streets into uneven paths and sidewalks into suggestions. By the time we reach the main street, my toes are numb, and my thighs burn, but the shops are waking up, and that helps. The second-hand store is easy to spot. It has a faded sign and windows cluttered with mismatched mannequins and boxes of shoes stacked in a way that they might fall at any second. Inside, it smells like dust and old fabric. We split up without talking. Charlie heads straight for anything hockey-related, while I go hunting for uniforms. I find two complete sets folded together on a low rack. Same colour. Same logo. My chest lifts like I’ve just seen something rare. Then I spot a hockey jersey hanging half-hidden behind a rack of coats. I lift it free and turn, holding it up. “Hey. Are these the school colours?” Charlie looks over, and his green eyes light up instantly. “Yes. Oh, you are too good, Lotty.” His excitement fades just a little. “But do we have enough money for it?” I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. I count every last coin and note from my previous job. I know exactly how much is there before I finish, but I nod anyway. “Yeah,” I say. “We’ve got plenty. Don’t worry about it.” It takes everything—every cent. I don’t tell him that. He doesn’t need to know. He needs the jersey. At the counter, I hand over the uniforms and the cash. The woman barely looks up as she rings it through. When we step back outside, Charlie pulls the jersey on over his jacket like it’s already part of him. “I’m going to head to the school,” he says. “Make sure our enrolments went through. Maybe see about getting on the team.” I reach up and brush his auburn curls back from his face. “You show them what you can do, and I know you’ll get in.” He grins and heads off.

I stand there for a second, watching him go, before pulling my bag around and straightening the stack of resumes inside. The main street is quiet. Most people are already at work or in school. I smooth down my sweater and start walking. I try the bakery first. The windows are fogged, and the smell inside is warm and sweet. The woman behind the counter looks me over once, eyes flicking from my shoes to my jumper. “Oh, sorry,” she says. “We’re not looking for anyone right now.” The supermarket is next, and I get the same look and the same answer. The café is worse. The man barely lets me finish my sentence. By midday, my optimism has thinned to something brittle. I head to the opposite end of town, past the nicer shops and into the stretch that feels forgotten. The diner sits there low and wide with a flickering sign. Thankfully, inside it’s warm. An older woman with salt-and-pepper hair looks up from behind the counter. Her eyes go from the resume in my hand to my face, and she smiles. “Looking for a job, dear?” I walk toward her and hold out the paper. “Actually, yeah. I’m still in school for one more year, but I can work late, start early, and weekends always.” She doesn’t even glance at the resume. “You’re hired. Can you start now?”

“Now?” She nods. “It’s not often we get newcomers to Wellington. I’ve been short-staffed for months, and I could use a hand. I can pay cash after the day.” Cash. My empty wallet feels heavier all of a sudden. I could get dinner. Maybe even lunch for tomorrow. “Okay,” I say, tucking the resume away. “Let’s do it then.” She grins. “That’s the spirit. I’m Sophie. Welcome to Nanna’s Diner.” She hands me an apron and points me toward the sink.

By the time the lunch rush starts, my feet already ache, but I don’t mind. Plates clatter. Coffee steams. People talk. I move between tables, the counter, and the kitchen, learning fast and keeping my head down. When my shift finally ends, Sophie presses folded notes into my hand. I thank her twice. Outside, the sky is already darkening again. I walk home slower, the exhaustion settling deep into my bones. I might be tired, cold and hungry, but nothing is going to stop me from trying out that ice tonight.