Rachel Bird

March 1, 2022
Foisted off on distant grandparents, an orphaned Vancouver teenager finds that she's not the only one nursing secrets and regrets. Readers may be forgiven for thinking they're in for a grim tale, as, even before it starts, 15-year-old Rachel and her mysteriously scarred 6-year-old sister, Jane, have lost their unstable single mom to a drug overdose and an uncle to an accident involving a hunting rifle. Citra has something more affirming in mind, though, and after depositing the two orphans with their grandparents on a run-down ranch so remote that cell service is iffy, she measures out mysteries and revelations while chronicling a summer of discoveries--some tragic, even gruesome, but others that give Rachel whole new visions of her mother, her family, and of her own life. Outdoorsy experiences work wonders on traumatized Jane, too, who joins a gentle old horse and an overexcitable dog as real scene-stealers in a supporting cast rich in nuanced, surprising characters of diverse ages (if not ethnicities, as all, except for one minor character identified as unspecified First Nations, are apparently White; a rain dance by Rachel and Jane unfortunately evokes Native stereotypes). Rachel arrives on the ranch eager to take the first chance to sneak back to Vancouver with her beloved little sister, but readers, particularly those able to catch subtle cues and read between lines, will understand how events and insights gradually transform her vision of the future. An unexpectedly buoyant tale of loss and healing. (Fiction. 12-16)

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