A Summer to Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

book that was going to change the whole history of literature."
    That broke us both up. The book that was going to change the whole history of literature was lying in stacks all over my father's desk, on the floor, in at least a hundred crumpled sheets of typing paper in the big wastebasket, and in two pages that he had made into paper airplanes and sailed across the room. We laughed and laughed.

    When I was able to stop laughing, I remembered something that I had wanted to tell my father. "You know, last month, when I visited Will, I took his picture."
    "Mmmmm?"
    "He was sitting in his kitchen, smoking his pipe and looking out the window, and talking. I shot a whole roll. And you know, Dad, his eyes are so bright, and his face is so alive, so full of memories and thoughts. He's interested in everything. I thought of that when you said Loony Willie."
    "Could I see the pictures?"
    I felt a little silly. "Well, I haven't been able to develop them yet, Dad. I can't use the darkroom at school because I have to catch the early bus to get home. It's just that I
remember
his face looking like that when I photographed him."
    My father sat up straight in his chair very suddenly. "Meg," he said, "I have a
great ideal
" He sounded like a little boy. Once Mom told Molly and me that she didn't mind not having sons, because often Dad is like a little boy, and now I could see exactly what she meant. He looked as if he were ten years old, on a Saturday morning, with an exciting and probably impossible project in mind.

    "Let's build a darkroom!" he said.
    I could hardly believe it. "
Here?
" I asked.
    "Why not? Now look, I don't know anything about photography. You'll be the expert consultant. But I
do
know how to build. And I need a little vacation from writing. Could I do it in a week?"
    "Sure, I think so."
    "What would you need?"
    "A space, first of all."
    "How about that little storeroom in the passageway between the house and the barn? That's big enough, isn't it?"
    "Sure. But it's too cold, Dad."
    "Aha. You're not thinking, Consultant. We need a heater." He turned to his desk, found a fresh sheet of paper, and wrote, "1. Heater." My father loves to make lists. "What next?"
    "Let's see. There are already shelves in there. But I'd need a counter top of some sort." He wrote that down.
    "And special lights. They're called safelights. You know, so you won't expose the photographic paper accidentally."
    "No problem. There's electricity out there. What else? You'll need lots of equipment, won't you? If you're going to have a darkroom, it might as well be the best darkroom around."
    I sighed. I could already tell what the problem was going to be. But, as I said, my father loves making lists. What the heck. I started telling him everything a darkroom would need: an enlarger, a timer, trays, chemicals, paper, developing tanks, special thermometers, filters, a focuser. The list grew very long and he started on a second sheet of paper. It was kind of fun, listing it, even though I knew it was just a dream. It was a dream I'd had for a long time, one that I'd never told anyone.

    "Where can you get this kind of stuff?" he asked.
    I went to my room, picked out one of my photography magazines, and brought it back. We looked through the ads in the back pages: New York. California. Boston.
    "Boston," he said triumphantly. "Terrific. I have to go down there to see my publisher anyway; might as well do it this week." He wrote down the name and address of the company. "Now. How much is all of this going to cost?"
    I started to laugh, even though I didn't really feel like laughing. It was so typical of my father, that he didn't think of the obvious problem till last. We looked through the Boston company's price list, wrote the prices on my father's paper, and finally added them up. His face fell. Good thing I'd realized all along it was a dream; that made it less disappointing. Poor Dad; he'd thought it was real, 36
and it took him by surprise that it