Bird Lake Moon Read Online Free PDF

the twelve. More mysterious. Sugar stuck to his sweaty finger; he licked it off without really tasting it. He crumpled the bag and held it in his fist.
    As he rose to leave, two things caught his attention: his initials he’d carved into the railing the other day and a pair of swimming goggles neatly placed on the edge of the stoop. He picked up the goggles and ran toward his grandparents’. There was dew on the weedy grass, and he slipped twice but didn’t fall.
    When he reached the tangle of lilacs, he stopped. Camouflaged, he couldn’t help casting a glance back, then glancing all around. His heart was drumming and his throat had gone dry. The lilacs, the flowers, were long past their prime, brown, like clusters of scorched popcorn. He debated snapping off a handful and adding them to his creation but decided against it. He could use them later.
    He wondered what would happen next.
    Everything was still, but in a strange way, as if he were looking and feeling through a filter.
    He had started something in motion.
    Thrilling.
    The car didn’t come back and didn’t come back, and Mitch grew tired of waiting. But he knew that the intruders weren’t gone for good: Their neon yellow kayak was lying on its side against the bushes near the birdbath like a giant electric banana, and several windows on both floors of the house had been left open.
    Mitch’s stomach rumbled, and he realized that he was hungry. He’d been moving furtively about the yard from spot to spot, places where he could see but not be seen. He decided to go inside to check out the refrigerator. He crossed the lawn and was rounding the corner of his grandparents’ house when the telephone rang. Its muffled shrillness sounded out of place to him. At first the ringing seemed faraway, even dreamlike, a distant warning, not of his concern, and then he suddenly snapped into a new level of awareness. A deep, icy feeling clutched his stomach, and he was certain, absolutely certain, that it was his father calling. He raced along the garden, took the steps two at a time, and burst into the kitchen, as though he had been reeled in on a line.
    Cherry met him just inside the entryway, her arm extended, the phone in her hand. An offering. “It’s for you,” she said. “The phone’s portable, of course,” she added. “But stay near the base or the reception gets fuzzy. I’ll leave so you can have some privacy.”
    With lifted eyebrows and wide eyes, Mitch took the phone. He spread his feet slightly and braced himself. After Cherry had left the room, he said, “Hello?” in a stiff, tentative voice.
    â€œHey, Mitch, it’s Dad.”
    I knew it . “Oh, hi.”
    â€œHi.” A pause. “I miss you.”
    Whose fault is that? “Yeah. I miss you, too. Do—do you—” He hesitated. “Do you want to talk to Mom?”
    â€œI want to talk to you.”
    Silence stretched between them.
    Mitch’s father cleared his throat, “I want to take you out for dinner tonight. We’ll go to that good hamburger place you like. Or wherever you want. Your choice. I’ll pick you up around five.”
    â€œI’ll ask Mom.”
    â€œI already did. We talked about it last night. She’s okay with it.”
    â€œShe didn’t tell me.”
    â€œ I wanted to tell you.”
    â€œOh.” What else did you talk about? “So is Mom going, too?”
    â€œNo, just the two of us. And bring your football. We can toss it around the parking lot.” Another pause, “I’ll honk for you. I’ll wait in the car.”
    â€œNow do you want to talk to Mom?” Please say yes .
    Mitch’s father expelled a breath that seemed to have an edge and go on forever. “No,” he finally said. His voice had dropped to a loud whisper. “No need to.”
    Mitch sucked on his swollen lip, replaying his father’s modest, measured