Enright Family Collection Read Online Free PDF

August.” India nodded. “We’ll be ready to go in half an hour. Soon as I finish my breakfast and take a glance at the morning paper.”
    Corri looked up at her with wide brown eyes from the opposite side of the table. Without speaking she rose and repeated August’s activity at the sink, rinsing her plate, then her glass, before placing them both in the dishwasher that was one of August’s concessions to modern living in a house whose original section was close to three hundred years old. Without a backward glance, Corri moved like a zombie through the back door into the yard. From the breakfast-room window, August and India watched her as she climbed onto the swing Ry had made for her and hung over a branch of the enormous oak that stood like a sentinel in the far corner of the yard. Pulling against the ropes and pumping her little legs, she propelled herself ever higher, toward the sky.
    “I’m almost afraid that one of these days she’ll try to fly right off that swing,” Aunt August told India. “She is so filled with sadness, India, she doesn’t know what to do with it all.”
    “She is a very small girl who is being asked to cope with more than most adults could handle.” India stood up andlooked out the window. Corri’s head was tipped back as she sailed to and fro across the morning sky.
    “I think she is afraid we will send her away.”
    “Send her away? Why would we do that?”
    “We wouldn’t. We won’t. But I don’t know that she knows that.”
    “Well, before today is over,” India said, gathering her plate and her cup, “she will.”
    “What do you think, Corri, is this a good spot?” India shaded her eyes from the sun’s glare and dropped the picnic basket on the sand.
    “I guess,” Corri replied without enthusiasm.
    “Well then, here”—Indy tossed a corner of the old patched quilt in Corri’s direction—“help me to spread this out. … There, that’s fine. Perfect.”
    She placed the basket on one corner of the quilt, then knelt upon the worn, soft fabric.
    “This old quilt has seen a lot of sand in its day,” India told her. “It was our regular beach blanket. Mine and Ry’s.”
    She had decided they needed to speak of him, she and Corri, the sooner the better.
    “We used to have picnics just like this. Aunt August even packed us pretty near the same lunch.”
    Corri drew a circle in the sand with the toe of her sandal. “Why didn’t your mom?” Corri asked without looking up.
    “Why didn’t my mom what, sugar?”
    “Why didn’t your mom pack your picnic?”
    “My mother died when I was just a baby.”
    “Did your mommy drown too?”
    “No. She died in the hospital, a few days after an operation.”
    “Oh.” Corri pondered this for a few moments, then asked, “And then Aunt August took care of you?”
    “Yes. Aunt August was my father’s sister, and she loved us. Just like she loves you and takes care of you.”
    Corri appeared to reflect on this but offered no response.
    “Want to walk along the water with me?” India kicked off her sandals and took a few steps toward the bay.
    “I guess so.” Corri shrugged.
    India set out toward the shoreline, an unenthusiastic Corri trailing behind.
    “Oh, look, sea glass!” India bent to pick up the piece of wave-worn green glass. She handed it to Corri, who pocketed the offering without looking at it.
    “Here’s some mother of pearl.” India lifted the pale, opalescent shell from the water’s edge. “The inside of an oyster shell … they call it ‘mother of pearl’ because pearls grow inside of oysters.”
    “I know that,” Corri told her impatiently. “Ry told me.”
    “Did Ry used to walk on the beach with you?”
    Corri nodded, her face settling into a sad little mask.
    “What else did he tell you about the beach?”
    “Stuff.” She shrugged her small shoulders under a thin pink T-shirt.
    “Like what kind of stuff?” India persisted.
    “About different kinds of shells. I used to find