The Children Read Online Free PDF

big, pleading puppy dog eyes.
    â€œNo,” I said. “Let’s stay here where it’s warm.” I was tracing this cowlick he has on the left side of his forehead, where the hair turns into a little swirl. I love touching it.
    â€œC’mon,” Everett said, and a few minutes later, we were running across the beach, the three dogs racing alongside. I screamed from the cold when we dove into the lake.
    Our spot on the lake is a little inlet. It’s a cove protected on one side by our house and yard, and on the other by some wooded land that Whit deeded over to the town’s land trust years ago. We often swim nude. Nobody can see us from the road, and in the evenings, there’s usually not anybody out on the water. And when I say “we” swim nude out there, I mean all of us. Whit and Joan used to infuriate Sally and me with their nude strolls down to the lake after dinner. “Well, don’t look at us if we’re so hideous,” Joan would say, laughing when we would scream at them to cover up. Later, when we were in high school, it was a tradition among our friends to take off our clothes and jump in the lake when we had been partying.
    There’s a float that’s anchored about twenty yards off the beach. Everett and I liked to swim out to that float, and when the weather was warm, we’d sometimes carry on again there, the float rocking us, sometimes gifting us with splinters. But that night, we just lay there on the dock, stargazing. It was the first night of the new moon—you could see the bright little crescent resting in the arms of the old moon. The stars were bright against the glossy black sky, and we whispered their names.
    I always look for Polaris first. That’s the North Star. Everett looks for Sirius, the Dog Star, which is the brightest star. Most people think the North Star is the brightest, but Sirius is brighter. Whit taught us that. Polaris is the most important if you’re lost, though. It’s due north; it’s a good star to know. Whit taught us how to identify all the constellations when we were kids.
    â€œFirst find Polaris—it’s right there at the tip of the tail of the Little Dipper. Now look east,” he’d say, and we’d follow him across the Milky Way, shouting out the names of the stars.
    Osiris! Capella! Vega!
    It became a contest, when we were kids, to see who could find the most stars and constellations. So, that night of our first summer swim, Everett and I were lying on our backs, taking in the astral landscape, when we heard the dogs barking. We watched them race from the beach to the driveway, blustering friendly woofs, tails wagging.
    â€œIs that Joan?” Everett asked. “Why’s she back so soon?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “It’s Spin’s Jeep.”
    We saw the headlights go off and heard the driver’s door open. I jumped back in the water. Yes, I’m comfortable swimming nude with Sally or Everett, but not in front of my stepbrothers. Everett dove in after me and grabbed me playfully from behind, cupping my breasts and kissing my neck.
    â€œI’ll go get you a towel,” he said.
    â€œHurry, it’s getting cold,” I said.
    I watched him swim to the beach and I smiled at his muscular back, and, well, the rest of him from behind. You really can’t help but smile. Everett doesn’t work out. He’s never been a gym guy, but he’s always been in great shape. In addition to the dog training, he sometimes helps his uncle, who’s a stonemason, building patios and stone walls. He also took up rowing not long after Whit died. Whit had an old wooden rowing scull left over from his Harvard days, and Everett rowed every morning, in the early dawn, when the lake was still smooth. I watched him walk across the beach, wave at Spin’s car, and call out to him. Then I noticed that Snacks was barking more angrily at the car, and I saw Everett