Three Bird Summer Read Online Free PDF Page B

said.
    “Grandma, I’m twelve,” I said.
    Grandma’s lips pressed together in a flat line. She looked that way a lot — just kind of annoyed with everything. There were frown lines between her brows that had formed permanent creases. I tried to remember the last time I’d seen her smile.
    “You wash up the dishes,” she said now. “I’m going to turn in.”
    “Already?” I asked. This time of year, it could be light for another hour. It hardly seemed like time to go to bed, even for an old lady.
    “I like to read awhile,” she said. She stood up and set her cup down next to the sink. “You need anything else?”
    “Nope,” I said.
    “Good night, then,” she said, making her way back through the living room. “Don’t forget to turn off all the lights when you go to bed.”
    “I won’t,” I said.
    After she left, I stayed sitting, absorbing my new freedom. I’d never been the last one awake at the cabin. I’d never had a chance to feel alone. Maybe I really could stay up till midnight every night that Mom was away.
    I got up and filled a bowl with a heap of chocolate ice cream, then went out on the deck to eat it. A motorboat bumped across the lake, and a bird called out a sad two-note song from the pine trees. Grandma would know what kind of bird it was. I’d ask her in the morning.
    Thinking of Grandma reminded me that I had dishes to do. I went back inside and filled the yellow tub in the sink with sudsy water, then slid our plates and cups and silverware inside. Grandma didn’t have a dishwasher at the cabin, and we’d been using the same tin plates and ceramic mugs my whole life. Probably Mom’s whole life, too.
    Washing dishes wasn’t so bad when there were only two people eating pancakes. Two plates, two cups, two forks, and a batter bowl. Then I was done. I rinsed everything off and placed it on the drying rack. When we had a crowd, someone always dried the dishes by hand, but I couldn’t see any reason for that now.
    It was still only eight thirty. I tried calling my dad, but he didn’t pick up. When the phone rang a few minutes later, I assumed it was him calling back.
    “Hi,” I said.
    “Adam, are you surviving?” It was Mom.
    “We’re great,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.
    “Did you get a good dinner?” she asked.
    “Yep,” I said, deciding it wouldn’t be wise to mention the pancakes.
    “Good. Well, I’m here. I made it to town in time for tea with some friends.”
    She paused, but I didn’t say anything.
    “Heather and Julie from my old office are here,” she continued, “and a college friend named Anne Marie. She hasn’t changed a bit, even though she’s gotten married and had three children. Including twins! I don’t know how some people stay looking so young.”
    I stared out the window at the green trees, their colors getting even richer in the fading light.
    “So where’s Grandma?” Mom asked.
    “She turned in,” I said.
    “Already?”
    “She’s fine. She had a book to read. It’s no big deal.”
    “What did you two do today?”
    “The usual,” I said. “I paddled solo for a while.” I pictured myself paddling the length of the lake, as steady as a loon, and hoped that’s what Mom was picturing, too. “We’re fine, Mom.”
    “Well, good. You’ll call if there’s any trouble?”
    “There won’t be,” I said.
    “OK. Good night, then, sweetie.”
    “G’night.”
    After we hung up, I looked at a couple of ancient
National Geographic
s I found on the bookshelf and then walked down to the dock in the fading light. Grandma’s dad, my great-grandfather, had chosen his lakefront property so he’d have the best view of the sunset over the lake. It must have been fun being alive when you could still make choices like that — when every lake wasn’t overrun with people who had already claimed the best spots.
    Standing on the dock, I could see the smallest lines of red and purple at the horizon as the water became gunmetal