Under a Summer Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

already on her fourth,” Noah reported with his mouth full.
    “You’re keeping track?” Laney asked in surprise.
    “Yup,” Noah replied with a grin.
    “Laney,” Maddie said, leaning across the table, “you don’t have to put up with their abuse—just kick ’em under the table.”
    Laney smiled, and at the same moment, two muzzles nudged under her arms, nosing her plate and trying to sneak furtive licks.
    “Hey!” Asa admonished. The two Labs pulled their heads out from under Laney’s arms and gazed at him innocently. “Do you mean me?”
    “Yes—you!” Asa said in an exasperated voice. “You’d think you hadn’t eaten in a week!”
    “C’mere,” Maddie said, motioning to them. “I’m sorry, Laney. Please forgive them. They’re both spoiled rotten beggars.”
    “Nice,” Noah said with a hint of sarcasm as he shook his head. “You want her to forgive them, but kick us.”
    Maddie just laughed and took a sip of her coffee.
     
    After the breakfast dishes were washed and dried, Noah rolled his mountain bike out into the driveway and lifted Laney’s ten-speed off the back of her car, checked their tires, filled two water bottles, strapped beach towels onto the back of his bike, and told his mom they wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.
    It was another beautiful, blue sky August day, and as they rode down Ocean View Drive—a bumpy, weathered road whose view of the ocean had long been obscured by the gnarled pitch pine and scrub oak that thrived on the sandy, windswept peninsula—Laney took her hands off her handlebars and threw her arms up in the air. “Woo-hoooo!” she sang, sailing past Noah.
    Surprised and laughing, he sped up. “Excuse me, miss, but you’re not practicing proper bike safety.”
    “Oh, don’t be an old poop. . . .”
    “I’m not an old poop,” he protested, tentatively letting go of his handlebars.
    She looked over at him and grinned. “Now, give those underarms some air.”
    Noah made sure he had his balance and slowly lifted his arms.
    “Now shout, ‘Woo-hoooo!’ ” she commanded, bumping down the weatherworn road.
    “Woo-hoooo!” he called, laughing and feeling more alive than he’d felt in a long time.
    As they came around the corner, he grabbed his handlebars and shouted, “Watch out for the sand!” Laney grabbed her handlebars too and skidded onto the roadway that led to the Coast Guard Beach.
    Noah stood on his pedals as they climbed the hill and then cut across the sidewalk to a path that ran beside the Coast Guard station. He slowed down and stopped, putting his foot on the bottom rail of a weathered split rail fence for balance, and Laney pulled up beside him. “Wow . . . it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed breathlessly, gazing at the gorgeous, panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean.
    Noah watched the tide lapping along the long sandbars and nodded. “I love it here.” After a moment, he pointed down the dunes. “There used to be a house down there.” Laney looked and he continued. “It was built in 1926 by a man named Henry Beston. He lived there for a year or so and wrote about his experience—sort of like Thoreau’s Walden . A couple of times, Micah and I stopped to look inside. It was a great little house. It had a woodstove, a water pump, a bed, a desk . . .”
    “What happened to it?”
    “It was swept away in the blizzard of ’78.”
    Laney nodded. “I remember that storm—I was a senior in high school. Maine wasn’t hit as hard as southern New England, but I’ll never forget seeing the pictures of the deep snow and the devastation.”
    Noah nodded. “The erosion was so bad this parking lot washed away too, and sometimes, chunks of asphalt still wash up on shore.”
    Laney shook her head. “That’s amazing.” She looked around. “Where do people park now?”
    “There’s a parking lot down the road and a tram that shuttles beachgoers.” He pointed to a small white vehicle that was just pulling in, towing a train of