A Summer to Die by Lois Lowry Page B

together as the April sunlight from the window fell onto the bowl and the fragile oval shell, outlined their shadows on the polished table, and then brightened a rectangle on the pattern of the carpet.
    "Now, scoot," said Will. "I have to deal with my radiator."
    I was just at the end of his muddy driveway, and his head was back under the hood of the truck, when I remembered. I turned and called to him.

    "Will? I forgot to ask you about the big house!"
    He brought his head out and groaned. "And I forgot to tell you my surprise!"
    So I went back for a minute. I sat on the front steps and scratched Tip beside his ear, while Will pulled the radiator hoses off—"rotten old things," he said to them. "Why do you do this to me every spring?"—and told me about the house. My question, it turned out, was the same as his surprise.
    "I was right here last month," he said, "with my head under the hood, as usual. The battery then, of course. And a car drove up with a young couple in it. They asked if I knew anything about that house.
    "In the past year, at least ten people have asked me about the house, but they've always been the wrong people. Don't ask me how I know that. It's just something I can feel. And when this young couple—Ben and Maria, their names are—got out of their car, I could tell they were the right ones.
    "Ben helped me clean the leads to the battery, and Maria went in the kitchen and made tea for the three of us. By the time Ben and I had washed our hands and finished our tea, I had rented the house to them. When you know it's the right people, it's as easy as that.
    "They don't have much money. He's a student
still, at Harvard, and he said he was looking for a quiet place for the summer, to write his thesis."

    I groaned. Next thing you knew, this whole valley would be noisy from the sound of typewriters. Will laughed; he'd had the same thought.
    "But in return for the summer in the house, they're going to fix the place up. He's been working weekends ever since I told them they could have the house. The roof needs work; the wiring needs work; the plumbing needs work. Well, you know what it's like when you get old with no one to take care of you!"
    We laughed together. I could tell already that I would like Ben and Maria, because Will did.
    "And Maria's going to put in a garden when the ground thaws," he continued. "They'll be moving in officially quite soon, I think. And I've told them about you. They're looking forward to having you stop in, Meg."
    Then Will looked a little sheepish, the first time I'd ever seen him look that way. "But I forgot to ask them something," he confessed.
    "What?"
    He looked in several other directions before he answered. He was embarrassed. Finally he explained, "I forgot to ask them if they're married."
    I burst out laughing. "Oh, Will," I said, "do you think it matters?"
    He looked as if it hadn't occurred to him that it might not matter. "Well," he said finally, "I can tell you that it would have mattered to
Margaret.
But, well, I guess maybe you're right, Meg. I guess it doesn't really matter to me."

    Then he wiped his hands on his rag and grinned. "It might matter to their child, though. From the looks of it, there's going to be a baby coming this summer."
    A baby. That was a strange thing to think about. I'm not overly fond of babies. Molly adores them. She says she's going to have at least six someday herself, even though I keep telling her that's environmentally absurd.
    I told Molly about it on the phone that night, and she was thrilled at the thought of having a baby in the house across the field. Her voice sounded good, stronger than it has since she got sick. I've talked to her on the phone a lot, and sometimes she's sounded tired and depressed. But now she's feeling well again, and she's looking forward to coming home.
    "It's a drag, being here," she said. "Even though there are some good-looking doctors."
    That made me laugh. I knew she was feeling normal