Dottie said. “You might be surprised.”
“Besides,” Mom said, “realism’s gone out of fashion. You might find you have quite a knack.”
They talked and laughed like that straight through dessert and coffee, reminiscing about the hilarious skits they had performed, the pranks they had played, the crazy eagle hats they had made for one Fourth of July parade.
Finally Dottie said she should leave before it got any darker outside, or she’d end up running into one of the trees on our drive. “That little road of yours seems longer every time I come out here,” she told my grandmother. “You can’t call it a driveway.”
“It’s not,” Grandma said proudly. “It’s what separates me from all that . . . change.”
Dottie nodded and looked around the room. “It’s true. You stay here for a while, you almost start to feel like you’ve traveled back in time. Except for you, young man,” she said, reaching up and rubbing the top of my head. “You’re our connection to the younger generation. And they’re running the world now, you know!” she told Grandma.
Grandma clucked her tongue. “Don’t encourage it. They’re already too full of entitlement,” she said.
“I like to encourage it,” Dottie told me conspiratorially. “Kids like you give me hope!”
After Dottie left, Grandma went straight to bed, and Mom and I did the dishes.
“Ma seemed so good tonight!” my mom exclaimed. “Don’t you think?”
I nodded. I knew this was my chance to tell her about Grandma’s notes, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. All evening Grandma had acted so normal again. And Mom seemed happier than she’d been in ages. Why should I stir up trouble?
“They sure were goofy back in the old days,” I said. “They really made hats with eagles on them?”
“I think they had a lot of fun,” Mom said. She handed me a soapy plate. “It was a lot of old-lady talk, though, Adam. Are you sure
you’re
having enough fun?”
“I’m fine,” I told her. Suddenly I remembered my plans with Alice. Between finding the note and having Dottie over for dinner, I’d forgotten all about my promise to go paddling with her tomorrow.
As I dried the last dish, I found myself wondering what it would be like to paddle with a girl. Would she be nice? Would she boss me around? And what were we ever going to find to talk about for an entire canoe trip?
I said good night to my mom and headed back to my room, full of dread.
WAKING UP AT THE CABIN was usually the complete opposite of a school day, when you’d be scrambling to get to the bus on time or worrying about a test. You didn’t scramble at the cabin. You just opened your eyes slowly, breathed in the forest air, sniffed for breakfast, and listened to the stirrings of whoever was already up. Then you either rolled out of bed or just stayed, burrowing under the blankets and enjoying the warmth a little longer. There was no schedule, no hurry, no dread.
But not this morning. From the moment I woke up, I felt weighed down by the day’s plans, which now seemed like more than I could handle. Why had I let Alice ruin my cabin peace? And wasn’t there some way to get out of this? I peered out the window, half hoping that the rain had gotten worse in the night. But the clouds were gone. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.
Darn.
After I ate my pancakes, I offered to do the dishes.
“Nonsense,” Grandma said, taking my syrupy plate from me. “Get outside and start enjoying that sun before it decides to go AWOL on us again.”
I found Mom back in her room with her pile of manuscripts.
“I’m going paddling,” I told her.
“OK,” she said, not looking up.
I hesitated. Wasn’t there something she was going to tell me to do instead? Some reason I couldn’t go? “I may be gone awhile,” I said.
“That’s fine.”
Slowly, I made my way outside. The wooden slats of the deck were still damp from all the rain, but they weren’t
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