Three Bird Summer

by Sara St. Antoine

  I sat on my bed and read it through.

  My love,

  Have you been hearing the loons out on the lake? One calls and then the other answers, like two halves of one heart, yearning to be whole again. Isn’t that just how it feels?

  Missing you loonily,

  Viola

  I reread the note, then looked up at the mirror. Could it have been there all along, and I just hadn’t noticed it till now? Doubtful but not impossible. But why would Grandma store old personal notes in such a public place? She was usually much more private than that.

  Or maybe the note wasn’t old. The paper was crisp and white, and the handwriting was Grandma’s shaky old-lady cursive. This wasn’t an old note to my grandfather. It was a new note to him. And he’d been dead for twenty years!

  I got up and paced around the room as the truth of the situation hit me. Grandma was slipping. Really, really slipping. Here Mom thought she was just getting forgetful, when she was actually losing her mind. Why else would she be writing love letters to my dead grandfather? Did she think he could read her notes from beyond the grave? Did she think he could really still hear the loons? The whole thing was way too weird.

  I folded up the note and went to find Mom, but the car was gone. She must have still been in town. Grandma was sitting up on the living-room couch, done with her nap and looking out the window with a pair of binoculars.

  “You ever notice how a nuthatch moves down a tree trunk?” Grandma asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, checking to see if I could spot Mom’s car approaching through the trees. No luck.

  Grandma still had her binoculars trained on one spot. “Imagine hopping down a vertical surface headfirst. And we humans think we’re so great!”

  I ignored her. What I really wanted to do was to go outside and get as far away from Grandma as possible till Mom showed up, but I didn’t feel like getting wet again. Instead, I rummaged in the pantry and dug out some pretzels, then sat at the table and munched on them while I looked at a week-old newspaper.

  “What are you eating there?” Grandma asked. It felt like she’d turned to train her binoculars on me, but when I looked up, she had her head back on the seat cushion with her eyes closed.

  “Nothing, Grandma. Just leave me alone, OK?” I said.

  “Humph,” she said. She put her hands down on the arms of the chair and pushed herself into a standing position. “Fine way to talk. And you call yourself a gentleman,” she muttered, standing up and retreating to her bedroom.

  I shuddered, not entirely sure she knew whom she was talking to.

  Not long after, my mom’s car pulled into the driveway. I was waiting for her when she came through the doorway with her arms full of groceries.

  “Mom,” I said, “we have to talk.”

  “Fine, but could you grab some bags from the car first?” she asked. “The back is still open, and those bags are going to get soaked.”

  I grudgingly jogged out to the car and yanked two bags from the back. By the time I’d brought them to the kitchen, Mom was already heading out for more.

  “Mom,” I said.

  “Look at the rain, Adam!” she said.

  This time I heard her slam the hatch before she came inside. I held open the door, and she dropped the final two bags on the counter and wiped off her brow.

  “The amount of food you two eat could feed a small army,” Grandma said, coming into the kitchen and peering into the bags.

  Mom grimaced and shook out her raincoat. “What was it you needed to tell me, Adam?” she asked.

  With Grandma hovering over us, I’d lost my chance. “Never mind,” I said.

  “Well, let’s get these things put away,” Mom said. “I’d like to start dinner. We’re having a surprise guest!”

  Grandma and I looked up in alarm. Mom laughed. “Don’t look so scared, you two! It’s just Dottie Lewis! I ran into her at the market. She misses you, Ma. Said she hasn’t seen you yet this summer.”

  Dottie was one of Grandma’s oldest friends on the lake, though they never seemed to spend much time together anymore.

  Grandma peered at the clock. “Well, I wish you’d given me a little more warning. I would have baked something special.”

  “It was just a spontaneous thing,” Mom said. “But I bought some fresh berries, and there’s still plenty of time to make a pie.”

  Grandma perked up a little at that. She strode to the pantry and retrieved an apron.

  “It’ll take me a few more minutes to get the table cleared off,” Mom told her. “Have a seat.”

  Grandma sat down, awaiting her supplies. Or her instructions. It was hard to tell which when Mom was involved. Either way, I could tell there wasn’t room for me in all this. I grabbed the newspaper and another handful of pretzels and went back to my room.

  DOTTIE LEWIS BROUGHT OUT the best in my grandmother. From the moment she stepped into the cabin, Grandma’s expression changed. Her face lifted up in a way that erased her scowl and made her look friendlier. She had changed into a nicer tucked-in blouse and put on some makeup. I’d always thought makeup was a little freaky. But at her age, it had its advantages.

  Dottie was the same age as my grandmother, but she acted a decade younger. She had her long hair pulled back in a bun and wore bright lipstick that matched the big red beads on her necklace.

  “Guess what!” she told my grandmother. “I’ve gotten into clay!”

  “Clay?” Grandma asked. “In the garden?”

  “No, Viola!” Dottie laughed. “I’m talking pottery. Ceramics. You should see me, Adam — I’m like an old witch sitting in front of that potter’s wheel. I put my hands on the wet clay and — abracadabra! — I’m making the wildest creations!”

  “That’s remarkable, Dottie,” my mother said. She circuited the table to make sure everyone was taking salad. I nodded in agreement.

  “You’ll have to show me your work sometime,” Grandma said with careful bites of her lettuce.

  “I will!” Dottie said enthusiastically. “I’ll take you over to the studio sometime.”

  “Did you really just start making pottery, like, this year?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine my grandmother starting something new at this age.

  She nodded. “The last time I messed around with clay at all was almost seventy years ago. And you were there, Viola!” she said with a wink.

  “Not at scout camp?” my grandmother asked.

  Dottie nodded. “I made something truly awful. I think it was a miniature wishing well.”

  “I made a grizzly bear,” my grandmother said, surprising us all with her sudden recollection. “I tried to make it hulking and terrifying — a real predator. But when I showed it to my father, he thought it was our dog, Ollie.”

  Dottie burst out laughing. “Ollie? That tiny dachshund?”

  Grandma nodded. “So much for my sculpting talent!” she exclaimed.

  Dottie’s laugh was so infectious that the two of them started laughing like kids, and my mom and I couldn’t help but join in. Grandma dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Now you know why I’ve never touched a piece of clay again.”

  “Oh, well, you should try,” 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 going to stay that way for long. The sky was piercingly blue, and a light dry wind was blowing across the water.

  I got two paddles and a life jacket from the shed and took them down to the water’s edge. I wanted to feel totally normal, but in fact I was jumpy. Lugging the canoe across the wet ground, I slipped and dropped it hard on my foot. I was glad no one was there to see me, but I doubted it was going to be my last screw-up of the day.

  I set the canoe in the water and paddled over toward Alice’s dock. By the time I pulled alongside it, she was striding down the lawn beside a man I guessed was her father. He looked jolly. She looked miserable. Was there a chance he’d told her she couldn’t go?

  “Good morning, Adam!” the man said with a friendly smile. “I’m Dan Jensen.” He put out his right hand to shake mine, but I was using it to hold on to the dock. When I let go, the boat drifted just enough that I couldn’t reach him. I grabbed for the paddle and drew closer again, and this time he just slapped me on the shoulder. “Never mind about the handshake. Good to meet you.”

  I nodded, speechless as usual. Alice was pulling on her life jacket, so I guessed the trip was still on.

  “Do you have everything you need?” I asked her. I climbed down the length of the canoe and took my place in the stern.

  “Whoa, there,” said Mr. Jensen. “A boy’s got to go through a little basic interrogation before he makes off with my daughter. Especially on the high seas.”

  I felt my face go red. I was getting a sense of why Alice looked miserable.

  “Do you know what you’re doing in this craft?”

  “Yeah,” I said dumbly. I hoped he hadn’t seen me out there learning to solo paddle the first time.

  “Do you know how to swim?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “How well do you know the lake?”

  Alice spoke up. “I told you, Dad. He’s been coming to the lake since he was a kid.”

  “Well, he’s not much more than a kid now!” Mr. Jensen laughed. “And you’re still a baby!”

  Alice rolled her eyes. “We’re going, Dad,” she said, and climbed into the front of the canoe. She reached back for the second paddle, and I passed it up to her.

  “Wait! Wait!” a high, quavering voice called out. We looked up to see Mrs. Jensen trotting down the path from the house with a cloth grocery bag in her arms. She was breathless when she reached us. “I packed you kids a little picnic. I thought you might get hungry out there.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Alice said grudgingly.

  “Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Jensen,” I said.

  Mr. Jensen stowed the bag between me and Alice — underneath the thwart, the wooden bar that spanned the canoe in front of my seat. “There,” he said. “I think you’re set. Do you have your cell phone?” he asked Alice.

  Alice patted the pocket of her shorts. “Right here. See you guys later.”

  Taking her cue, I shoved off the dock.

  “Good-bye! Have fun! Be safe!” her parents called as we made our way across the water.

  I chose the shoreline route to start us off so we’d be out of their sight as quickly as possible. Unfortunately this meant passing my cabin again, which put me at risk of a sighting and an interrogation from Mom and Grandma when I got back. But if they had their noses pressed up to the windows as we paddled past, I couldn’t tell.

  Neither of us said anything till we had rounded the bend, away from the docks and our families. Then Alice sighed and twisted around to face me. “Sorry,” she said. “My parents can be so embarrassing.”

  “No problem,” I said. It had hardly been worse than when she’d met my Grandma.

  “I wonder if you can justifiably complain that your parents love you too much,” she mused.

  A pair of blue damselflies whirred past my shoulder and came to rest on top of Alice’s paddle. She held the paddle aloft and watched them linger there. When they flew off, she continued paddling.

  “Do you think?” she asked.

  “What?” I asked dumbly.

  “That parents can actually love you too much?”

  I hesitated. It wasn’t something that I had ever thought about before. My brain felt blank, and it occurred to me that Alice was moments away from realizing that I was a complete dud.

  “I mean, do your parents love you too much?” she asked. “In that squeezy, suffocating, we’ll-have-a-fit-if-you-break-a-fingernail kind of way?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so.” My parents didn’t seem to love me too much or too little. They were just . . . parents.

  “You’re lucky, then,” Alice said. She gave a few especially strong strokes of her paddle, and we sped across the water. “God, I wish I had a brother or sister.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Do you have any siblings?” she asked
.

  “No,” I said.

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Back in Chicago.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  I shrugged uncomfortably. Alice was turning out to be even chattier than my mom.

  “Where are we headed, anyway?” she asked me cheerfully, as if she couldn’t wait to get started on a big adventure.

  What I wanted to say was “How about home?” But I wasn’t brave enough to say that. Instead, I mumbled, “Wherever you want.”

  She thought for a moment. “Can we paddle up the Potato River?” she asked. “I’ve heard it’s amazing. And I wouldn’t mind being away from my parents all day.”

  The Potato River? Gone all day?

  “OK,” I said reluctantly. This was going to be the longest day of my life.

  I pulled the paddle into a draw stroke and got us turned back toward the middle of the lake. The wind felt stronger in this direction. By the time we were in the middle of the lake, the waves were sloshing against the side of the canoe, and we had to paddle with effort. It was exciting but daunting, too. I wondered if Alice and I were experienced enough to be out here on our own after all.

  Once we reached the other side of the lake, the wind and waves quieted down and we could relax again. We slowly approached the marshy entrance to the river, where cattails grew in dense clumps, and the spaces between were covered with a mat of lily pads.

  “Where do we go from here?” Alice asked. A canoe didn’t need much water to get through, but it was still important to choose the right route. Otherwise you’d end up stuck on mud or running into a wall of reeds.

  “My mom and grandma and I went this way last time.” I pointed out a channel to the right, and we steered ourselves down it. The canoe made a soft swishing noise as we skimmed over the lily pads.

  We pushed off the lake bottom with our paddles whenever we got stuck, and then the river opened up and the paddling grew easier again. At first there were a few houses with lawns that ran right to shore, and it almost felt like we were trespassing on private property. But soon we reached the wilder stretches of the river and settled into a smooth rhythm, even as were working against the light current.