by Cynthia Lord
“Grandma Lilah, come this way. You’ll see the door,” I said comfortingly.
She just stood there, not moving, even when Nate pushed the back of her arm, encouraging her to take a step.
I pulled the camera out of my pocket and rushed far enough down the aisle to shoot a photo of the automatic doors ahead with the EXIT sign over them.
“Look, Grandma Lilah.” I hurried back to show her on my screen. “See? The doors are right over there. Follow me, and you’ll see them, too.” I started walking, hoping I’d hear the soft sound of footsteps.
I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I heard her coming and felt the air rush out of me.
All around us, people were having a regular grocery store experience:
“Let’s look in the dairy aisle.”
“Are you sure that’s the right size?”
“Here it is!”
An older lady with short gray hair, wearing her purse strapped across her body, was talking on her cell phone in front of me. She looked at us curiously but didn’t step aside. I wanted to yell at her, “Just move!”
I must’ve looked scary, because she immediately did.
“See you folks,” the cashier called as I led Nate and Grandma Lilah out the exit. “Have a nice day!”
Outside, the van seemed a million miles away, even though it was only across the parking lot. Megan hurried to get ahead of us, holding the stack of poster board in front of her like a big white shield for us to walk behind.
For once, I was glad she was there. People in the parking lot looked at her, not at us.
As Nate coaxed Grandma Lilah into her seat of the van, I let my head fall backward to look at sky. It was a relief to see something faraway and endless after being so tightly focused on each breath and step with Grandma Lilah.
On the drive home, Nate’s parents argued in the front seats. “Why didn’t you bring her in through the main door?” Mrs. Bailey asked. “That’s the door I always use.”
“How would I know it’d make a difference?” Mr. Bailey asked. “I didn’t plan to cause a scene.”
“I caused a scene,” Grandma Lilah said sadly beside me.
“No! I’m sorry,” Mr. Bailey said quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Don’t worry.” Mrs. Bailey turned around to face Grandma Lilah. “It’s fine, Mom. Accidents happen.”
“I couldn’t find how to get out,” Grandma Lilah said. “I thought you all left.”
“We were getting milk,” Mr. Bailey said.
“Megan and I were buying poster board,” Emily said.
“We thought you knew that,” Megan added. “I’m sorry.”
“We wouldn’t go home without you, Mom,” Mrs. Bailey said. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. Yes, of course,” Grandma Lilah said. “That’s right.”
Sitting next to her, I wondered what I could say to comfort her. My dad would know the right words, but I had no idea.
After a pause, Mrs. Bailey said too brightly, “Lucy, how’s your mom?”
“Um, she’s good,” I said. “She’s working today.”
“It was so nice to meet her at the cookout.” Having moved the conversation back to a more normal place, Mrs. Bailey turned to face forward again. But she leaned her elbow against the car door and her head against her hand.
I glanced over my shoulder to Megan with Emily in the far back. Megan looked as uncomfortable as I felt to be in the middle of Nate’s family’s hard times.
“It’s a bad day,” Grandma Lilah said quietly beside me. “Someday I worry I might slip into one of these bad days and not come out.”
“Mom, don’t say that!” Mrs. Bailey said. “It doesn’t do any good to think like that.”
Grandma Lilah looked so defeated that I pulled the loon toy out of my bag. “Grandma Lilah, I bought you something.”
On my other side, Nate whispered to me, “But that’s for Ansel.”
I shrugged one shoulder at him and pushed the button on the toy’s back to play the loonsong.
Grandma Lilah didn’t smile, but as I laid it in her lap, I heard her whisper, “I’m here.”
That night, we didn’t make posters. I sat on my bed with Ansel and downloaded my photos. I chose the best rock candy photo for “Collection.” Then I scrolled through my photos of Grandma Lilah on her porch. I smiled at her pretending to be Doris Day. But in the last photo, Grandma Lilah was sitting up very straight, holding the teacup. That photo was all about her eyes. Full of panic, they seized me and wouldn’t let me go. I could hear Dad in my mind gasping with me at what I had captured.
A true and terrible moment.
It took every drop of willpower not to tell Dad about the incredible photo I had taken of Grandma Lilah on her porch. But I really wanted to use that photo in the contest, so the next day while I waited for Nate and Emily to come over to make the posters for the loons, I texted Dad about everything else.
Ansel says “Woof.”
I hope the snakes do something amazing. But not with rabbits.
I saw a newt at the mailbox. He was orange! But when I came back with my camera, he was gone. Grr!
Mom’s making brownies. Nate and Emily are coming over today.
Ansel barked like crazy at the knock on our front door. “I’ll get it!” I yelled to Mom as I put my phone back in my pocket.
“The brownies are almost done,” she said. “Do you have everything else that you need?”
“I think so. Nate and Emily are bringing the supplies,” I said.
As I crossed the living room, I could already see through the window that there were three kids on our porch. Nate and Emily and Megan.
“Hi,” I said hesitantly as Megan stepped past me into our living room. I’d been sure she’d stay home when she discovered we were making the posters at my house.
“Hi.” She looked from one side of our living room to the other, and I wondered if she was comparing it to hers.
“Wow! What smells good?” Nate asked.
“Mom’s making brownies,” I said.
“Lucy, do you know that I’ve been coming to the lake my whole life, but today’s the first time I’ve ever been inside your house?” Emily said. “The Alexanders were old, and I don’t think they liked kids very much. So they never invited us in. It’s nice in here!”
“Thanks,” I said. “Everything creaks, but I’m getting used to it.”
“Everything creaks at our cottage, too,” Nate said. “And one year, we had bats! They had moved in over the winter while we were gone!”
“I remember that year!” Megan said. “Your dad was trying to catch them and Grandma Lilah was yelling, ‘Don’t hurt them!’”
They all laughed. I pretended I thought it was funny, too. But really, you probably had to be there.
“The table’s not big enough for all of us,” I said. “So I was thinking we could work on the floor. Go ahead and set up and I’ll get us the brownies and some lemonade.”
In the kitchen I let the forced smile drop off my face. “There’s four of us,” I said quietly to Mom. “Megan’s here, too.”
“That’s nice,” she said, and then paused. “Isn’t it?”
I shook my head, taking the lemonade out of the refrigerator. “She wants to be Nate’s only friend.”
“In a month, all this will change,” Mom said comfortingly. “Don’t let it get you down.”
She probably thought she was making things better by reminding me that Nate and Megan and their families would leave at the end of summer. But I only wanted little things to change, not big things. And Nate leaving until next summer was a really big thing.
When I came back to the living room with lemonade and cups, Ansel was walking over the word LOONS! on Nate’s poster.
“Ansel, go lie down!” I said.
He did, right on Emily’s poster. “He wants to help!” she said, rubbing his tummy. He rolled right onto his back for her.
Mom c
ame in behind me with napkins and a plate with the brownies stacked so high that we could each have two or maybe even two and a half. “Ansel, come!” Mom said to get him off Emily’s poster.
Ansel obeys anyone holding food.
I took a brownie off the top and passed the plate to Emily. “I made prints of each of my best loon photos in case anyone wants to use one on your poster.” I showed them the copies: the adult loons swimming and the loon on the nest watching me, the baby under her wing. “This is the only photo I have with a baby.” I glanced pointedly at Megan. “Did you bring yours?”
She looked away from me. “I realized this morning that I don’t have a way to print them. We brought a laptop with us to our cottage, but not a printer.”
I didn’t want to help Megan. But I did want to help the loons, and showing the babies was important. “If you go get your camera, I’ll print them. I’ll even use photo paper so they’ll look great.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
While Megan was gone, I stared at the empty piece of poster board, wondering what to write. These posters would be hung up at the marina and the boat launch and other places where tourists would see them. How do you make people notice a poster, read it, and then care?
Watch Out for Loons! I wrote at the top, but I wrote “loons” in fat pillow letters so I could draw the checkerboard pattern of their wings inside each letter. With the rest of the space, I could probably fit three photos in a line down from the words. Maybe I could put one loon fact next to each photo? Underneath my heading, I glued my own photo of the female on the nest with her head down and the chick under her wing.
Don’t bring your boat any closer to loons than 150 feet. Then I cut out a speech bubble and glued it so the baby under her wing could say, “BACK OFF!”
When Megan knocked on my door again, I had my poster well started. And both Nate and Emily had used the photo I took of the loon on the nest.
“Even though the loons are done with their nest now, it’s a great photo,” Nate said. “It reminds you that they’re a family.”
Megan handed me her camera’s memory card. As she started her poster, I picked her best photos and printed a few sheets of copies. As each sheet came off Dad’s printer, I brought it to Emily and Nate to cut apart into single photos. I hadn’t seen both loon babies yet, and looking at Megan’s photos, I wondered which one was the first chick. I’d never be able to tell them apart, especially from a distance. I decided to call them Baby One and Baby Two.
When I was done printing, I chose two of Megan’s photos of the whole loon family to put on my poster. Next to one photo, I wrote: If loons spend too much time watching out for boats, they can’t bring up enough food for their chicks. I cut out two more speech bubbles and made the babies say, “I’m HUNGRY!” and “Me, too!”
And beside the last photo of the loons, I wrote: Whatever affects the loons affects everything else. I cut out another speech bubble and had one of the chicks say, “Including YOU.”
At the very bottom I wrote, Please be careful. Sincerely, Lucy. And then on impulse I added of the Loons to my name.
“I think Lucy has the best poster,” Emily said. “It’s strong, but it’s also a bit funny so people will remember it. Lucy, why don’t you put yours at the marina? Megan, yours can go at the boat launch. Nate’s can go at the grocery store, and I’ll ask Mrs. Stackpole if I can put mine at the gift shop. That should cover most places where tourists go. Right?”
“And not just the tourists,” I said. “It’ll remind the people who live here to be careful, too.”
Winning the contest wouldn’t matter if there were no loons for Grandma Lilah to see.
At the marina, I was nervous asking, but the man at the boat rental desk said I could hang my poster on the wall behind him. “Everyone who rents a boat will see it here. Are these loons from our lake?” he asked, pointing to the photos.
I nodded. “We have a family of four. Two adult loons and two babies.”
“That’s great! Visitors will love to know that,” he said. “Loons are very popular.”
“Please tell people they have to be careful of them. Okay?”
“Sure.” While he hunted for some tape to hang up my poster, I looked out the big storefront windows at the rows of Jet Skis, kayaks, and speedboats hitched up to the docks.
“Do you rent motorized rafts?” I asked.
“Motorized rafts? No. I’ve seen those on other lakes, but that’s something a cottage owner would buy. Not much call to rent those.”
“Do you know how much it might cost to buy one? Would it be more than five hundred dollars?”
He nodded. “I’m sure it’d cost more than that for a new one.”
“Oh. Okay.” I tried not to let my disappointment show. “Well, if you had, um, let’s say a grandmother who couldn’t climb into a speedboat or a kayak, do you rent something that would work to take her out on the lake?”
“A pontoon boat would probably be a good choice,” the man said. “My aunt uses a walker and I’ve taken her out on ours. Pontoon boats are good and stable and there isn’t much climbing, just a step really. As long as someone is there to help her, I wouldn’t think there would be any problem.”
“Is it less than five hundred dollars to rent one?” I asked.
“About half that for a whole day.”
“Thanks!” I smiled, though I felt like cheering. “That’s really, really helpful.”
Now all I had to do was win.
As the days passed and the deadline for the contest came closer, I stopped waiting for photo opportunities to appear and began to create them.
“How come Emily can show both her feet and I only get to show one?” Nate asked, taking off his sneakers.
“Mine are prettier,” Emily said.
“Three Feet” was one of those phrases that can mean different things. Nate and I debated our ideas: a yardstick against a tree, three of Ansel’s pawprints in the mud, or a shot from underneath the dock with three kids’ feet dangling in the air between the bottom of the dock and the top of the water. The last one seemed like the best idea. But now that I was wading into the lake, cringing at the gooey bottom and imagining what else might be in the dark water under the dock, it felt cold and gross.
Though if Dad could survive billows of black flies and mosquitoes for hours, I could survive some icky under-the-dock dwellers for a few minutes.
Near the shore by the Baileys’ dock, the sand was ridged by the waves. Standing there, I estimated how many steps I’d have to take in the mucky part before I was out deep enough to duck underneath the dock. I guessed about six big steps.
I wouldn’t have chosen such a sunny day for this shot, but I didn’t have time to wait for the weather to be perfect, and Megan had gone on a day trip with her parents, so she wouldn’t be able to ruin anything or take it over. She had texted Nate when we were deciding what to shoot for “Three Feet” and invited him to go, but he stayed home to be the third foot.
He’d chosen me over Megan. So why didn’t I feel happier? Because he had sighed when he texted her back. So at least part of him had wanted to go.
“Look!” he said. “The chicks are swimming with their parents.”
Glad to have a reason to put off dunking under, I searched the waves until I saw the outline of the two adult loons and two little ones paddling hard to keep up. There they were!
The babies were diving, but it wasn’t long before they popped to the surface again, like Ping-Pong balls. I knew they had to learn to dive and hunt on their own, but I couldn’t help wishing they’d climb onto their parents’ backs where it was safer. By themselves, other animals could take them: eagles and hawks from above, snapping turtles from below.
Dad says every animal needs to eat something. But these felt like our loons, and I would protect them if I could, just like I’d protect Ansel if anything tried to hurt him.
“Are you ready for your camera?” Nate asked.
“Almo
st.” Time to get this over with. The water made me gasp with cold as I dropped onto my knees, wet to my shoulders. Then I pulled in a breath and went under the dock.
Underwater, I raised my hand into the air above my head so if there were a crossbeam above me, my hand would find it first. Touching only air, I let my head come up.
Nate’s eye looked down through the dock slats above me. “How is it under there?” he asked.
I shivered. The sand felt slimy, and I hoped I wouldn’t feel a crayfish walk over my toes or a fish swish against the back of my legs. “Cold and disgusting,” I said, my voice echoing. “I’m ready for my camera now.”
As soon as my camera appeared next to Nate’s and Emily’s feet, I took it carefully. “Nate, I need just one of your feet. But can you both turn to the left a little? I want to see more of the sides of your feet, not just the back.”
The dark, rough underside of the dock was a nice frame for their feet. And it provided a good contrast with the sparkly waves ahead. Emily had a braided band tied around one of her ankles, which drew your eye and added a little bit of personality.
I didn’t have enough room to move around under the dock and try many different shots, but I did the best I could. When I had a few I thought would work, I passed my camera out to Nate and eased my way from under the dock.
“Grandma Lilah will want us to write down that the babies were both swimming and diving by themselves today,” Emily said. “I’ll go get the clipboard.”
As she left, one of the loons gave a throaty tremolo. “I don’t see anything bothering them,” Nate said. “Can you see anything with your zoom?”
I zoomed in as tight as my camera would allow and took some shots of the loon family together. “No, they look fine,” I said. “I don’t see anything that could be bothering them.”
“Probably loonsong lessons,” Nate said.
Climbing up onto the dock, I said, “We can show Grandma Lilah these photos of the babies swimming.”
“Can I see the ‘Three Feet’ shots?” Nate asked.
I turned on my screen and handed him the camera.