Emerald City by Jennifer Egan

dirt on his face and was limping. He stood there smiling at me like he hardly ever smiles, and I think for a minute he felt like he’d been to the moon and back.
    “You know, I do this stuff?” he says, looking up from the launchpad. “And I have no idea why? It’s like it’s all broken, and my job is to fix it.” He laughs like it isn’t funny, just weird.
    “I know what you mean.”
    And I do. But Brad shakes his head like I’m just saying that to cheer him up. He goes back to his glueing.
    The Belsons have a summer house. It’s right on Lake Michigan, with a dock and a little beach and lots of tall trees that stick out over the sand. If you climb high enough in one of those trees, you see a whole new shore with houses bigger than the Belsons’ on it. Brad taught me climbing three years ago, before it got too easy for him.
    “I’d rather stay here alone,” he tells Dad the day before we’re supposed to visit them. I’m listening from the kitchen.
    The leather in Dad’s chair squeaks. “Brad, let’s have a talk,” he says. “I think it’s time.”
    “If it’s about Holly, you can save it,” Brad says. “She comes in my room, I can’t lock her out, okay? There’s limits.”
    “Not about Holly.”
    “I’m following orders,” Brad continues, more loudly. “Keeping away like you said.” He lets out two hoots of laughter. I stare out the kitchen window at the tire swing hanging in the heat.
    “You think I’m dangerous,” Bradley says.
    “Now you’re talking crazy.”
    “You think I’m one of those people who causes disasters.”
    “Bradley,” Dad pleads. “Son, don’t say things like that.”
    “And what if you’re right? What if I am?” His voice is thin and high, a crying voice. “I walk in the room and Peggy flinches like Imight hit her, and you know what? I want to! I want to beat the shit out of her, I’m so mad. Maybe it’s true!”
    “Brad, stop. Stop, Brad, this is nonsense.” I hear Dad getting out of his chair. “We’re spooked a little, all of us. God knows why.” His voice is wheezy. “I want you to come with us to Lake Michigan,” he says. “We need to straighten this out. Clear it right up.”
    Brad doesn’t answer, but I know he’ll be there.
    During the ride we play twenty questions and license plate bingo. Dad starts a contest counting gas stations, and Brad wins it. When I look at Dad’s face in the mirror, I see him smiling.
    After three hours of driving we park along a shady road and cross the soft ground to the Belsons’. Bradley helps Dad unload the groceries and sleeping bags from the car and bring them to the kitchen, then says he’ll go take a swim before lunch. Sheila and Meg want to swim, too.
    “I can’t take you now,” Peggy says, chopping an onion for Celia Belson’s chicken salad. “Brad, would you mind—” She breaks off, and the room goes quiet. Even the kids stop talking. Peggy stares at that onion, blinking at her wet hands. The screen door snaps shut as Brad runs outside.
    “—taking them with you?” Peggy finishes, like nothing happened.
    I’m so mad at Peggy I bite my own tongue. I stare at the knife she’s holding and want to take a swipe at her arm with it. But when she looks at Dad, I see she’s mad at herself, madder than I am, afraid of what he’ll say.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispers. There are tears on her face, but it might be the onion. Neil and Celia Belson work hard at gathering their trash into a bigger bag. Dad comes over and rubs Peggy’s neck. He tells the girls he’ll take them swimming after lunch.
    I follow Brad. Between the house and the beach are dunes covered with tough reeds that scratch your legs when they brush you. Brad runs over those dunes, letting the reeds whip his calves. He splashes into the lake and starts swimming.
    He goes straight out. I keep my eyes on him until he’s so small I wouldn’t know it was a person if I wasn’t already watching.
    “Turn around,” I say out