loud.
But he keeps going. In a hurry I run to a tree we used to climb, a tall one that sticks out over the sand and has a few boards nailed to the trunk. Bark flakes in my hands, but once I reach the first limb, the climbing gets easier. I see him again, moving out there like a spider on a big gray web. The higher I go, the better I see him, and I climb so high that the ground looks miles away. The branches are soft up here, and I hear lots of creaking. I straddle a branch and lean back against the trunk. I keep my eyes on Bradley, holding him up.
Then I see Dad below me on the beach. He goes to the water’s edge and looks out. After a while Peggy comes out and stands beside him. She’s brought him something in a napkin, but Dad takes a bite and drops it on the sand when she isn’t looking. They just stand there, watching the lake.
I let them worry. They deserve it.
Brad is floating now, staring up at the sky. I glance up, too, just for a minute, at the thin clouds overhead. When I look back at Brad, he’s disappeared. I stare at the spot where I last saw him and hold my breath, letting the seconds pass until I’m gasping. Finally Bradley splashes back to the surface—a big splash, like he’s gone a long way down. He starts swimming in.
When Brad leaves the water, we’re waiting for him. He keeps his head down. Dad gives his wet back a clumsy slap, then glances at his watch. “You’ve been gone almost an hour,” he says.
“I floated a lot.”
“We saved you some lunch,” Peggy says.
In the kitchen I pull Brad aside, where no one can hear us. “They were scared to death,” I tell him.
“Were you?”
I shake my head. “I watched you from the tree.”
Bradley smiles a little, brushes some sand off my face. “I knew there was a reason I kept on floating,” he says.
That night, Neil Belson makes a bonfire. He gathers sticks and branches and dry grass in a pile on the sand. His girls drag over what they can, and he thanks them loudly and makes a point of adding it. Celia brings out the potatoes in their foil and special pointed sticks for roasting.
All of us gather around to watch it burn. Fire wraps the sticks and leaves and crunches them to nothing. It makes a sound like laughing. Mr. Belson puts one arm around each of his girls, and Peggy holds on to Sheila and Meg. She touches her palms to their hot faces. I lean against my dad. “Look at Bradley,” he says, shaking his head.
Brad is on the other side of the fire, sitting alone. Heat twists the air between us, so it looks like water running. Dad stares over the flames and smiles hard at Bradley, telling him with his face to come over, that he’s welcome with the rest of us.
Say it, I want to order Dad. Call over to him.
But Dad just keeps smiling, and when Bradley doesn’t move, Dad looks down and smiles in that direction, like he and the sand are sharing a sad joke. Meg wanders over, and he pulls her hair back and wipes the sweat off her upper lip.
I stand up. So many things are wrong I can’t sit there. I feel crazy, like worms have crawled inside my bones. I go to the waterand let it soak my shoes. Then I stomp through the sand so it sticks to my feet and turns them into blocks. I look up at where firelight smears the branches of the tree I climbed today. I stare at that tree a long time. Then I walk toward the house, double back, and start climbing it from the side no one can see. I want to look down from above. I want to keep my eye on Bradley.
The first long limb is high above the flames and a little to one side. On my belly I slither along to its end and look down. No one sees me. Smoke floats past in a column. Bradley doesn’t watch the fire, he keeps his eyes on Dad and Peggy and the Belson family.
Sweat drips down my face, and I feel it running inside my clothes. The fire makes a panting sound, but it looks smaller from above. Watching Bradley and the rest, I think to myself: How can I fix it? I remember what he said about
But he keeps going. In a hurry I run to a tree we used to climb, a tall one that sticks out over the sand and has a few boards nailed to the trunk. Bark flakes in my hands, but once I reach the first limb, the climbing gets easier. I see him again, moving out there like a spider on a big gray web. The higher I go, the better I see him, and I climb so high that the ground looks miles away. The branches are soft up here, and I hear lots of creaking. I straddle a branch and lean back against the trunk. I keep my eyes on Bradley, holding him up.
Then I see Dad below me on the beach. He goes to the water’s edge and looks out. After a while Peggy comes out and stands beside him. She’s brought him something in a napkin, but Dad takes a bite and drops it on the sand when she isn’t looking. They just stand there, watching the lake.
I let them worry. They deserve it.
Brad is floating now, staring up at the sky. I glance up, too, just for a minute, at the thin clouds overhead. When I look back at Brad, he’s disappeared. I stare at the spot where I last saw him and hold my breath, letting the seconds pass until I’m gasping. Finally Bradley splashes back to the surface—a big splash, like he’s gone a long way down. He starts swimming in.
When Brad leaves the water, we’re waiting for him. He keeps his head down. Dad gives his wet back a clumsy slap, then glances at his watch. “You’ve been gone almost an hour,” he says.
“I floated a lot.”
“We saved you some lunch,” Peggy says.
In the kitchen I pull Brad aside, where no one can hear us. “They were scared to death,” I tell him.
“Were you?”
I shake my head. “I watched you from the tree.”
Bradley smiles a little, brushes some sand off my face. “I knew there was a reason I kept on floating,” he says.
That night, Neil Belson makes a bonfire. He gathers sticks and branches and dry grass in a pile on the sand. His girls drag over what they can, and he thanks them loudly and makes a point of adding it. Celia brings out the potatoes in their foil and special pointed sticks for roasting.
All of us gather around to watch it burn. Fire wraps the sticks and leaves and crunches them to nothing. It makes a sound like laughing. Mr. Belson puts one arm around each of his girls, and Peggy holds on to Sheila and Meg. She touches her palms to their hot faces. I lean against my dad. “Look at Bradley,” he says, shaking his head.
Brad is on the other side of the fire, sitting alone. Heat twists the air between us, so it looks like water running. Dad stares over the flames and smiles hard at Bradley, telling him with his face to come over, that he’s welcome with the rest of us.
Say it, I want to order Dad. Call over to him.
But Dad just keeps smiling, and when Bradley doesn’t move, Dad looks down and smiles in that direction, like he and the sand are sharing a sad joke. Meg wanders over, and he pulls her hair back and wipes the sweat off her upper lip.
I stand up. So many things are wrong I can’t sit there. I feel crazy, like worms have crawled inside my bones. I go to the waterand let it soak my shoes. Then I stomp through the sand so it sticks to my feet and turns them into blocks. I look up at where firelight smears the branches of the tree I climbed today. I stare at that tree a long time. Then I walk toward the house, double back, and start climbing it from the side no one can see. I want to look down from above. I want to keep my eye on Bradley.
The first long limb is high above the flames and a little to one side. On my belly I slither along to its end and look down. No one sees me. Smoke floats past in a column. Bradley doesn’t watch the fire, he keeps his eyes on Dad and Peggy and the Belson family.
Sweat drips down my face, and I feel it running inside my clothes. The fire makes a panting sound, but it looks smaller from above. Watching Bradley and the rest, I think to myself: How can I fix it? I remember what he said about
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