“See, you’re surprised I even know what the Raptor Center is,” she said, poking his arm.
“I’m n— Well, okay, I’m a little surprised,” he admitted, dumping salad into a big plastic bowl. Several feet away, her parents and Fred were laughing quietly as Fred pointed out something in the sand.
“My friend Kirsten and I took a bird there once.” She focused for a moment on balancing five glasses on a flat rock next to her. She looked up and found David watching her expectantly.
“Why?” he prompted. Maddy felt sort of dumb telling this story, but it was too late to change the subject.
“Well, we were driving on 17 last year and this kestrel flew into the windshield of the car right in front of us.
We saw it get thrown over to the side of the road. So we stopped on the on-ramp, picked it up, and wrapped it in a towel. It wasn’t dead, but it just lay there looking at us with its beak open. Kirsten said we should take it to the Raptor Center—she took a vulture there once.” Maddy stopped for a second. David was watching her with his mouth slightly open. “What?”
He shut his mouth abruptly. “Nothing. What happened then?”
“So we took him over there and the technician looked at him and said that he hadn’t broken anything but he was in shock from getting hit. They put him in a cage, and at first he kept walking into the bars and falling over. Kirsten and I went back every day to see him until he was ready to be released back into the wild,” Maddy finished. She looked at David, feeling a little self-conscious. “If you must know, we named him Harold,”
she added. David was quiet. He seemed to be thinking about something.
Then he shook his head. “That’s cool. I didn’t think … ,”
he said, not finishing his sentence.
“Didn’t think what?” Maddy asked.
He looked at her a minute longer. “Nothing. Hey, do you want to cut this up?” He handed her a loaf of French bread and a knife.
“Sure.” She started slicing onto a large cloth napkin.
Their parents wandered over.
“Wow,” Dad said, looking at the lunch spread. There was a giant salad of greens with crumbly cheese, apples, and curly arugula. A plate of cold, sliced chicken breast drizzled with tarragon and olive oil sat next to a bowl of raspberries that were a deep, almost luminous red-pink.
A big bottle of Perrier, its sides frosty and dripping, stood ready to be opened. Maddy’s mouth was watering.
She couldn’t help reaching for a berry. She popped the soft little fruit into her mouth.
“Mmmm,” she murmured. It was sweet and warm.
“How long did it take you to make all of this?” she asked David.
He shrugged. “Not long—it’s like the lunch I made you. If you have really good ingredients, the food is better when you mostly leave it alone.”
Everyone started helping themselves to the slices of white, tender chicken flecked with dark green specks of tarragon, the hunks of crusty bread, and the salad. For a while, they were quiet, concentrating on the food. Then Fred set his plate down, stretched, and patted his stomach. “Delicious again, Dave.”
David looked pleased. “Thanks, Dad.”
Fred stood up. “Anyone up for a little stroll around the lake? There’s a nice path that goes right along the bank.”
“Sure!” Mom got to her feet and dusted off her shorts. “Are you coming, Bob?” she asked. Maddy’s father had just stretched out flat on the sand with a towel over his eyes, but he reluctantly removed it and got up.
“I think I’m going swimming,” David said.
“Maddy?” Fred asked, inviting her to join them for a stroll.
She glanced at David, who seemed to be unsuccessfully trying not to stare at her. “Um, I think I’ll hang out here, Fred, thanks. Maybe I’ll swim too.” She leaned back on her elbows and smiled at the group.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Maddy watched as her parents and Fred crunched away down the beach and disappeared on a path through the woods. She and
“I’m n— Well, okay, I’m a little surprised,” he admitted, dumping salad into a big plastic bowl. Several feet away, her parents and Fred were laughing quietly as Fred pointed out something in the sand.
“My friend Kirsten and I took a bird there once.” She focused for a moment on balancing five glasses on a flat rock next to her. She looked up and found David watching her expectantly.
“Why?” he prompted. Maddy felt sort of dumb telling this story, but it was too late to change the subject.
“Well, we were driving on 17 last year and this kestrel flew into the windshield of the car right in front of us.
We saw it get thrown over to the side of the road. So we stopped on the on-ramp, picked it up, and wrapped it in a towel. It wasn’t dead, but it just lay there looking at us with its beak open. Kirsten said we should take it to the Raptor Center—she took a vulture there once.” Maddy stopped for a second. David was watching her with his mouth slightly open. “What?”
He shut his mouth abruptly. “Nothing. What happened then?”
“So we took him over there and the technician looked at him and said that he hadn’t broken anything but he was in shock from getting hit. They put him in a cage, and at first he kept walking into the bars and falling over. Kirsten and I went back every day to see him until he was ready to be released back into the wild,” Maddy finished. She looked at David, feeling a little self-conscious. “If you must know, we named him Harold,”
she added. David was quiet. He seemed to be thinking about something.
Then he shook his head. “That’s cool. I didn’t think … ,”
he said, not finishing his sentence.
“Didn’t think what?” Maddy asked.
He looked at her a minute longer. “Nothing. Hey, do you want to cut this up?” He handed her a loaf of French bread and a knife.
“Sure.” She started slicing onto a large cloth napkin.
Their parents wandered over.
“Wow,” Dad said, looking at the lunch spread. There was a giant salad of greens with crumbly cheese, apples, and curly arugula. A plate of cold, sliced chicken breast drizzled with tarragon and olive oil sat next to a bowl of raspberries that were a deep, almost luminous red-pink.
A big bottle of Perrier, its sides frosty and dripping, stood ready to be opened. Maddy’s mouth was watering.
She couldn’t help reaching for a berry. She popped the soft little fruit into her mouth.
“Mmmm,” she murmured. It was sweet and warm.
“How long did it take you to make all of this?” she asked David.
He shrugged. “Not long—it’s like the lunch I made you. If you have really good ingredients, the food is better when you mostly leave it alone.”
Everyone started helping themselves to the slices of white, tender chicken flecked with dark green specks of tarragon, the hunks of crusty bread, and the salad. For a while, they were quiet, concentrating on the food. Then Fred set his plate down, stretched, and patted his stomach. “Delicious again, Dave.”
David looked pleased. “Thanks, Dad.”
Fred stood up. “Anyone up for a little stroll around the lake? There’s a nice path that goes right along the bank.”
“Sure!” Mom got to her feet and dusted off her shorts. “Are you coming, Bob?” she asked. Maddy’s father had just stretched out flat on the sand with a towel over his eyes, but he reluctantly removed it and got up.
“I think I’m going swimming,” David said.
“Maddy?” Fred asked, inviting her to join them for a stroll.
She glanced at David, who seemed to be unsuccessfully trying not to stare at her. “Um, I think I’ll hang out here, Fred, thanks. Maybe I’ll swim too.” She leaned back on her elbows and smiled at the group.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Maddy watched as her parents and Fred crunched away down the beach and disappeared on a path through the woods. She and
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