Valley of the Moon by Melanie Gideon Page B

Fort, and playing board games. Dinners we ate at the clubhouse with all the rest of the lake residents; families took turns cooking and cleaning. But the late evenings after everybody retired to their cabins were the best part. Each summer Dad would pick one novel from “the canon” and we’d sit out on the porch and he’d read aloud to me. He started with
Treasure Island.
We’d read
Moby-Dick
and
Lord of the Flies
. This year he’d chosen
The Great Gatsby
.
    “George, is that you?” somebody shouted from out on the porch. It was Gary Thibodeux, with his seven-year-old daughter, Lily. We went out to greet them.
    “Lux, you’ve grown. I’da barely recognized you,” he said, squinting at me.
    That was a compliment, right? He meant I looked mature? Pretty?
    “Lily’s been waiting for you to get here, haven’t you, Lily?” he said.
    Lily chewed nervously on a strand of hair. Last summer I’d spent practically every morning with her in the lake, teaching her how to dive off the raft. I’d known her since she was a baby.
    “Remind me what grade you’re going into,” I said.
    “Second.”
    “I can’t believe it. I thought third or fourth for sure.”
    She glowed. There was nothing little kids liked more than to be mistaken for somebody older. Clearly, I still hadn’t outgrown that particular pleasure either.
    “Hello, Gary,” said my father, coming down from the porch to shake his hand.
    “Well, you’re the last to arrive,” said Gary. “We’re full up now.”
    My father grinned. “Let summer begin.”
    “Began a few hours ago by my watch,” said Gary, a can of Pabst in his hand.
    —
    Fish sticks, french fries, baked beans, and salad. Pound cake with strawberries and Cool Whip. Saturday night dinner. Normally I sat with the kids my age, a group of teenagers, including Beth Harris, who, like me, had changed in the last year, though not in a good way (she looked like she’d gained twenty pounds). But the first night back was always sort of awkward. I took a seat next to my father at the adult table for the first time ever.
    “Don’t you want to eat with the pack?” he asked.
    “Not really.” I was feeling shy.
    “You should go eat with them.”
    “I want to eat with you.”
    He gave me a pinched smile.
    I’d known all the adults sitting at the table since I was little. Since I was the only kid, they spent the meal indulgently asking me questions. I hadn’t planned on being the center of attention, but I can’t say I didn’t like it. I could sense all the kids watching us, eavesdropping. I was popular at school, but I was even more popular at Lapis Lake. In their eyes I led an exotic life in ritzy Newport. My father was the dean of a private school. Their fathers all worked at the mill.
    How was ballet? Great. I’d just gotten my first pair of toe shoes.
    What was the school play this year? A musical,
Guys and Dolls
. I played Sarah Brown, the lead.
    Who was my favorite band? Was it still the Beach Boys? No, it was Ray Charles.
    Instead of beaming, being proud of my exploits, my father grew uncomfortable. He tried to change the subject, get them to talk about their children, but somehow the conversation always meandered back to me. Now I understood my father’s reticence at having me sit at the adult table. I’d disrupted the unspoken order; I’d forced myself into the spotlight. I, along with all the other kids, belonged in the corner at the card table with the rusted metal legs, the table that had grown increasingly more silent as the evening went on.
    —
    “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I said when we got back to the cabin.
    The last thing I wanted was to start our vacation off on a sour note. I’d hoped our two weeks together would be an opportunity to reconnect, to recover the old ease we’d had with each other. And just how was I going to accomplish this? My plan was to show off a little. Dazzle him. Remind him of the old Lux. And now, only a few hours into our