Free Moonlight on Butternut Lake by Mary McNear Page A

had to do all her homework by herself, even when she didn’t understand it. And she had to make her own dinner in the microwave oven every night. It wasn’t anyone’s fault she had to do all those things. It was just the way it was. But then something else occurred to her. “When is my mom going to pick me up?” she asked Heather worriedly.
    â€œOh, a little later,” Heather said, with a shrug. “As soon as she’s done at work. But I told her I could stay here with you. If that’s all right with you, that is.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” Mila said, feeling suddenly shy. “But . . . but isn’t there someplace you need to be?”
    â€œNope,” Heather said. “I’m already where I need to be. Which is right here, with you.”
    â€œBut don’t you have a family?”
    â€œI have a husband,” Heather said. “But he understands. Now, Mila,” she went on briskly, changing the subject. “How would you like a cherry Popsicle?”
    â€œI’d love one,” Mila said honestly. Heather brought her onefrom the freezer in the office, and she brought one for herself, too. Mila sat up on the daybed then, and Heather pulled a chair over, and they ate their Popsicles, and talked, while it got darker outside. And then, right as Heather was throwing their Popsicle sticks away, Mila blurted out, apropos of nothing, “When I grow up, I want to be a nurse, too.”
    â€œReally?” Heather asked, obviously pleased, coming to sit back down.
    Mila nodded. It had never occurred to her before that she wanted to be a nurse, but as soon as she’d said the words, she’d known that they were true. “I’m . . . I’m good with my hands,” she said to Heather, feeling shy again. “I’m good at making things, and cleaning things, and fixing things.” And she was. But mostly, she was good at taking care of things, even if those things, so far, had consisted mainly of her stuffed animals, who suffered from a variety of ailments that often required her attention.
    â€œLet me see those hands,” Heather said now, and Mila, surprised, held her hands out for her. Heather held them lightly and examined them, “Just what I thought,” she said, after a moment.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThose are nurse’s hands,” Heather said, with a gentle smile, letting go of them.
    â€œThey are?” Mila said, fascinated, looking down at them.
    â€œAbsolutely.” And then, after a pause, she asked, “Do you like science, Mila?”
    Mila, looking up from her hands, nodded enthusiastically.
    â€œGood, because you’ll need science to go to nursing school.”
    Mila thought of something then. “I like science,” she said, “but I hate spelling. I’m terrible at it.”
    â€œSpelling, huh? Well, nurses need to know how to spell, too,” Heather said.
    â€œThey do?” Mila said, feeling deflated.
    â€œUh-huh. But if spelling’s a problem for you, I have an idea. Do you have a test every week?” Heather asked.
    â€œEvery Friday,” Mila said.
    â€œWell, then, why don’t you come down to my office on Thursdays, at lunchtime, and we’ll review your spelling words together. I’ll have to get permission from Mrs. Williams first, but that shouldn’t be a problem. And, of course, if I have a sick student here, we’ll have to reschedule. I don’t imagine that’ll happen very often, though. The students at this school seem remarkably healthy. So what do you say? Thursdays, at lunchtime, right here?”
    â€œI say yes,” Mila said. A whole lunch period with Heather, every Thursday? Mila could hardly believe her luck.
    â€œGood,” Heather said, and she seemed as pleased as Mila. They talked some more, until Mila’s mom got there, and by then Mila knew it was late. Late enough for Heather to have called her husband and