Free Three Bird Summer by Sara St. Antoine

cell phone,” Alice said.
    “Yes, you do — in your shorts pocket,” I said.
    “Good one, Memory Guy,” Alice said. “But, really, I just brought this.” She reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out a little pack of Kleenex. “It’s much more useful than a cell phone. And much quieter, too.”
    I grinned. Alice wasn’t quite what I’d expected.
    Once we were back paddling with the current, it didn’t take us long to reach our lunch spot. I spotted a couple of our footprints in the mud. As if reading my mind, Alice pointed toward them and said, “Aren’t those duck prints?”
    “Ha-ha,” I said. But I liked the fact that we’d left our mark on the site, however impermanently. “We should call it Duck Island from now on,” I told Alice.
    “Only if you promise not to tell why.”
    “Deal,” I said.
    We passed through the marsh into the open water, which had filled up with fishing boats, sailboats, and even a couple of pontoon boats. It felt like a crowd after the emptiness of the river, but Alice didn’t seem to mind. She gave a friendly wave to the occupants of every boat we passed.
    “Do you guys ever water-ski up here?” she asked me.
    “No way,” I said. “Grandma hates speedboats. She says they’re so noisy she can’t hear the loons.”
    “Well, that’s true,” Alice said. “I never thought about that before.”
    When we reached Alice’s dock, both of her parents were there, scrubbing the steps even though there didn’t seem to be anything on them.
    Mr. Jensen stood up. “Hello, sailors!” he called cheerfully. “We thought maybe you two had paddled to Lake Superior!”
    Mrs. Jensen gave us a smile, but there was a worried look in her eyes. “You must not have had cell service out on the lake,” she told Alice. “I called half a dozen times.”
    I felt like I should make excuses and explain where we’d been, but Alice just laughed. She hopped out of the canoe, then knelt and held it for me while I made my way to the bow seat.
    “See you, Memory Guy,” she whispered.
    “Later, Duck,” I whispered back.
    I gave her parents a polite wave and headed home.

“THERE YOU ARE,” my mother said when I finally arrived back at the cabin. She was shelling peas at the kitchen table. “I would have gotten worried if I still thought you were out there on your own.”
    I poured a glass of lemonade and didn’t say anything.
    “Mrs. Jensen called midday when she couldn’t reach Alice on her cell phone. You didn’t say you were paddling with her.”
    “You didn’t ask,” I said. I put the glass down on the counter and started to walk away. “Did Dad call while I was out?” I asked.
    “I thought he called you already,” she said.
    “He missed this week,” I told her.
    “Surprise, surprise,” Mom said, shelling away.
    I hated the sarcasm in her voice. “He probably had to work late,” I said. “Not everyone gets to work when and where they feel like it.” I headed back to my room before she could say anything more.
    To my dismay, I spotted another note in the mirror over my dresser. I opened it and began to read.
    My love,
    Dottie and I wear our eagle hats and march around town. But where are you? And when will I tell her our plans? Will I or won’t I will I won’t I . . .
    The note drifted off like that, and this time she hadn’t even signed her name. What year did Grandma think this was? She’d made those eagle hats as a teenager! And did she really think she’d go back to the Fourth of July parade next year . . . with my grandfather?
    I threw the note in my sock drawer, wishing I’d never seen it at all.
    After dinner, Grandma and I played checkers while Mom finished up the dishes. Grandma had been so much more animated with Dottie around — as if seeing an old friend had really woken her up. But in her notes, she seemed to be reliving the sad times when my grandfather was away, or the moments when her life wasn’t settled. If her brain was