Free Three Bird Summer by Sara St. Antoine Page B

it?” I asked.
    Grandma pointed her hand up ahead to the right. I saw a flash of red, then something popping around the trunk of a tall red pine. “Is it a downy woodpecker, Grandma?” I asked.
    “Hairy,” she corrected.
    “I don’t know how you keep all those birds straight,” Mom said, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
    “When you really care about something, you don’t forget,” Grandma said.
    “I wish that were true for me,” Mom said. “I’ve forgotten so many things I used to know.”
    “Like what?” I asked.
    My mom thought for a moment. “I can’t remember!” We all laughed.
    I was afraid Mom was going to start a serious conversation about my grandmother’s memory, but instead she said, “Think you can get us back to our road, Ma?”
    Grandma nodded and tromped on. I wasn’t sure she really did know her way. We were out there for a long time, stepping over logs and through brambly shrubs, weaving in and out among the trees before we finally hit the dirt drive. But I liked her confidence. It was like watching an old dog in the woods: she seemed perfectly happy to be wherever she was in that moment. When we reached the road, Mom breathed a sigh of relief.
    “Phew! It’s getting warm again!” she said, pushing up her sleeves. “How are you doing, Ma?”
    Grandma didn’t say anything. She looked completely exhausted now that we were on the open path. It was hotter with fewer trees overhead, and though the footing was easier, she moved much more slowly. When we reached the cabin, Grandma sank into the built-in bench on the deck. Mom brought us all lemonade.
    “I hope I didn’t wear you out too much, Ma,” my mom said.
    “I love those woods” was all Grandma said in response. After she drank her lemonade, she leaned her head back and stared out at the trees, not saying a word.
    Still warm from the walk, I changed into my swim trunks and went down to the lake. Instead of walking the length of the dock and jumping in, I waded straight in from the shore. I swear I could feel the water making contact with every bit of my skin, pore by pore. Then I dove under and let myself be enveloped and buoyed by the cool lake water. I swam and somersaulted and dove some more, feeling like I might never want to get out of the lake again.
    A pair of loons was swimming along the long edge of Grandma’s property. I swam over toward them, keeping my head above water and moving as slowly and quietly as possible. They knew I was there. Periodically they’d dive underwater and reappear in some unexpected place, swiveling their heads each time to see where I was. But they didn’t seem terribly concerned. Probably they knew a scrawny city kid was no real threat. And, in fact, the third time they popped up, I could have sworn they’d come closer. I could see individual feathers and water droplets glistening on their backs. The loons’ bodies seemed more massive and barrel-like up close than they did from a distance. We bobbed along for a while at the water’s edge, diving and resurfacing, eyeing one another with curiosity.
    Finally the loons had enough of me. They dove down and resurfaced far out in the lake, and I made my way back to the dock. As I pulled myself up the ladder, I spied what looked like a giant black donut making its way in my direction across the shallow water. It was Alice, lying in her inner tube and kicking her way over from her dock to mine.
    “Ahoy!” she shouted. She was holding a parcel in one arm, keeping it raised above the water.
    When she reached the dock, she handed me the bag and slid off the tube into the water. Then she popped up again and pulled herself up onto the dock.
    “What’s this?” I asked, peering inside.
    “More cookies. From my mom!”
    “What for?” I asked.
    Alice shook the water off her skin. “I think she was just so relieved you got me home alive!”
    “Wow. She has seriously low expectations,” I said.
    Alice sat down on the edge of the dock, and I