Free Summer of the Gypsy Moths by Sara Pennypacker

“Well, then,” he said. “You’re all set for Saturday. You have Louise call me if she needs anything.”
    â€œThanks again!” Angel said, shutting the door on him.
    We went over to the window and watched him get into his truck with Treb and drive off. “That guy is trouble,” Angel said.
    â€œHe’s really nice.”
    â€œOh, he’s nice, all right,” Angel agreed. “But he’s in love with her.”
    â€œWith who? Louise?”
    Angel nodded as if she’d never been surer of anything in her life. “Oh, yeah. He has all the signs. All these projects he does for her? Mowing her lawn? The towel bar? Please. Any excuse to hang around here. He’s drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before.”
    â€œWhat should we do?”
    â€œWe’ll have to put out the flame. Duh.”
    â€œShe’s dead, Angel. That pretty much puts out the flame. I mean what are we going to do about him coming around? He told me he’ll come every weekend to mow and take the renters’ garbage. How long before he gets suspicious about not seeing her?”
    Angel thought for a minute. “I know,” she said at last.“We’ll give her a boyfriend.”
    The image of Louise’s lolling off her recliner flashed in front of me. “That might be kind of hard at this stage,” I said.
    â€œNo,” Angel said. “That’ll be easy. But first we’d better get her buried.”

CHAPTER 9
    G eorge had dug three big holes in a row for us. Angel and I got to work shoveling out the earth between them. Twenty minutes later, we stood panting over a trench that was maybe two feet deep. We climbed down into it and set to work again. The ground became sandier, but loaded with rocks. After half an hour of solid digging, stopping only to wipe sweat and swat gnats, I thought the pit looked enough like a grave.
    â€œAnother foot deeper,” Angel insisted. “I’m telling you, that goat…”
    More digging. The mound beside us grew. Finally, justas the sun began to fall toward the tree line, Angel dropped her shovel. “Let’s go get that pumpkin.”
    We climbed out of the pit and went in.
    â€œWell,” Angel said. She didn’t take a step into the den, though.
    â€œWell,” I said. I grabbed the Febreze and gave Louise another good spraying, but I didn’t go in either. I stood next to Angel, trying to judge how heavy my great-aunt might be. She wasn’t tall, but whenever she heaved herself out of a chair, you could tell there was a lot of effort involved.
    Angel made two fists and pumped her arms, like a wrestler. She dropped them and sighed.
    â€œRight,” I said. We stood there some more.
    â€œThis is ridiculous,” Angel said. She marched into the room and went behind Louise’s recliner and gave it a shove. “Well, I can move her,” she said. “But I can’t look at her.” She pulled the throw from the back of the couch and flung it over Louise.
    It made all the difference, not having to look at what had happened to Louise. I joined Angel behind the recliner, and together we pushed it to the doorway. We steered Louise down the hall and into the kitchen—it was surprisingly easy, and I thought, Well, there’s a nice benefit to keeping your floors waxed. I kept this to myself, of course.
    And then there we were at the back door. Which the recliner was too wide for.
    â€œI’ve got an idea,” Angel said.
    She left, and I stayed with Louise. Even though she was under the throw and couldn’t have seen anything, and even though she was dead, for heaven’s sake, I was glad that her last view on earth was of the golden light of sunset pouring over those blueberry bushes she was so proud of. I liked it that there was a pot of chili simmering beside her in her own neat kitchen. “This is what you want,