Free Summer of the Gypsy Moths by Sara Pennypacker Page A

too, isn’t it? You didn’t want us to call the police and be taken away, right?” I was surprised to find that it didn’t feel weird to talk to a dead person. I only wished she could answer.
    I gave the chili a stir, then turned the flame down even lower. “Probably not as good as yours,” I admitted.
    I heard the scrape of furniture being moved, and then Angel was back, dragging the braided rug from the den. “Her magic carpet,” she explained. We tugged the chair back enough to unroll the rug out on the step.
    Angel and I looked at each other. She bent to Louise’s feet and gestured that I should get her arms. We turned our heads and tried not to breathe.
    â€œOne…two… three ,” she counted.
    And we heaved.
    For a minute, it looked like we’d overshot and Louisewould go tumbling over the steps. But she rocked back onto her side, and Angel and I let out our breaths. We stepped over her and each grabbed an edge of rug and tugged her off the landing. “Sorry,” I whispered at each bump.
    The path through the middle of the garden was fairly smooth, but it wasn’t designed to drag a body down. It took both of us straining together to make any progress at all, and within minutes we were dripping with sweat and gasping for breath. The mosquitoes came out and decided this was just how they liked their dinner.
    After what seemed like an hour of dragging, we reached the trench. “One, two, three ,” Angel called again. We took one edge of the rug and lifted. Louise wobbled at the lip for a minute, as if she were having second thoughts about all this, but then with an extra push we sent her rolling softly into the pit, her jewelry making tiny jangles as it slid in with her. We dropped the rug in, and it fell over her with a hushed thud.
    I turned to the heaps of fresh earth behind me, and my arms went numb.
    Not Angel. She filled a shovel with dirt and tossed it into the grave without looking. And then another and another.
    I touched Angel’s arm. “Hold on.” I went inside and looked around Louise’s room for something that I could bury with her. I settled on the picture of her with mygrandmother, the one with the tarnished frame. I went back out and knelt beside the grave and dropped it in.
    â€œWhat’s that for?” Angel asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” I admitted. “Company, I guess.”
    After that, I could cover her up. It was hard work. We shoveled and raked, but that hole didn’t seem to get any fuller for the longest time. At least when true evening fell, the mosquitoes gave up, but by then we were covered with bites under the sweat and dirt.
    At last the grave was filled. We piled the rest of the dirt up into three smooth mounds over where George had dug the holes. Angel raked the seaweed around the mounds. Then she brushed her hands together as if she was finished. “Let’s go eat some chili,” she said.
    â€œWe can’t just go in, Angel. We have to say something.”
    Angel turned back to the grave with her hands on her hips. “Jeez, I hope she’s deep enough,” she said. “Otherwise, every dog in Barnstable County…”
    â€œNot like that! Something to lay her to rest.”
    â€œWhy do we have to say anything? We’re not really burying her, not that way. This is temporary, Stella.”
    â€œTemporary?”
    â€œWhen your mom gets here, we’ll have to explain things. And then people will come, and…do whatever. Right?”
    I realized I hadn’t wanted to think about that part, butI nodded. “I guess.” But it didn’t feel right. “No. She and my grandmother only had one brother, and he was killed in Vietnam. There’s no one else to do this. We have to say something.”
    â€œFine,” said Angel. She nodded over the fresh dirt. “Rest in peace. I hope you…you know…rest in peace.”
    â€œNot to