Free Bird Lake Moon by Kevin Henkes Page B

barely pedaled some of the way back, he was running so hard. He seems like a great dog. A really great dog . . .”
    â€œSlow down,” said Papa Carl, straightening his bent shoulders and moving his hands about as if he were shooing a low-flying bug or waving at his feet.
    Mitch shook his head and blinked. He was exhausted—physically and emotionally.
    The intruder father said thank you and said that his name was Peter and said what his wife’s and children’s names were and extended his hand to shake Mitch’s and said thank you once more.
    All the intruders thanked him. But it was the girl, Lolly, who thanked him the most.
    â€œIt was my fault Jasper got away,” said Lolly.
    â€œYeah, look,” said the boy named Spencer. “The hook works just fine.” He held up the latch at the end of the leash, nearly touching Lolly’s nose.
    He opened and closed the latch, probably a dozen times.
    â€œDon’t rub it in,” she said to her brother behind a cupped hand, but loud enough for Mitch to hear. “I forgot to hook Jasper to the tree rightly,” she explained, turning toward Mitch. “So you saved my life. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Her eyes gleamed. She rushed toward Mitch and hugged him.
    â€œIt’s okay,” he said, shrinking away from her. “I didn’t really do anything.” But he had done something. And he felt guilty that Lolly had been blamed for that something. He tried, and managed, to push the heavy feeling aside, though, because everyone was being so nice to him, so welcoming. Already he felt pulled—from one life into another.
    â€œDo you want to stay for lunch?” asked Spencer. “If it’s okay.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” said his mother.
    â€œWe have to wash Jasper first,” said Lolly. “He stinks.”
    Mitch looked to Papa Carl.
    Papa Carl nodded.
    â€œWe can swim after we eat,” said Spencer.
    â€œOr play one of those old board games in the closet,” said Lolly. “Or play with our long-lost dog.”
    â€œOkay,” Mitch replied, smiling. “Yes.”
    It was toward the bright middle of the day, and for the first time in a long, long while, Mitch was happy.
    They washed the dog and ate lunch outside and played an old board game and swam. Mitch and Spencer tossed Mitch’s football back and forth and threw rocks into the lake and swam again.
    Lolly was either right with the boys or close by, watching, listening. Jasper was always nearby, too.
    The air around Mitch—the world—had softened. Gone were the sharp edges and pointy corners of the past weeks.
    How long would it last?

8 • SPENCER
    â€œHe’s a charming young man,” said Lolly. “Absolutely charming.” She scurried across the kitchen and daintily put her dirty breakfast dishes in the sink. “His name is Mitch Sinclair. He’s twelve years old. He’s got the blackest hair I ever saw.”
    She seemed to Spencer as if she were an actress on a stage giving a performance as Birdy Lake—or was it Mrs. Mincebottom?—speaking not to any one real person, but to an invisible audience, a full house. And because he was in such a good mood, she wasn’t annoying him at all. Spencer was happy because he’d made a new friend.
    It was two days after Mitch Sinclair had found Jasper and returned him. Spencer and Mitch had spent that afternoon together, and the next day, yesterday, as well.
    He and Mitch had no plan for today, other than that expressed in their parting words the night before. “See you tomorrow,” Spencer had said. “I’ll come over as early as I can,” Mitch had replied.
    Spencer looked out the window toward Mitch’s grandparents’ house. He squinted at the lilacs, trying to see through them. No sign of Mitch.
    Heavy gray clouds were blotting out the sun. There was a distinct feel and smell to the morning. He guessed