In its majesty, the bird swoops down and skims the surface of the water until it’s drifting along in a buoyant dance that matches the rhythm of the lake.
“I knew this was going to be our place,” my dad sighs.
“Do we get to come back here every summer?” I ask.
“Every summer,” he breathes, his eyes scanning the fruit smoothie–colored sky as it swirls with brilliant oranges and pinks.
Miles and I share banana split grins.
“I got you guys something,” Mom says as she tips her head toward a box wrapped in craft paper painted with tiny suns all over it.
I hadn’t noticed it nestled between our chairs.
Miles and I lunge for it at the same time, ripping her artwork to shreds and uncovering a two-person pineapple floatie. We both gasp.
“Your dad bought a new air compressor that I think he’d like to try out.”
He topples out of his chair and runs for the trunk of the hatchback as she chuckles, shaking her head. Miles and I unfold the rectangular floatie while she lays out three open-faced graham crackers on the edge of the brick surround. She covers each one with a bronzed marshmallow and tears open a Hershey’s chocolate bar wrapper with her teeth. Splitting it in unequal thirds, she adds the largest sections to the ones she hands to me and Miles.
With a s’more in one hand and one end of the pineapple floatie in the other, we take off running together toward my dad, yelling, “Best summer of our lives!”
The last two days of summer break are the longest in the worst way. My parents force me stay inside the cabin all day playing Uno with them while a storm rages outside.
I knew, as the summer days dwindled, I was going to miss this place. But I didn’t realize just how much until my very last morning.
I press my face against the dining nook window. No rainfall!
I skip breakfast and barrel down the dock with my bucket in hand. When I find the dock empty, I think he didn’t show up, until I see him, squatting on the edge of the shore, his face planted inside his bucket.
“Miles! Caught anything yet?” I call.
After our fair share of misses this summer, wefinallyfigured out the secret to catching tadpoles. A fine mesh net. We always release them back into the lake before the sun goes down.
Some days we collect shells or hunt for rocks in the shape of hearts. One time, we found a cracked crab claw on the shore. It was a real relief when my parents convinced us that it was from a cookout, and that freshwater crabs did not exist in Bear Lake.
But today, I can tell Miles has something new in his bucket in the way he lifts his head and grins at me.
I jump off the edge of the dock, rushing right for him, and gasp when I peer inside. There’s a small green-as-a-lime frog bouncing around in the bottom. I squeal at the sight of it.
“You found a frog!”
“I think I’m going to name it Miley,” he says.
Miley?For afrog?
“That’s kind of a weird frog name,” I admit.
“I don’t know, I kind of like it,” he says.
“How did you come up with it anyway?”
“It’s Miles and Teddy put together.”
I grin so wide I think my nose and eyes, even my hair, grow a smile.
Never mind. It’s not weird at all, it’s perfect.
“I love it!”
