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129 The Last Sum­ mer George tied his row­ boat to the dock and ­ started up the path to the lodge, car­ ry­ ing a ­ stringer of plump blue­ gills he had just ­ caught in Coot Lake. It was early June, and the fish were start­ ing to put on­ weight. As he ­ walked by ­ Helen’s old Buick sta­ tion wagon, he heard a woman sing­ ing. He ­ opened the ­ driver’s side door and ­ turned the knob, but the radio was shut off. “I guess it’s Helen,” he said. On the porch, he ­ stopped to look and lis­ ten. In­ side, in the light of the south win­ dows, Helen was iron­ ing and sing­ ing ­ quietly to her­ self, while Rus­ sell slept at her feet. “Well, she’s in a good mood,” ­ George ­ thought, and ­ opened the­ screen door. “Hey, kiddo, take a look,”he said, hold­ ing up the ­ stringer.“Nine of ’em, and ­ they’re all ­ bigger than my hand. ­ That’s ­ enough for sup­ per.” “Great,” said Helen. She ­ beamed at ­ George and shut off the iron. “But I’ve got some news that is bet­ ter than blue­ gills. ­ George, guess what! Josie and Bill ­ called while you were out fish­ ing, and we’re going to be grand­ par­ ents again, right ­ around Thanks­ giv­ ing! They­ didn’t plan on it, but ­ they’re used to the idea now. And it’s going to be a lit­ tle girl.” “How do they know that?” ­ George asked. “Just take it on faith, ­ George. They use a thing ­ called ultra­ sound, and they can tell.”­ George took his blue­ gills into the ­ kitchen, put them in the sink, and re­ turned with two mugs of cof­ fee. “Have they de­ cided on a name?” The Last Summer 130 “Amy,” Helen said. “Isn’t that nice? It’s got rhyme and­ rhythm—Amy ­ O’Malley.” Helen chat­ tered on about baby ­ clothes and fix­ ing up the nur­ sery at Bill and ­ Josie’s house in Evans­ ton. But ­ George ­ wasn’t lis­ ten­ ing. He was look­ ing out at the lake,sip­ ping his cof­ fee,and think­ ing about his ­ ten-year-old grand­ son, Wil­ lie. He felt a pang of guilt. “I ­ haven’t spent ­ enough time with that boy,” he ­ thought,“and by Thanks­ giv­ ing he’ll have a lit­ tle sis­ ter, and I’ll have to di­ vide my time ­ between them. This will be our last sum­ mer to­ gether, just Wil­ lie and me.” After sup­ per, they ­ called Bill and Josie. When it was ­ George’s turn, he asked to talk to Wil­ lie. “He isn’t here, Dad,” said Bill. “He’s at a na­ ture camp for a week.” “Na­ ture camp? Why does he need a na­ ture camp? He’s got Door­ County!” “Well, all his ­ friends were going, and they teach the kids to swim and do ­ crafts and ­ things,” Bill said. “Then after na­ ture camp he’s got a week of soc­ cer camp, but he’ll be able to come up there on the eigh­ teenth.” “Fine,” ­ George said. “I’ll bring him back ­ around Labor Day.” When the phone call was over, ­ George and Helen went out on the porch. ­ George lit his pipe and ­ looked at the west­ ern sky. But he­ wasn’t able to enjoy the pipe or the sun­ set. “Crafts!” he ­ snorted. “The sum­ mer is gal­ lop­ ing by and Wil­ lie is doing ­ crafts, of all ­ things. I went to a sum­ mer camp once where we did ­ crafts. I made my dad a coin purse out of ­ leather that was like card­ board, and it ­ lasted about a week. Wil­ lie needs to learn prac­ ti­ cal­ things like fish­ ing and bird watch­ ing and hit­ ting curve balls. “And ye Gods, a soc­ cer camp?” ­ George ­ groaned. “Soc­ cer is a game for ­ scrawny lit­ tle Eu­ ro­ peans that kick each other in the shins and then roll ­ around on the grass like ­ they’re at ­ death’s door. Bunch of ­ play-actors. When a base­ ball ­ player gets hit with a pitch, he just trots down to first like noth­ ing hap­ pened. I’ll bet those soc­ cer­ players all throw like girls, and their ­ brains are scram­ bled from [3.138.69.45] Project MUSE (2024-04...

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