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copyright
© 1999, 2000,2001 Andrew V. Smith. All Rights
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| 3
The Books, continued |
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“Well, can I come over tonight and look at them?”
“Sure, and don’t forget to bring your trigonometry book. I’ve seen your last test,” Sandy said. Both girls laughed. It was the first time the ice had been broken all day. The rest of the school day flowed smoothly for April. After dinner she hiked over to Sandy’s. She ran up the steps of Sandy’s home. The door was framed on either side by two large beach rose bushes. I wonder why Sandy forgot about these bushes when she needed the flowers, April thought? Never mind. Old man McGill’s bushes were a lot closer. The baby bird would probably be dead if I had to run all the way here for the beach rose flowers. She looked up as she rang the doorbell. The sky looked a little threatening. April’s mom, Primavera Wiley (Prima for short), told her to call if it started to rain; she’d give her daughter a ride home. April knew from experience that Sandy’s mom would beat her to it. Sandy had a great room on the second floor of her parents’ Cape. April could see a Nor’ Easter brewing off Sachuest Beach from Sandy’s window. The girls wrapped up their homework quickly. When Sandy was sure that the rest of the household was watching the television downstairs, she pulled out her aunt’s scrapbooks. She selected one that she never had the time to open. “This one’s full of a lot of a photographs.” Sandy handed it to her friend. April began to thumb through the book. Some of the photographs were black and white. A lot were that funny kind of color film that they used in the past. Most were just shots of Sandy’s aunt with friends. Little notes were scribbled everywhere in the margins. The rain began to beat softly on the bedroom window. It was a funny kind of storm. Most Nor’ Easter’s were all sound and fury. This one almost sounded gentle, with just an occasional gust of wind driven rain beating upon the windowpane. April stopped at one page in particular. She stared hard at it. “What is it?” Sandy asked. She put down the scrapbook of poetry she was looking at and slid over next to April to see what she was
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