Promises to Keep Nan Rossiter (books for 7th graders .txt) đ
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- Author: Nan Rossiter
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âThose are loons,â Gage replied. âThey have four distinct calls. The first oneâthe one you thought sounded like a wolfâis the âwail.â The male loon makes it when heâs looking for his mateâheâs saying, âYoo-hoo, where are you?ââ
âNice,â Maeve said, laughing.
Gage took a sip of the beer and grinned. âAnd the one we just heard is the âyodelââheâs telling everyone itâs his territory.â
âHow do you know so much?â
Gage shrugged. âI dunno. Growing up on a farm, I guess, and listeninâ to all the old folklore from my grandparents, especially Dutchâmy momâs dad.â
âYou called your grandpa Dutch?â
Gage nodded. âEveryone does. His real name is Henrik Jansen, but when he was a kid, he loved baseballâhe was a star pitcherâand all his buddies called him âDutch,â and it just stuck. He was a great guyâheâd do anything for you. One time, there was this huge barn fire on our neighborâs farm, and by the time everyone got there, the hayloft was fully engulfed, but Dutch ran straight into that barn and shooed out all the cows and chickens. The barn was a total loss, but not a single animal died.â
âThatâs incredible!â
Gage smiled, lost in the memory of his grandad, and then offered her the beer.
She took a sip. âMy grandmother was like that. I mean, she didnât run into a burning building or anything, but she was always willing to help. We called her Grandy.â
Gage nodded. âIs she still alive?â
âNo, she died when we were young. How about your grandfather?â
âHeâs still alive, but heâs in a nursing home.â
âDo you ever see him?â
âNot recently. My mom says heâs getting pretty forgetful and sometimes he doesnât remember people.â
âYou should go see him. Elderly folks have unexpected moments of clarityâa voice or a song can trigger their memory, and seeing the light of recognition in their eyesâeyes that are usually far-off and lostâis like a gift from heaven.â
âYeah? How do you know so much?â
She grinned and handed the beer back to him. âBecause I studied cognitive impairment in the elderlyâdementia, senility, Alzheimerâs. Iâm drawn to old people, and I like to stay current on new studies.â
âWhereâd you go to college?â
âEmory.â
âDid you grow up in Georgia?â
âI did, but I was born in Maine and lived there till I was in sixth grade, so I have roots in New England.â
He took a sip of the beer. âWhyâd you move down here?â
âMy dad got a job offer from Gulfstream that he couldnât turn down.â
He nodded, offering her the bottle again.
She took a sip. âDid you go to college?â
âArt school.â
âWhich one?â
âSCAD.â
She raised her eyebrows. âSooo, youâre an artist-slash-construction guy?â
âMore like a construction guyâslash-failed-artist.â
âWhat was your major?â she asked, handing the bottle back.
âI didnât stay long enough to pick a major, but I was leaning toward illustration.â
âHow come you didnât finish?â
âI didnât have enough money.â
Maeve frowned. âWhat about your par . . .â
But before she could finish, Gage shook his head. âItâs a long story.â
She nodded and watched him drain the last of the beer. The conversation was over, and she opened the door of her Jeep, but after she climbed in, she looked back at him. âYou said loons have four calls. What are the other two?â
Gage smiled. âWell, thereâs the hoot,â he said. âItâs not very remarkableâjust a little hoot like heâs answering roll call, but the last call is the tremolo. It sounds like this . . .â He cupped his hand around his mouth and the sound that passed through his lips was so realistic that, a moment later, there was a response in the distance.
âWow, that was really good,â Maeve teased. âI think youâve attracted a potential mate.â
Gage laughed. âI hope so.â
That had been two years ago, and as Maeve climbed into her Jeep tonight, she heard the haunting tremolo of a loon, and the coincidence made her smile, but the feeling that followed was bittersweet. Gage had attracted a potential mate; theyâd started dating soon after and she couldnât believe how time had flown, but even though theyâd grown close, there were still things she hadnât told himâthings that had happened in her past that made her feel ashamedâand she sensed he had his own skeletons. Aside from his grandfather, he never talked about his family, and whenever she asked, he always found a way to change the subject. She stared up at the night sky. Why does life have to be so complicated?
6
THE EGGS WERE STILL WARM WHEN GAGE CRACKED THEM ON THE EDGE OF the cast-iron pan his mom had given him. He watched their translucent whites turn opaque, flipped the sizzling popping bacon, and then looked out the kitchen window. Eggith, Eggel, and Eggna, his Rhode Island Red hens, and their faithful protector, Pilgrim, a Plymouth Rock rooster, were all members of a tiny flock that had arrived in a peeping box two years earlier. They were now scratching and pecking the dusty earth along the fence, foraging for insects in the tall grass. He took a sip of coffee and thought about the day ahead. Between working all week and spending most of his free time with Maeve, he rarely had a day to himself, but when Maeve announced she was going shopping and out to lunch with Macey and Harper, he realized heâd finally have some time to catch up on projects around the cabinâand maybe even do a little drawing. Heâd meant to get up early, but heâd lazed in bed, stroking the snoring blond head on the pillow next to him, and, feeling his light touch, the lanky yellow Lab had rolled onto his back, exposing the long curve of his belly, and waited expectantly, his front paws hanging in the air like a basketball player whoâd just taken a jump shot. Gage had teasingly withdrawn his hand and waited, watching him with a half smile. Finally, Gus had opened one eye and looked over. Well? he seemed to say, and Gage had chuckled. âYouâre silly, you know that?â heâd said softly, making the dogâs tail thump the strewn-about sheets.
He turned
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