Read Online My Name Is River by Wendy Dunham - Free Book Online Page B

That’s because now we live in a one-story house. And now we have only one bathroom to clean (which most people would be grateful for). But honestly I’d rather clean two than have to wait all day for Gram to come out of the one we do have. Some days I think she’s fallen in and accidently flushed herself away (every now and then, I go and check to make sure she hasn’t).

    After our chores are done, Gram and I head to the birding place. We start out walking at a pretty good pace (considering Gram’s leg), when all of a sudden, she lets out a “Yee haw!” and charges down the road.
    I shout ahead, “Gram, what are you doing?”
    She keeps galloping full speed, then yells back over her shoulder, “Just doing my exercises, Sugar Pie!” I remember Gram saying her physical therapist knows what he’s talking about, but I’m beginning to wonder. I run ahead and catch up to her when she stops galloping and begins to hop. She hops down the middle of the road the rest of the way, which is just as embarassing as her galloping.
    When we finally reach the trail, I look across the street at the Whippoorwills’ house and hope no one’s watching from their front window. But that’s not likely because with Pastor Henry, Mrs. Whippoorwill, Billy, and all six little Whippoorwills, there’s eighteen eyeballs altogether. I can only hope the entire family is sitting around the kitchen table praying with their eyes closed.
    Once we’re in the woods, Gram stops hopping and slows to a snail’s pace. She’s huffing and puffing so hard I hope she doesn’t have a heart attack right before she gets to see the birding place. But since her heart is extra big, I guess it can handle stuff like this.
    We walk along the wooded trail, and then I let Gram step out into the field first. She stands still, looks around, then takes a deep breath in, and smiles (she looks as happy as she does after she’s eaten a dozen chocolate-chip cookies dunked in milk).
    Gram keeps smiling as she looks across our ecotone. All of a sudden, her eyes stop short, and she points to the bucket and rope (I wonder if all grown-ups have something against a bucket with a rope tied to it). Gram walks over to it and looks at the riverbank and then back at me. “You’ve been getting water with this?”
    I try to remember the words Billy used… “The river’s a natural resource, Gram. It’s not chlorinated like tap water, and the birds and flowers need it to thrive.”
    Gram’s jaw drops (she’s probably impressed with how smart I’ve gotten). “That’s all well and good, Sugar Pie, but this bank is too blasted steep. I wouldn’t want to see anyone fall off the edge… cuz if they did, they’d never see the light of day.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Gram. Remember what Pastor Henry said this morning? We can’t make anyone’s life longer by worrying.”
    â€œSugar Pie, there’s a difference between worrying and using your noggin.”

12

    Suet Cakes
    T he next morning I oversleep and miss the bus, so Gram drives me to school. At least I make it in time to hear the morning announcements and menu—spaghetti with meatballs for lunch. I check my schedule and realize I don’t have English today. For the first time in my life, I actually wish I did.

    Later at lunch, Billy spots me in the cafeteria and hurries over. “Hey, River, I’m glad I found you.” He sits across the table from me. “Want to come to my house after school? My mom went shopping and bought our ingredients, so now we can make suet cakes and hummingbird nectar.”
    Since my mouth is filled with spaghetti, I nod. Then I don’t know how he does it, but Billy opens his milk carton with one hand. When I think he’s not looking, I try opening mine one-handed but end up spilling chocolate milk all over my spaghetti, myself, the table,