Read Online The Summer of Letting Go by Gae Polisner - Free Book Online

hopeless, too, because the dog is already down the stairs and tearing across the grass like a maniac, Frankie racing behind him.
    I stare, my brain trying to puzzle the pieces together. How could Frankie know about Simon? Nobody would tell a toddler a sad thing like that. Probably I’m just reading into things, so I try to shrug it off as I chase down the stairs after them.
    The Schylers’ yard is seriously huge. A rolling green hillside ends in a flat open stretch big enough to be a small baseball field. To one tree-lined side is a huge wooden jungle gym with bridges, a swing set, two slides, and a fort at the top with a blue and yellow canvas roof. Opposite that is a rose garden with trellises and pathways and a big pond with a waterfall rushing down. The kid could hurt himself any number of places here.
    â€œThere are big fat fishes inside that pond!” Frankie points out when I catch up, then takes my hand and pulls me right back up the hillside with him.
    Here, at the top, a tire swing hangs from a giant old tree. Parked next to that is a kid-sized ride-on electric tractor, still with its key in the ignition. More injuries waiting to happen.
    â€œWow, you’ve got a lot of cool big-boy things here,” I say, thinking of Mr. Habberstaad’s words again.
    â€œYep.” He lets go of my hand and races down the hillside, then back up, Potato charging after him, nearly tripping him with every step. At the top, panting, he climbs up on the tire swing and yells, “Push me, Frankie Snell!” and I do, Potato barking and jumping beneath him.
    When he slows down a bit, I kick off my flip-flops, letting my toes sink into the cool, soft grass, and grab hold of two ropes of the swing. I walk backward, pulling it in a widening arc, then after several go-rounds let go. It swings out in dizzying circles over the hillside. Frankie squeals with delight, so when it slows, I do it again, letting it fly out in wider and wider rings. When I run out of steam and it finally slows to a near-halt, Frankie stands up and, using the ropes, pulls himself toward the branch above his head.
    â€œFrankie, don’t do that,” I say.
    â€œIs good,” he says. “I does it all the time.”
    He works hard, straddling, pulling, twisting, and grunting, until he’s hauled himself onto the branch, then stands on it, using the one above it for support. He looks down at me through the branches like Tarzan, a goofy, satisfied grin on his face.
    â€œSeriously, Frankie, you’re freaking me out. Get down.”
    â€œIs okay, really,” he says. “I always do this up here.”
    â€œReally? You’re like a monkey, you know that? So, how old are you, anyway?”
    â€œFour. I just turned four the other week.” My pulse quickens. Simon died in mid-June, right after his own fourth birthday. Which means Frankie is the same age as Simon was. “That is big, right?” he’s asking. “Four is a really big age?”
    I look at him peering down at me and try to keep my mind steady, instead of flitting to crazy places. “Yes, four is very big. But not big enough to fly, Frankie. You need to come down now. Please.” I twist toward the house, to the Schyler’s back door. “Hey, who takes care of you here, anyway? When your mom isn’t feeling well, I mean?”
    â€œShe is feeling well,” he says. “She is just sleepy and tired.”
    â€œOkay, who takes care of you when she’s sleeping?”
    â€œFrankie Snell does,” he says, and smiles. I can’t help it, I smile back at him. “And Grandpa Harris, too. Grandpa Harris takes care of me.”
    â€œOh yeah? Does your grandpa live near here?”
    He shrugs. “He comes to play with me, but lots of times he has work to do. And he buys me lots of toys. He buyed me my yellow tractor.”
    My eyes go to the tractor parked next to the tree. Those ride-on things are expensive. I