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overflowing.
    Mitch yelled, “Hey!” and thrust out his hand to knock off his father’s cap, just like the happy intruder son had done earlier. At that precise instant, Mitch’s father jerked his head around (perhaps he’d heard the sound of approaching footsteps), and so Mitch ended up striking his father in the nose and sending his sunglasses skittering across the driveway.
    Mitch was embarrassed beyond belief, and to make matters worse, he saw that his father was growing a beard and a mustache. He looked so different. Sort of like his father, but sort of not. He looked strange. The father he knew was obscured, the way Cherry’s garden wall was obscured by vines. Was he trying to be a new person?
    Out of the corner of his eye, Mitch also noticed his mother and Cherry watching from one of the front windows, half hidden by the curtain.
    And Mitch just stood there lamely, stock-still, limp shouldered, as his father, a peculiar expression clouding his face, rubbed his nose and said, “What do you think you’re doing ?”

4 • SPENCER
    The first thing Spencer did when he woke up was to inscribe his name and address on the inside front cover of the book he’d been reading. But instead of his Madison address, he wrote:
    23 Lakeshore Drive
    Bird Lake, Wisconsin
    Already the house was insinuating itself into his heart. After only one night, he envisioned the house belonging to him one day. And not just as a vacation spot. He imagined himself as an adult living on Bird Lake year-round.
    On the outside, in the light of day, the house was nothing special—just a weary, common box. But the inside was different. The inside felt comfortable to Spencer. He liked the rough carpentry, the antlers and maps hanging from the unfinished walls, the screened porch, and the wide-planked floors throughout, with gaps so wide they looked like furrowed fields. He even found the mismatched dishes and silverware comforting. The unkempt, hodgepodge nature of the house suited him well. He thought that he could be messy here and no one would know the difference. He was relaxed.
    His mother wasn’t, however. She seemed especially quiet and restless. Her smiles were shadows of her usual smiles. Her eyes wandered, off to the side, searching the distance. He could guess what she was thinking. And so he decided not to push the issue of swimming; he’d wait for her to let him know when the time was right. Which meant they didn’t go swimming, right away, that first morning, even though that’s what Spencer wanted to do more than anything. Instead they went out for breakfast and to buy groceries.
    Because he hoped that she would like the house enough to keep it, Spencer tried to talk it up without being annoying or too obvious.
    â€œI slept great last night,” he said cheerfully, settling into the car and fastening his seat belt. “I like it here,” he added a minute later as the car pulled out onto the road that hugged the lake and led to town. He braided and unbraided his fingers on his lap, acting nonchalant.
    His mother turned partway around and smiled a weak smile. “I’m glad.”
    They passed the neighbors’ house. It was toylike and tidy, almost too tidy. To Spencer it looked as if it were the home of a perfect family in a G-rated, schmaltzy movie. On the other side of Spencer’s family’s house was a stand of white pines—some majestic, some small and spindly. When the wind blew, the branches did a disorderly, comic dance that was somehow graceful at the same time. Spencer could see a few of the trees, towering above the rooftops, out the back window.
    â€œAfter we have breakfast and get groceries, then can we go swimming?” asked Lolly. “Please?” She pursed her lips into a rosebud.
    It was the question Spencer had been reluctant to ask.
    â€œYes,” said his father.
    â€œFinally,” said Lolly. “I’ve already got my