A Handful of Time Read Free Page B

point—Patricia took swimming lessons every winter at an indoor pool in Toronto—the three cousins walked down the steep steps that were cut into the bank and led to the lake.
    The canoe was pulled onto the pebbly beach. Loon was painted on its green side in faded letters.
    â€œHave you ever been in a canoe?” demanded Kelly.
    Patricia shook her head. “You can leave me behind if you like. I’ll watch you from here.”
    â€œMum said to take you, so you better come. Sit on the floor in the middle and lean against the thwart. And don’t move—canoes tip really easily.”
    Patricia did as she was told. Kelly and Christie pushed out the boat with her in it, then climbed in carefully and began to paddle.
    The bottom of the canoe was crossed with wooden ribs that dug into her. It was an odd feeling, sitting so low in the water without actually being in it. Patricia leaned back against the life jacket she was using as a cushion. The sun warmed the top of her head and the canoe bobbed gently. A clean smell, like newly washed clothes, rose from the lake. For the first time since she had come here, she felt calm.
    Kelly steered them expertly along the shore. She and Christie began a lively discussion that Patricia couldn’t follow. It was something about some kids who lived at the other end of the beach.
    â€œThere’s the Cresswells’ Laser,” said Kelly. “What a beauty! They’re going in the Sunday race. I hope they lose.”
    She laid her paddle across the gunwales and gazed at a group of white sails billowing in the distance. Closer to shore, brightly patterned windsurfers fluttered and fell. Kelly sighed. “I wish we had a sailboat … or at least a windsurfer.”
    â€œI thought Uncle Doug was going to buy you a second-hand boat this summer,” said Christie.
    â€œHe was.” Kelly tossed her cap of hair angrily. “Then a whole bunch of things happened. Rosemary was born— we didn’t predict her last summer. Mum was going to go back to teaching so we’d have more money, but now she doesn’t want to. And Dad can’t take any holidays until August, so there wouldn’t be enough time to teach me.”
    â€œNever mind, Kelly,” said Christie. “At least between us we have two canoes and a rowboat.”
    There was a long pause. Motorboats droned in the distance and voices shouted instructions to water skiers. The canoe glided almost noiselessly, a small rush of water breaking against its bow. Patricia was grateful that her cousins were paying no attention to her. But then, as if they had secretly agreed to it, they began an interrogation.
    â€œWhy haven’t you ever been in a canoe, Patricia?” asked Christie.
    â€œI’ve never been to a lake before,” Patricia confessed. “My parents take their holidays in the spring and we go to Bermuda.”
    â€œWhat do you do in the summers, then?” came from Kelly behind her.
    â€œI go to the day-camp that my school runs. They take us to museums and plays and things.”
    â€œMuseums!” scoffed Kelly. “What a dumb thing to do in the summer!”
    â€œWhat can you do?” asked Christie in her cool little voice. “Can you ride? I win prizes for riding in Edmonton.”
    â€œI took riding lessons once, but I didn’t like it,” said Patricia, shivering at the memory.
    â€œCan you fish? Or make a fire?”
    â€œNo.” Even though she couldn’t see their faces, Patricia felt their disapproval. She forced her voice to be louder. “I can cook, though. My father taught me.”
    â€œCooking!” laughed Christie. “Anyone can cook. I make great rice crispie squares.”
    Patricia wanted to tell them she could make bread, almost perfect pie crusts and better omelettes than her father. But maybe they’d tease her for having such an old-fashioned interest, the way her mother sometimes did.