Missing Read Free

a few summer places at the other end and a couple of year-round homes. This end of the lake stays pretty quiet.”
    The road becomes narrower, with bushes crowding both sides. Tully says there isn’t much more to see, just one cabin that’s so far gone it’s not worth fixing up. We head back. I trail a little behind, trying to imagine what this place must have been like when it was full of guests and there were horses.
    Ahead of me, Tully is doing a lot of talking, and Dad nods his head a few times. When we get back near the lodge, Tully points out a barn and corrals and a few other outbuildings. The barn is made of logs too and has a tin roof. Behind it a huge field slopes up toward a ridge of forest.
    While we’re standing there, the sun disappears behind the hill. The lake loses its magic. The water is black and the opposite shore is a dark smudge. I shiver slightly.
    â€œCoffee time,” says Tully. “Come on inside.”
    We walk up four steps onto a wide porch that wraps around the whole building. Wooden lawn chairs with faded striped cushions are scattered along it, facing the lake. It looks like an inviting place to curl up with a book.
    I come to a dead stop when we go through the door. We’re in a huge open room with wood floors and bright rugs, an enormous stone fireplace and lots of overstuffed leather armchairs and couches. The kitchen is at one end, with a big island and a mass of gleaming copper pans hanging from a round rack suspended from the high ceiling. There’s one gigantic table that would seat twenty people. A balcony runs all around the room and I figure there must be lots of rooms upstairs.
    The room is amazing, but that’s not what stops me in my tracks. It’s the framed photographs on every wall. I’m not lying when I say there must be hundreds.
    â€œImpressive,” says Dad behind me. “Who’s the photographer?”
    â€œI am,” says Tully, and I can hear the pride in his voice. “Take a look, if you like.”
    Tully sets out a pot of coffee, mugs, hot chocolate for me and a plate of cookies on one end of the long table. Dad and I wander about the room. The photographs are beautiful. Buildings, people, animals and scenery. The colors are rich and vibrant. Some of the places I recognize, like the Great Pyramids in Egypt and the Eiffel Tower. But I have no idea where most of the photographs were taken.
    â€œYou’ve traveled a lot,” says Dad.
    â€œAll around the world,” says Tully.
    â€œEven to Africa,” I say. I’m standing in front of a wall of photographs of African animals: cheetahs, elephants, leopards and giraffes, and some that I can’t identify. The animals are so clear that they look like they could step right out of their frames. I can see the individual hairs in a lion’s mane.
    â€œI went on a safari last fall,” says Tully. “To the Masai Mara in Kenya. A truly spectacular place.”
    â€œWow,” I say. “I’d love to do that.”
    I figure you could spend hours in this room, looking at photographs and not getting bored. I also figure Tully must have lots of awesome stories about his travels.
    Tully pours the coffee, and he and Dad sit down at the table. I take my mug of hot chocolate and a cookie and go back to the African pictures. I’m close enough to hear everything Dad and Tully say.
    Tully gets right to the point. “I need someone to work on the cabins until the snow comes,” he says.
    I hold my breath.
    â€œThat could work out,” says Dad slowly.
    â€œYou and Thea can stay out here rent-free, if you want,” says Tully casually. “Cabin three is in pretty good shape. Just needs a bit of sweeping out. That way you don’t have to drive out from town every day. And Thea could take the school bus for the last couple of weeks of school.”
    â€œI don’t know about that,” says Dad. “I’d want to pay