Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

house. The entry hall looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. Correction—the twister was still whirling; backpacks, coats, shoes, and accusations being tossed in all directions.

“Grandma.” Jake’s voice was the high-pitched whine of an F-5. “I told you I had to bring five different kinds of moss to school tomorrow! Now, it’s too dark.”

“You should have reminded me, Jake.” Lois’s poodle-permed hair looked as frazzled as she sounded. “You could have gone on your bike to the canal after school. Amy, where is your red sweater?”

Maryann and Amy both stood silent, holding each other up in the storm, as far away as possible without actually leaving the room. Amy stuck her thumb in her mouth. Maryann handed the sweater over to Lois.

I started picking up backpacks. “Maryann, please help Amy put on her shoes. Jake, I have some Sphagnum moss at home. We can pick it up in the morning on the way to school. And there’s Spanish moss in the trees by the Methodist church. We can get that in the morning, too.”

“That’s only two,” Jake moaned. “And it’s a test grade.”

“When did your teacher give this assignment? I can’t believe she’d only give you one day to complete something that counts as a test.”

“Two weeks ago, but Daddy didn’t have time to take me.”

Lois made a sound of frustration. “Well, why didn’t just you go to the canal by yourself?” She flung up her hands, flapping Amy’s red sweater. “There must be a hundred kinds of moss down there.”

“Melody wouldn’t have allowed it,” I told Lois.

The canal wasn’t anything like you’d expect, certainly not a slow-moving waterway filled with picturesque boats. It was a twenty-foot-deep by twenty-foot-wide runoff trench carved into the town’s limestone foundation. Sometimes it was nearly empty, a truant’s playground of algae-slick tadpole pools and assorted wildlife. Other times, it was full to the brim with a torrent of brown water hurling itself mindlessly toward the river.

Melody and I grew up exploring it, as had all the other kids our age. But these days, parents were more careful, and for good reason.

“Well,” Lois huffed, stuffing Amy’s arms into the sweater. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. You girls went there by yourselves all the time.”

“Yes, ma’am, we did.” And we were lucky we didn’t drown or get snake-bit. “I guess times have changed.”

I looked around the foyer. The storm had swept past, and the kids had most of their stuff together. “Jake.” I handed over his backpack. “We’ll figure out what to do about your assignment in the morning.”

Two hours later, with bedtime rituals observed and kids tucked into bed, I went to bed myself, feeling as if I’d been nibbled to death by ducks. Lizzie stretched out on the floor and groaned. I had invited her to sleep in the bed, but she had been more interested in prowling the house and checking that all the doors stayed locked.

“Are you here, Melody?” I whispered, my voice sounding strange in the quiet. “Are you here?”

A long time later I fell asleep, still wondering.

*

In my dream, I was floating in a warm, clear pool. One of many hot-tub-sized limestone holes carved into the canal floor, slicked green with algae, full of rainwater and tadpoles. Overhanging roots tangled at the edges of the canal’s rim, high above. Tall trees leaned toward each other, arching into a lacy canopy overhead. Dappled sunlight filtered through the shifting leaves.

Ian was there, the perfect silhouette of his body outlined in light as he stepped into the pool. Our limbs entwined, arms sliding around ribs, legs tangling together. We kissed...

“Casey.” Ben stood above us, holding out his hand. “I need you.”

Reluctantly I lifted my hand to his, and suddenly I was standing beside Ben in the cold air. A cold wind raised goose bumps on my skin.

I reached for Ian, but something held me back.

“Casey!” Jake’s panicked voice penetrated the dream and woke me with a start. I ran to his room and found him hunched over, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“What’s wrong?” I turned on the bedside lamp. He looked miserable, but not frightened or sick. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He shook his head no.

“What, then?” I sat next to him.

“I don’t know.” His voice was barely audible. “I woke up, and my bed is wet.”

“Oh, baby,” I said sympathetically. I immediately regretted my choice of words when he stiffened and pulled away. “Jake, you know I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” I put an arm around him and realized that his shoulders were higher than mine. When had this child grown taller than me? Never mind. Take care of business. “Did you change clothes?”

He jerked his chin toward the tangled heap of pajamas on the floor.

“It’s not a big deal. Get clean sheets from the linen closet.” He went to the hall closet and I pulled the wet sheets off the bed. They weren’t very wet... In fact, I realized, there was only a small spot.... Not a soaked spot, but a smear of something kind of thick and shiny.

Then it hit me. Jake hadn’t wet the bed. That wet spot wasn’t urine. It was something else entirely.

I stripped the sheets, took them and Jake’s discarded clothes into the laundry, stuffed it all into the washer, got it running, washed my hands. Finished, I raised my eyes to the white ceiling. Melody, help me.

Jake waited in his room with clean sheets, and we worked together to remake the bed. When we’d finished, I still didn’t know what to say. I’d just have to wing it. I sat beside him and looked into his brown eyes that were so much like his mother’s my throat almost closed up. “Jake, you didn’t wet the bed.”

“I didn’t think so, but—” His voice cracked then trailed away.

“Has anybody ever talked to you about... about...” Get a grip, I told myself. Be blunt. Weaving around the subject will only make it worse. “Jake, have you heard