by Diane Adams
"How was the picnic?" Meemaw asked. She was sitting in a rocking chair on the balcony, her knitting project temporarily forgotten in her lap.
"Good," Alex told her. "Neal says a lot of people eat crawdads."
"Yes, they do," Meemaw agreed, smiling at Neal. "Were there any snakes, Rose?"
"We didn't see any," Rose admitted. "But there was a beehive."
"It was a hornets' nest," Alex corrected her.
"It fell," Rose said with a shiver.
"But Neal grabbed a stick and rolled it into the creek," Alex said, beaming at Neal.
"Bees can't swim, can they?" Meemaw asked.
"They didn't drown," Rose explained, aware that Meemaw didn't like it when they killed things. "They just came out of the nest and flew away, all together in one big cloud. The sandwiches were yummy," she added. "Thank you for fixing them." She leaned on the railing and let her eyes search the garden for the tiny white bird.
"Yeah, thanks," Alex said, looking pointedly at Neal.
"That was the best sandwich I ever tasted," he said obediently.
"And that's a real compliment, coming from a New Yorker," Meemaw said with satisfaction.
"Meemaw," Alex said, joining Rose at the railing. "Have you ever seen something in the garden that looked like a giant white butterfly, but flew like a hummingbird?"
Meemaw sneezed, and drew a handkerchief from the pocket of her apron, pressing it over her face for a moment. "Fireflies?" she suggested.
"Fireflies?" Alex and Rose said in unison.
"You know, lightning bugs," Meemaw explained. She blew her nose and tucked the handkerchief away.
"It was too big to be a lightning bug," Rose corrected her gently. "And anyway, this was during the day."
"I think it was a lunar moth," Neal said with some authority.
"A lunar moth?" Meemaw said, looking up at him. "What an interesting theory."
"Their body is white and their wings are pale green, which could look white in bright sunlight. And I think they can get as big as a hummingbird."
"Wouldn't they be nocturnal too?" Alex asked him.
"I think so, usually. But there are always exceptions to the rule."
"Yes, indeed there are," Meemaw said. "To every rule, don't you think?"
Neal nodded, with a very serious expression.
"So," Meemaw said, finding her place and beginning to knit. "Did you see it today? The firefly?"
"It wasn't a ..." Rose shrugged and gave up.
"Meemaw?" Alex said, meeting Rose's eyes. "Do you think Rose and I could sleep out here on the balcony some night?"
"I don't know why not," Meemaw said. "There are some sleeping bags in that cabinet by the door."
Alex and Rose only stared at one another, too shocked to speak.
"You will promise not to do anything dangerous and get hurt?" Meemaw said without looking up.
"Sure! I mean, of course not," Alex said quickly.
"Of course not," Rose agreed. She looked over at Neal and saw the look of disappointment on his face. "Umm, Meemaw? I wonder if you'd care if Neal slept over?"
"I wouldn't, but I don't imagine his grandparents would allow it," Meemaw said with sympathy.
Both girls turned to look at Neal. They could tell by his expression that Meemaw was right.
"I'd better go," Neal said, checking his watch. "I haven't been back since morning."
"They've been looking for you," Meemaw told him. "They even went out to your clubhouse."
"Why didn't you say so?" Neal sputtered. He didn't seem to realize how rude he sounded.
"Just now," Meemaw explained gently. She indicated the clubhouse with a point of her knitting needles and all three children gazed beyond the fence. Mr. and Mrs. Simmons were just emerging from the shed-like building, looking left and right in search of their grandson.
Neal started away, then hesitated. He went to Mrs. Cameron's rocking chair and stooped down so that his head was on the same level as hers. Then he turned to look across the balcony.
It was impossible to see his clubhouse without standing up.
"You have such a scientific mind," Meemaw commented.
Neal opened his mouth and closed it again, as if he couldn't think of anything to say.
