Trouble Me Read Online Free Page A

stays neat in my life. Messy is how we do.

3: Firework
    A F EW D AYS L ATER W E D ECIDE , in light of my recent frequent puking, not to go into town for the 4th of July parade. But Cannon Beach allows fireworks on the beach at night, and I’m surrounded by pyromaniacs. So, that’s the grand plan for Independence Day: hang around and grill assorted meat and then light stuff on fire and watch the Oregon wind whip the flames out as soon as they’re started.
    “You don’t have to come down with us. You could watch from the deck if you want,” Hunter tells me.
    He’s not trying to be helpful. He’s trying to get rid of me. I’m not dumb. I’m the mom that doesn’t want people’s fingers blown off. This tends to put a damper on all sorts of outlandish and literally explosive ideas.
    “I’m coming. Nice try, though.”
    “Andrew’s coming with. He can handle us.” Beau packs up the beach chairs and the clever Oregon beach invention, the wind break. It’s a portable big screen to huddle behind when the wind tries to scour off the first layer of our faces. Though at sunset, the wind seems to be calmer than it has been in a few days. The sun leaks through the gray and turns strips of ocean hot pink, streaking clouds with fuchsia and orange.
    I shake my head. “I was going to take some pictures. And you don’t need adult supervision; you need female supervision. Andrew’s as much of a guy as you two—he wants to set stuff on fire too.”
    “Not true. I want to blow stuff up.” Andrew walks out onto the deck with a bag stuffed with towels and blankets. A few hours ago he and Hunter dragged and lugged and carried wood for the fire down to the high, wide sand at the top of the beach.
    “You’re not helping.” I look him up and down. I swear, he always makes an entrance. He’s just wearing old, worn jeans and a red long-sleeved T-shirt, but it’s the way he wears them. His broad shoulders, the ease with which he carries his lanky frame, the mischief in his blue eyes. I’m biased, but he’s just so damn handsome.
    “Are you going to come with us?” Beau looks annoyed.
    “At least for a while, yes.” I give him a little hug as he shrugs, resigned that the party pooper will be coming.
    Hunter isn’t so subtle. “Well, dang. There go the M-eighties.”
    “They’re not even legal. Who bought M-eighties?” I cast a scolding look at Andrew.
    “Hey, is that my cell phone ringing in the kitchen?” Andrew smiles slyly and drops the bag of stuff on the deck, making his escape.
    After much hauling of chairs, blankets, fireworks, hot dogs, and s’mores supplies, the whole Pettigrew/Reynolds family unit settles down around a bonfire on the beach. Hunter obsessively stokes it, adding kindling and bits of newspaper. Beau lights sparkler after sparkler.
    “Andrew! Watch this one and see what I’m spelling. See if you can guess.” Beau takes a punk and touches it to the tip of the sparkler. It sets off a shower of sparks, and Beau swings the sparkler in the growing darkness.
    “I think you’re spelling July.” Andrew sits with his arm around me. I snuggle into his warmth. The wind comes and goes, but the air cools at our ankles. I shiver at the conflicting sensation of warm and cool, the fire and the wind.
    “Yes! You’re good at this.” Beau lets the sparkler go out.
    Andrew motions to the big wrapped box of fireworks. “Why don’t you and your brother get the main-attraction fireworks out?”
    Hunter hears this and leaps up. He bounds like a puppy to the box. He and Beau drag it away from the circle of the bonfire, begin to tear the plastic off of it.
    “Oh, boy. I may go back to the house. This part is all about you menfolk and your evolutionary obsessions.”
    I make a move to see if I can get up.
    “Wait.” Andrew pats my knee. He turns in his spot, faces me.
    “What?”
    He reaches in his pocket for something. “Before we blow ourselves up, I just wanted to give you this.”
    He pulls out the