thinking of Renée. I was thinking of someone else.
Someone who's never been able to look beneath the surface. At this point I don't suppose I
even want her to.”
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Who was he talking about? I wanted to know! But I felt it would be crossing some line to ask,
so we painted pickets in silence. At last he turned to
me and said, “Get beyond his eyes and his smile and the sheen of his hair—look at what's
really there.”
The way he said it sent a chill through me. It was as though he knew. And suddenly I felt
defensive. Was he telling me his grandson wasn't worth
it?
When it was time to go in for dinner, I still didn't feel right, but at least the tornado was gone.
Mom said Dad was working late, and since the boys
were off with their friends, it was just the two of us. She told me that she and Dad had talked
about it and that they both felt a little strange having
Chet come over like he was. Maybe, she said, they should find a way to pay him for his help.
I told her I thought Chet would find that insulting, but the next day she went ahead and
insulted him anyway. Chet said, “No, Mrs. Baker. It's been
my pleasure to help out your daughter on this project,” and wouldn't hear another word about
it.
The week ended with my dad loading the back of his truck with all the clippings and scraps
before he set off for work on Saturday morning. Then
Chet and I spent the rest of the day hoeing up weeds and raking and readying the dirt for
seeding.
It was on this last day that Chet asked, “Your family's not moving, are you?”
“Moving? Why do you say that?”
“Oh, my daughter brought up the possibility at the dinner table last night. She thought that
maybe you're fixing up the house because you're getting
ready to sell it.”
Even though Chet and I had talked about a lot of things while we were working, I probably
wouldn't have told him about Mr. Finnegan or Uncle
David or why the yard was such a mess if he hadn't asked me about moving. But since he
had, well, I wound up telling him everything. And it felt
good to talk about it. Especially about Uncle David. It felt like blowing a dandelion into the
wind and watching all the little seeds float off, up and
away. I was proud of my parents, and looking around the front yard, I was proud of me, too.
Just wait until I got my hands on the backyard! Then
maybe I'd even paint the house. I could do it. I could.
Chet the story, and when Mom brought us out sandwiches at
lunchtime, we sat on the porch and ate without saying
a word. Then he broke the silence by nodding across the street and saying, “I don't know
why he doesn't just come out and say hello.”
“Who?” I asked, then looked across the street to where he'd nodded. The curtain in Bryce's
room moved quickly back into place, and I couldn't
help asking, “Bryce?”
“That's the third time I've seen him watching.”
“Really?” My heart was fluttering about like a baby bird trying to fly.
He frowned and said, “Let's finish up and get that seed sown, shall we? You'll want the
warmth of the day to help with the germination.”
I was happy to finally be planting the yard, but I couldn't help being distracted by Bryce's
