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out just where to start。 The actual yard was just clumps of
weeds； but what about the bordering shrubs？ Should I dig them up； or prune them way back？
Were they shrubs； or just overgrown weeds？ And
what about the fence？ Should I knock it down； or rebuild it？ Maybe I should take out the front
end entirely and use the wood to fix up the sides。
The longer I looked around； the more I felt like forgetting the whole thing。 Why bother？ It
wasn't our property。 Mr。 Finnegan should be the one
making repairs。
But then I remembered my mother's words from the night before。 Surely； I thought； a few
bushes and some dilapidated wood couldn't stop
someone's best and brightest blessing！ Surely not！
And with that； I picked up the clippers and got to work。
……… Page 47………
Half an hour later I was keeper of the knowledge that one bush equals many branches； and
that the volume of a bush increases exponentially as
it's cut and tossed into the middle of a yard。 It was ridiculous！ Where was I going to put all
this stuff？
Mom came home and tried to talk me out of my mission； but I'd have none of it。 Oh； no…no…no！
I'd already pruned two bushes down to a
respectable size； and before long she'd see— the place was going to look just dandy。
“You didn't get that stubborn streak from me；” she said； but came back outside with a glass
of juice and a kiss for my cheek。 Good enough for
me！By the end of that first day； what I'd made was a big mess。 But if chaos is a necessary
step in the organization of one's universe； then I was well
on my way。 At least that's what I tried to tell myself when I flopped into bed that night； dead
tired。
And the next afternoon I was busily expanding the chaos of my little universe when I heard a
deep voice say； “That's quite an undertaking； young
lady。”
The man standing on our sidewalk was Bryce's grandfather； I knew that much。 But I'd only
ever seen him outside one time。 All the other times I'd
seen him had been through windows— either one in their sitting room or one in their car。 To
me he was just a dark…haired man behind glass。
Having him appear on my sidewalk was like having someone from TV step through the
screen and talk to you。
“I know we've seen each other from time to time；” he was saying。 “I'm sorry it's taken me over
a year to e introduce myself。 I'm Chester
Duncan； Bryce's grandfather。 And you； of course； are Julianna Baker。”
He stuck out his hand； so I took off my work glove and watched my hand pletely
disappear inside his as we shook。 “Nice to meet you； Mr。
Duncan；” I said； thinking that this man was way bigger than he looked from the sitting…room
window。
Then the strangest thing happened。 He pulled his own work gloves and a pair of clippers
from a back pocket and said； “Are you pruning all of
these to the same height？”
“Oh；” I said。 “Well； yes。 That is what I was thinking。 Although now I don't know。 Do you think
it would look better to just take them out？”
He shook his head and said； “They're Australian tea shrubs。 They'll prune up nicely。” And
with that； he put on his gloves and started clipping。
At first I didn't know what to say to this man。 It was very strange to be getting his help； but
from the way he was acting； it was as though I shouldn't
have thought a thing of it。 Clip…clip…clip； he went； like this was something he really enjoyed
doing。
Then I remembered what Bryce had said about our yard； and suddenly I knew why he was
there。
“What's the matter？” he asked； throwing his clippings into my pile。 “Did I cut it down too far？”
“N…no。”
“Then why the look？” he asked。 “I don't mean to make you unfortable。 I just thought you
might like a little help。”
“Well； I don't。 I can do this by myself。”
He laughed and said； “Oh； I have no doubt about that；” then got back to clipping。 “You see；
Julianna； I read about you in the paper； and I've lived
across the street from you for over a year now。 It's easy to see that you're a very petent
person。”
inute； but I found myself throwing the clippings into the pile
harder and harder。 And before long I couldn't stand it。 I
just couldn't stand it！ I spun on him and said； “You're here because you feel bad about the
eggs； aren't you？ Well； our eggs are perfectly fine！ We've
……… Page 48………
been eating them for nearly three years and none of us have gotten poisoned。 Mrs。 Stueby
and Mrs。 Helms seem in good health to me； too； and the
fact of the matter is； if you didn't want them； you should've just told me so！”
His hands fell to his sides and he shook his head as he said； “Eggs？ Poisoned？ Julianna； I
have no idea what you're talking about。”
Inside I was so angry and hurt and embarrassed that I didn't even feel like me。 “I'm talking
about the eggs that I've been bringing over to your
house for more than two years— eggs that my chickens laid that I could've sold！ Eggs that
your family has been throwing away！” I was shouting at
him。 Shouting at an adult； like I'd never shouted at anyone in my entire life。
His voice got very quiet。 “I'm sorry。 I don't know about any eggs。 Who did you give them to？”
“Bryce！” My throat choked closed as I said his name again。 “Bryce。”
Mr。 Duncan nodded slowly and said； “Well；” then went back to pruning his bush。 “That
probably explains it。”
“What do you mean？”
He sighed。 “The boy still has a ways to go。”
I just stared at him； not trusting myself with the words sizzling on my tongue。
“Oh； he's a very handsome boy； there's no denying that；” he said with a frown。 Then he
snapped a branch and added； “The spitting image of his
father。”
I shook my head。 “Why are you over here； Mr。 Duncan？ If you don't think I need the help and
you're not feeling bad about the eggs； then why would
you do this？”
“Honestly？”
I just looked at him； straight in the eye。
He nodded； then said； “Because you remind me of my wife。”
“Your wife？”
“That's right。” He gave me a little smile and said； “Renée would've sat up in that tree with you。
She would've sat there all night。”
And with those two sentences； my anger vanished。 “Really？”
“Absolutely。”
“She's … she died？”
He nodded。 “And I miss her terribly。” He tossed a branch into the heap and chuckled。
“There's nothing like a head…strong woman to make you
happy to be alive。”
The last thing in the world I expected was to bee friends with Bryce's grandfather。 But by
dinnertime I knew so much about him and his wife
and the adventures they'd had together that it seemed like I'd known him for a very long time。
Plus； all his stories made the work seem easy。 When I
went in for the night； the bushes were all pruned back； and except for the enormous heap in
the center of the yard； things were already looking a
whole lot better。
The next day he was back。 And when I smiled and said； “Hi； Mr。 Duncan；” he smiled back
and said； “Call me Chet； won't you？” He looked at the
hammer in my hand and said； “I take it we're starting on the fence today？”
Chet taught me how to plumb a line for the pickets； how to hold a hammer down on the end
of the handle instead of choking up on it； how to
calculate an adjusted spacing for the pickets； and how to use a level to get the wood exactly
vertical。 We worked on the fence for days； and the
whole time we worked we talked。 It wasn't just about his wife； either。 He wanted to know
about the sycamore tree and seemed to understand exactly
what I meant when I told about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts。 “It's that
way with people； too；” he said； “only with people it's
sometimes that the whole is less than the sum of the parts。”
……… Page 49………
I thought that was pretty interesting。 And the next day during school I looked around at the
people I'd known since elementary school； trying to
figure out if they were more or less than the sum of their parts。 Chet was right。 A lot of them
were less。
Top of the list； of course； was Shelly Stalls。 To look at her； you'd think she had everything；
but there's not much solid underneath her Mount
Everest hair。 And even though she's like a black hole at sucking people in； it doesn't take
them long to figure out that being friends with her requires
fanning the flames of a wildfire ego。
But of all my classmates； the one person I couldn't seem to place was Bryce。 Until recently
I'd have said with absolute certainty that he was
greater—far greater—than the sum of his parts。 What he did to my heart was sheer；
inexplicable magic。
But inexplicable was the operative word here。 And as I looked across the room at him during
math； I couldn't help feeling crushed all over again
about how he'd thrown out my eggs。 What kind of person w