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math； I couldn't help feeling crushed all over again
about how he'd thrown out my eggs。 What kind of person would do that？
Then he looked my way and smiled； and my heart lurched。 But I was mad at myself for it。
How could I still feel this way after what he'd done？
I avoided him the rest of the day； but by the end of school there was a tornado inside me；
tearing me up from one end to the other。 I jumped on my
bike and rode home faster than I ever had before。 The right pedal clanked against the chain
guard； and the whole bike rattled and squeaked；
threatening to collapse into a pile of rusty parts。
The tornado； however； was still going strong when I skidded to a halt in our driveway。 So I
transferred pedal power into painting power。 I pried
open the gallon of Navajo White my dad had bought me and started slopping paint around。
Chet appeared about ten minutes later。 “My；” he laughed； “you've got an enviable amount of
energy today； don't you？”
“No；” I said； brushing back some hair with the back of my hand； “I'm just mad。”
He produced his own brush and an empty coffee can。 “Uhoh。 Who at？”
“Myself！”
“Oh； that's a tough one。 Did you do poorly on a test？”
“No！ I …” I turned to him and said； “How did you fall in love with your wife？”
He poured some Navajo White into his can and smiled。 “Ah；” he said。 “Boy problems。”
“I do not have boy problems！”
He hesitated but didn't argue。 Instead； he said； “I fell in love with her by mistake。”
“By mistake？ What do you mean？”
“I didn't intend to。 At the time I was engaged to somebody else； and in no position to fall in
love。 Fortunately for me I saw how blind I'd been before
it was too late。”
“Blind？”
“Yes。 My fiancée was very beautiful。 She had the most magnificent brown eyes； and skin like
an angel。 And for a time all I could see was her
beauty。 But then … well； let's just say I discovered she wasn't a fraction of the person Renée
was。” He dipped his brush in the coffee can and
stroked a picket with paint。 “It's easy to look back and see it； and it's easy to give the advice；
but the sad fact is； most people don't look beneath the
surface until it's too late。”
inute； but I could see Chet thinking。 And from the furrow in his brow； I
knew it had nothing to do with my problems。 “I'm … I'm
sorry I brought up your wife；” I said。
“Oh； don't be； that's all right。” He shook his head and tried on a smile。 “Besides； I wasn't
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。”
……… Page 50………
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 e 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 e 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
window。 Was he watching？ During the rest of the
afternoon； I checked more often than I'd like to admit。 And I'm afraid Chet noticed； too；
because when we were all done and we'd congratulated
each other on what was sure to be a fine…looking yard； he said； “He may be acting like a
coward now； but I do hold out hope for the boy。”
A coward？ What on earth could I say to that？ I just stood there with the hose in one hand
and the spigot valve beneath the other。
And with that； Chet waved so long and walked across the street。
……… Page 51………
A few minutes later I saw Bryce ing down the sidewalk toward his house。 I did a double
take。 All this time I'd thought he was inside the house
watching； and he was really outside walking around？ I was embarrassed all over again。
I turned my back on him and concentrated on watering the yard。 What a fool I was！ What a
plete idiot！ And I had just built up a nice head of
angry steam when I heard； “It's looking good； Juli。 Nice job。”
It was Bryce； standing right there on our driveway。 And suddenly I wasn't mad at me
anymore。 I was mad at him。 How could he stand there like my
supervisor and tell me； Nice job？ He had no business saying anything after what he'd done。
I was about to hose him down when he said； “I'm sorry for what I did； Juli。 It was； you know…
wrong。”
I looked at him—into those brilliant blue eyes。 And I tried to do what Chet had said—I tried to
look past them。 What was behind them？ What was
he thinking？ Was he really sorry？ Or was he just feeling bad about the things he'd said？
It was like looking into the sun； though； and I had to turn away。
I couldn't tell you what we talked about after that； except that he was nice to me and he made
me laugh。 And after he left； I shut off the water and
went inside feeling very； very strange。
The rest of the evening I bounced back and forth between upset and uneasy。 The worst part
being； I couldn't really put my finger on what exactly I
was upset or uneasy about。 Of course it was Bryce； but why wasn't I just mad？ He'd been
such a … scoundrel。 Or happy？ Why wasn't I just happy？
He'd e over to our house。 He'd stood on our driveway。 He'd said nice things。 We'd
laughed。
But I wasn't mad or happy。 And as I lay in bed trying to read； I realized that upset had been
overshadowed by uneasy。 I felt as though someone
was watching me。 I got so spooked I even got up and checked out the window and in the
closet and under the bed； but still the feeling didn't go
away。
It took me until nearly midnight to understand what it was。
It was me。 Watching me。
Looming Large and Smelly
Sunday I woke up feeling like I'd been sick with the flu。 Like I'd had one of those bad；
convoluted； unexplainable fever dreams。
And what I've figured out about bad； convoluted； unexplainable dreams of any kind is that
you've just got to shake them off。 Try to forget that they
ever happened。
I shook it off； all right； and got out of bed early 'cause I had eaten almost nothing the night
before and I was starving！ But as I was trucking into the
kitch