tuxuxs.cc 
that's all.”
“Yeah, whatever. Well, good luck with the grass. I'm sure it'll come up great.” Then I totally
surprised myself by saying, “Knowing you, you'll get 'em
all to hatch.” I didn't say it mean or anything, I really meant it. I laughed, and then she
laughed, and that's how I left her—sprinkling her soon-to-be
sod, smiling.
I hadn't been in such a good mood in weeks. The eggs were finally behind me. I was
absolved. Relieved. Happy.
It took me a few minutes at the dinner table to realize that I was the only one who was.
Lynetta had on her usual pout, so that wasn't it. But my
father's idea of saying hello was to lay into me about the lawn.
“No sweat,” I told him. “I'll do it tomorrow.”
All that got me was a scowl.
Then Mom says to my granddad, “You tired tonight, Dad?”
I hadn't even noticed him sitting there like a stone.
“Yeah,” my father tosses down the table at him. “That girl working you too hard?”
My grandfather straightens his fork on his napkin and says, “‘That girl’ is named Juli, and no,
she isn't ‘working me too hard,’ as you so callously
put it.”
“Callous? Me?” My dad laughs and says, “Developed quite a soft spot for that girl, haven't
you?”
Even Lynetta let her pout go for a minute. These were fighting words and everyone knew it.
Mom nudged Dad with her foot, but that only made
things worse. “No, Patsy! I want to know why your father has the energy and inclination to
befriend a complete stranger when he's never done so
much as toss a baseball around with his own grandson!”
Well, yeah! I thought. But then I remembered — I owed my grandfather. Owed him big-time.
Without thinking, I said, “Take it easy, Dad. Juli just
reminds him of Grandma.”
Everyone clammed up and stared at me. So I looked at my grandfather and said, “Uh … isn't
that right, Granddad?”
He nodded and rearranged his fork some more.
“Of Renée?” My father looked at my mother and then at Granddad. “She can't possibly!”
My granddad closed his eyes and said, “It's her spirit that reminds me of Renée.”
“Her spirit,” my father says. Like he's talking to a lying kindergartner.
“Yes, her spirit.” My grandfather's quiet for a minute, then asks, “Do you know why the
Bakers haven't fixed up the yard until now?”
“Why? Sure. They're trash, that's why. They've got a beat-up house, two beat-up cars, and a
beat-up yard.”
“They are not trash, Rick. They are good, honest, hardworking people — ”
“Who have absolutely no pride in how they present themselves to the rest of the world.
We've lived across the street from those people for over
six years, and there is no excuse for the state they're in.”
“No?” My grandfather takes a deep breath and seems to weigh things in his mind for a few
seconds. Then he says, “Tell me this, Rick. If you had
a brother or sister or child who had a severe mental or physical handicap, what would you
do?”
It was like my granddad had passed gas in church. My father's face pinched, his head shook,
and finally he said, “Chet, what does that have to do
with anything?”
