双语畅销书·怦然心动 Chapter 08 院子
Chapter 08
院子
我从来没有像现在这样，为了我们住的地方而感到羞愧。我从来没有看着我们的房子，甚至是我们住的街道，然后说，哦！我多希望住在新的街区啊——那里的房子比这里新得多，也漂亮得多！我在这里长大，这是我的家。
当然，我意识到院子的问题。多年来，妈妈一直在抱怨它，但并不是认真地抱怨，不值得太过担心。至少我是这么想的。但我也许应该奇怪，为什么把屋子里整理得那么好，却放着院子不管呢？我们的房间整洁得无可挑剔。当然，男孩子们的房间除外。自从发现了蛇，妈妈就彻底放弃打扫那个房间了。如果他们已经成熟得可以养蛇，妈妈对哥哥们说，他们也成熟到足以自己打扫房间了。马特和麦克把这番话理解为关上房门，并且开始坚持只待在自己的房间里。
除了院子以外，我也从来没有认真关心过钱的问题，以及由此导致的明显的物资短缺。
我知道我们不富裕，但我们从来没缺过什么东西。任何你能买到的东西。
马特和麦克确实要求过很多东西，虽然妈妈会对他们说“不，孩子们，我们买不起”，但我总是把它解读成“不，孩子们，你们不需要这个”或是“不，孩子们，你们不是真的需要这个”。直到布莱斯管我的家叫垃圾场，我才真正开始审视它。
不仅仅是院子的问题。还有爸爸的卡车、妈妈的小汽车、家里那辆生满铁锈的自行车，以及我们经常在二手店买东西的事实。还有，我们从来不去度假，从不。
为什么？爸爸是全世界工作最努力的人，妈妈一有时间就去一家公司做文秘工作。假如你只得到这点回报，那么所有的努力还有什么意义呢？
如果我去问爸爸妈妈，我们是不是很穷，就太没礼貌了。但随着日子一天天过去，我越来越觉得自己非问不可，必须要问。每天当我从学校骑着生锈的自行车回家，穿过破旧的围栏和七零八落的院子，我都在想，今晚，今晚我一定要问。
但我从来没有问过。我不知道该如何开口。
有一天，我想到一个办法。一个既能让我提到这个话题，又能给他们帮点小忙的办法。
哥哥们那天晚上在唱片店打工，所以饭桌上没人说话，我深吸一口气，说道：“我在想，嗯，如果给我一些钉子、锤子，也许再来点油漆，我就能把前院整修一下，这大概不难。买草籽要花多少钱？估计不会太贵，对吗？我可以铺一块草坪，也许再种点花。”
爸爸妈妈放下餐具，看着我。
“我会用锯子和锤子——我可以把它当成——嗯，一个家庭作业项目。”
妈妈把目光从我脸上移开，转向爸爸。
爸爸叹了口气，说：“整修院子不是我们的责任，朱莉安娜。”
“它……不是吗？”
他摇摇头：“是芬尼根先生的责任。”
“谁是芬尼根先生？”
“这所房子的主人。”
我简直不敢相信自己的耳朵：“你说什么？”
爸爸清了清喉咙：“房东。”
“你是说，房子不属于我们？”
爸爸妈妈对看了一眼，低声地交谈着，我听不清楚。
最后，爸爸说：“我没意识到你不知道这件事。”
“可是……可是这不对呀！房东不是应该经常过来看看、做点修整吗？比如修理房顶漏水，或者清理堵塞的排水沟？这些活儿总是你来做，爸爸。如果这是他的责任，为什么由你来动手呢？”
“因为，”他叹了口气，“这比让他动手来得更容易。”
“可是如果……”
“还有，”爸爸打断我，“这也能避免他提高房租。”
“可是……”
妈妈靠近我，拉着我的手：“亲爱的，假如这吓到你了，我很抱歉。我们一直以为你知道呢。”
“但是这院子是怎么回事？为什么我们只管屋里不管屋外呢？”
爸爸皱起了眉：“签租约的时候，他向我们保证修缮围栏、前院和后院，在前院铺上草皮。显然，这些他都没做到。”他摇摇头，“这是个大工程，再说修围栏要花不少钱。我没法为了一间不属于自己的房子投入这么多。而且，这是个原则问题。”
“可是我们住在这儿，”我小声说，“它看上去太丑了。”
爸爸端详着我：“朱莉安娜，出什么事了？”
“没什么，爸爸。”我说。可他知道我在撒谎。
“亲爱的，”他低声说，“告诉我。”
如果我告诉他，我知道他们会说什么，可我还是不能不说。尤其是他这样看着我的时候。于是，我深吸一口气：“罗斯基家扔了我的鸡蛋，因为他们害怕沙门氏菌感染，而理由是我们的院子太脏了。”
爸爸说：“啊，真是胡扯。”但是妈妈倒抽一口气：“什么？”她尖叫道，“这是佩西说的？”
我低下头：“不，是布莱斯说的。”
“但是他们全家一定都商量过了！一个小男孩不可能想得出这些！”妈妈的样子简直就像一只瞪大眼睛看着枪口的梅花鹿。她把脸埋进手里，说，“我不能容忍再这样下去了！罗伯特，我们必须有所改变。必须！”
“特瑞纳，你知道我已经尽力了。我很对不起你，关于院子，关于我们的现状。这也不是我理想中的生活，但有时你只能为了正确的选择做出一些牺牲。”妈妈把头抬起来说：“这对于我们的家庭来说不是个正确的选择。你女儿现在很难过，就因为我们没有修整院子。”
“这不是我们的院子。”
“你怎么能这么说？罗伯特，睁眼看看吧！我们在这里住了十二年。这里再也不是什么临时住所了！如果我们想找个拥有自家院子的好一点儿的住所，如果我们想送孩子们读大学，或者实现别的我们曾经答应过他们的事，就必须把他送去接受政府救济。”
爸爸深深地叹了口气，低声说：“我们已经讨论过很多次，特瑞纳。到头来你还是会同意，把他放在格林海文是个正确的选择。”
我很想说，等等！你们在说什么？你们说的是谁？但他们说得很快，我根本插不上嘴，没过多久，他们就激烈地争吵起来，根本无视我的存在。
后来，在我的潜意识里，忽然一切都一目了然了。他们讨论的是我爸爸的兄弟——我的叔叔——戴维。
对我来说，戴维叔叔只是个名字。爸爸妈妈曾经说起过他，我却从来没有亲眼见过。虽然我知道爸爸经常探望他，却从来不知道具体的时间。他也从未提起过。
爸爸认为，我们不应该对别人谈起戴维叔叔，因为他有智障。
“人们总喜欢过早下结论，”他告诉我，“他们总爱通过联想，认定你也有什么毛病。相信我，一定是这样的。”
因此，我们从不提起他。不在家里提，也不在朋友面前提。就像戴维叔叔这个人不存在一样。
直到现在为止。他现在似乎变得越发重要起来，从他们的争论中，我发现是因为他，我们才买不起自己的房子；因为他，我们才买不起漂亮的车和其他昂贵的东西。他成了父母头上笼罩着的那团阴云。
为什么我一开始要提起院子的事？我还从来没见过父母吵得这么凶。
从来没有过。我想拉开他们，说：别吵了！别吵了！你们还爱着对方！是的！但我只是坐在那里，任凭泪水流过脸颊。
妈妈突然停下来，小声说：“我们不应该当着她的面吵架！”
“对不起，朱莉安娜，”爸爸走过来拉起我的胳膊，“别哭了。这不是你的错。我们能解决，我向你保证。”
妈妈泪眼蒙眬地试图挤出一个微笑：“我们总能找到办法的，我们一直都能得到。”
那天晚上，爸爸妈妈分别来到我的房间，找我聊天。爸爸谈起他的兄弟，告诉我他有多爱他，他是怎么对父母保证一定会照顾好他。妈妈说起她有多爱我爸爸的坚强和善良，说起梦想和现实，说凡事都要看到光明的一面。当她吻着我说晚安，在我耳边轻轻地说我是她最好最珍贵的财富时，我又忍不住哭了。
我觉得自己对不起爸爸，对不起妈妈。不过最幸运的是，他们是我的爸爸妈妈。
早上起来，当我骑着生锈的自行车去上学的时候，我暗下决心，要在放学之后开始整修院子。不管是不是租来的，这是我们的家，我只想让家人过上更好的生活。
结果，想着容易做起来难。一开始，我花了半个小时的时间，才从车库里找到锤子、一盒钉子、一把电锯和几把修枝剪。然后又花了半个小时用来决定到底从哪儿入手。院子里杂草丛生，但我该拿边缘的灌木怎么办呢？是把它们拔掉，还是修剪成形？
还有，它们到底是灌木，还是长疯了的杂草？围栏怎么办？我是拆掉它，还是再立一排新的？也许我应该把前面的全拆掉，用木头修补侧面的部分。
时间越长，我越是忘记了初衷。干吗自找麻烦呢？这不是我们的房子。应该留给芬尼根先生去修理。
但接下来我又想起前一天晚上妈妈的话。当然，我想，一点点灌木和杂草难不倒妈妈最好最珍贵的财富！我一定行！
我这样想着，挥起修枝剪投入工作。
半个小时以后，我充分了解到，一棵灌木到底有多少根枝条，以及当我把它砍倒扔到院子中央的时候，体积会呈几何级数增长。这太可怕了！我把这些东西放到哪儿去呢？
妈妈回到家，试着劝我结束战斗，可我决不放弃。哦，不——不——不！
我已经砍倒了两棵灌木，肢解成合适的大小，过不了多久她就会发现——这个院子将会变得多么美丽。
“我还以为你没有遗传到我固执的个性。”她说。不过她回到屋子里给我端来一杯果汁，还在我脸上亲了一下。这就足够了！第一天结束的时候，我把院子弄得一团糟。不过，如果混乱是给我的小窝建立秩序的必要步骤，那我正走在正确的道路上。至少那天晚上，当我筋疲力尽倒在床上的时候，是这样告诉自己的。
第二天下午，我忙着扩大小窝的混乱程度，一个低沉的声音说道：“真是个浩大的工程，年轻的女士。”
站在人行道上的是布莱斯的外公，我认识他。不过我只在户外见过他一次。其他时间我都是透过窗户看到他的——不是他家客厅的窗户，就是车窗。对我来说，他只是个有着深色头发、戴眼镜的老头儿。
见到他出现在人行道上，就像见到某个电视明星走下银幕跟你说话一样。
“我知道我们时常见面，”他说，“很抱歉，过了一年时间我才过来作自我介绍。我是查特·邓肯，布莱斯的外公。而你，没错，你一定是朱莉安娜·贝克。”
他伸出手，我也摘下工作手套，然后看着自己的小手完全淹没在他的大手里面。“很高兴见到你，邓肯先生。”我心想，比起从客厅窗户后面看到的人影，他本人要高大多了。
这时，奇怪的事情发生了。他从兜里掏出自己的工作手套和一把修枝剪，说：“你是不是想把它们修剪成一样的高度？”
“哦，”我说，“呃，是的。我是这么打算的。不过现在我也不太确定。你觉得如果把它们都拔掉，会不会更好？”
他摇摇头说：“这些是澳大利亚茶树。修剪后会很漂亮。”
说着，他戴上手套，开始修枝。
一开始我不知道该对他说点什么。有他来帮忙，真是件奇怪的事，可是看他的表现，我似乎不该多想。咔咔咔，他不断地剪着，似乎真的很享受这个过程。
我想起布莱斯对我家院子的评价，突然间，我明白他为什么要来帮我了。
“怎么了？”他边说边把剪下的枝条扔进我剪下的那一堆里，“我是不是剪得太多了？”
“没……没有。”
“那你为什么是这副表情？”他问，“我不想让你不自在。我只是觉得你需要一点儿帮助。”
“呃，我不需要。我自己能行。”
他笑了，说：“哦，我完全相信。”然后继续剪枝，“听着，朱莉安娜，我在报纸上读到你的消息，还在对街跟你做了一年多的邻居。很明显，你是个能干的孩子。”
我们一起安静地工作了一会儿，但我发现自己剪下枝条的速度越来越慢。没过一会儿，我就受不了了。我真的受不了了！我扳过他的肩膀，问道：“你来帮我，只是为了鸡蛋的事，对不对？好吧，我们的鸡蛋一点儿问题也没有！我家已经吃了快三年了，没人中毒。斯杜比太太和赫尔姆斯太太看起来也很健康，最关键的是，假如你们不想要，就应该跟我说一声！”
他的手垂下去，摇了摇头：“鸡蛋？中毒？朱莉安娜，我不明白你在说什么。”
我心里又生气又伤心又难堪，因此都不像平时的我了。“我说的是鸡蛋，我给你们送了两年的鸡蛋——自家的鸡下的蛋，我留着没有卖掉！是被你家扔掉的那些鸡蛋！”我对着他大声叫嚷。我从来没有这样对人嚷过，更别说是对着一个成年人。
他的声音放得特别轻：“我很抱歉。我不知道鸡蛋的事。你把它们给谁了？”
“布莱斯！”说出他名字的时候，我感到嗓子又缩成一团，“布莱斯。”
邓肯先生缓缓地点头，说了句“好吧”，然后继续剪枝，“难怪会是这样。”
“这是什么意思？”
他叹了口气：“那个孩子还有很长的路要走。”
我愣愣地看着他，把到了嘴边的话咽下去。
“哦，毫无疑问，他是个英俊的孩子，”他皱着眉头说，折断一根树枝，他补充道，“跟他爸爸是一个模子里刻出来的。”
我摇摇头：“你为什么来这儿，邓肯先生？如果你认为我不需要帮助，也不是为了鸡蛋的事道歉，那你为什么来帮忙呢？”
“要我说实话吗？”
我直视他的眼睛。
他点点头说：“因为你让我想起我太太。”
“你太太？”
“是的，”他微微一笑，“蕾妮肯定会和你一起坐在树上。她大概会在上面坐一整夜。”
听到这句话，我的愤怒消失得无影无踪：“真的？”
“当然。”
“她……她去世了？”
他点点头：“我很想她，”他扔下一根树枝，轻轻地笑出声来，“没有什么比得上一个聪慧的女人能让你生活得更愉快。”
我从来没想过和布莱斯的外公交朋友。但是在晚饭之前，我已经非常了解他和他太太了，知道了很多他们在一起经历的奇遇，仿佛我们已经认识了很久。
听他讲故事，连工作都变得更轻松了。晚上，当我回到屋子里的时候，灌木全修剪好了，除了院子中央扔着的一堆树枝，它看上去漂亮多了。
第二天，他又来了。我笑着和他打招呼：“嗨，邓肯先生。”
而他笑着回答我：“叫我查特，好吗？”他看着我手中的锤子说，“我想今天要修围栏了？”
查特教我怎么把木桩打成一条直线，怎么握住钉锤的末端，而不是满把攥，怎么用水平仪来保证灌木立得笔直。我们花了好几天时间修围栏，一边干活一边聊天。不光是聊他太太。他想知道无花果树的故事，当我告诉他“整体大于部分之和”的时候，我认为他完全能理解。“人们也是一样，”他说，“不过对人来说，有时候整体小于部分之和。”
我觉得这太有趣了。第二天，我在学校观察那些我从小学就认识的同学，想看看他们到底是大于还是小于部分之和。查特说得对，大部分人是小于。
位居其首的，当然是雪莉·斯道尔斯。看着她，你会以为她拥有一切，但在她珠穆朗玛峰一般高耸的发型之下，其实什么智慧也没有。虽然她像黑洞一样吸引着别人靠近，可是用不了多久，他们就会发现做她的朋友非得使劲拍她的马屁才行。
但是，所有的同学中，我唯一无法判断的就是布莱斯。直到不久之前，我都坚定地认为，他大于——远远大于——他的部分之和。他对我来说，是个完全无法用语言描述的奇迹。
可是，这里的关键在于“无法用语言描述”。当我在数学课上望着教室那头的他，就不由自主地想起他如何扔掉我的鸡蛋，再次陷入崩溃。他怎么能做得出这种事？
然后，他看到我，露出了笑容，我又不那么确定自己的感觉了。我开始生自己的气。
为什么在他做出那么过分的事之后，我对他还有这种感觉？
在这之后的一整天，我都躲着他，不过放学以前，我觉得就像有一团火，在我心里左冲右突。我跳上自行车，用前所未有的速度冲回家。右脚的踏板擦着链套，叮当作响，整架自行车吱扭作响，仿佛快要坍塌成一堆废铜烂铁。
可是，当我把车停在家门口的车道上，心里的火却越烧越旺。我只好把骑车的动力转化成刷漆的动力。撬开爸爸买给我的那桶“纳瓦霍”白色油漆，我开始刷漆。
十分钟之后，查特出现了。“上帝啊，”他笑了，“你今天真是精力充沛，是不是？”
“不，”我说，用手背把头发别到耳朵后面，“我只是生气。”
他拿出自己的油漆刷和一个空咖啡罐子：“哦，生谁的气？”
“我自己！”
“啊，那可够麻烦的。考试考砸了？”
“不是！我……”我转身面对着他，“你是怎么爱上你太太的？”
他倒了一些油漆在咖啡罐子里，露出了微笑。“啊哈，”他说，“少年维特之烦恼。”
“我没有什么烦恼！”
他犹豫了一下，没有争下去，而是对我说：“我爱上她是一个错误。”
“错误？什么意思？”
“我不是有意的。那时候我和另一个姑娘订婚了，按理说没有资格坠入爱河。后来我发现自己之前是多么盲目，好在还不算太晚。”
“盲目？”
“是的。我的未婚妻非常美丽。她有着最迷人的棕色眼睛，天使般的皮肤。那时，我只看到了她的美貌。但是后来……好吧，这么说吧，我发现她根本比不上蕾妮。”他把刷子伸进咖啡罐，拣了个木桩刷起来，“当你回首过去，会发现这是很明显的事，也很容易作出抉择，但不幸的是，大多数人看到藏在表面之下的真相时，已经太晚了。”
我们都不说话了，但我知道查特在思考。从他眉头的皱纹，我知道他不是在想我的问题。“我……我很抱歉提起你太太。”我说。
“哦，别这样，这没什么。”他摇摇头，试图挤出一丝笑容，“还有，我不是在想蕾妮。我在想其他人。一个从来也没能看穿表象的人。此时此刻，我甚至不希望她能看得太清楚。”
他说的是谁？我真的很想知道！可我想这大概不太礼貌，所以我们安静地刷着油漆。终于，他转过身，对我说：“超越他的眼睛、他的笑容和他闪亮的头发——看看他到底是什么样子。”
我感到后背升起一股凉气。仿佛他什么都知道。忽然间，我有种抵触情绪。他是说他的外孙不值得我这样？
晚饭时间到了，我的心情还是很差，但至少，胸中的那团火已经熄灭了。
妈妈说爸爸要加班，哥哥们在他们的朋友家，因此晚饭只有我们两个人吃。妈妈告诉我，她和爸爸讨论过查特的事，他们都觉得他过来帮忙有点奇怪。也许，她说，他们应该想办法付钱给他。
我告诉她，查特可能会把这当成一种侮辱，但是第二天她还是跟他说了付钱的事。查特说：“不用了，贝克夫人，我很高兴能给你女儿的家庭作业项目帮上忙。”然后再也不听妈妈说一个字了。
一星期过去了，周六的早晨，爸爸上班之前装了整整一车的枯枝碎叶。查特和我花了一天时间锄草、松土，预备好用于播种的土壤。
就在这最后一天，查特问我：“你们不会再搬家了吧？”
“搬家？为什么这么说？”
“哦，昨天晚餐的时候，我女儿提起了这种可能。她说你们修整房子可能是为了卖掉它。”
虽然工作的时候我和查特聊过很多事情，如果不是他问起我们会不会搬家，我大概不会提起芬尼根先生、戴维叔叔以及院子被搞成一团糟的原因。既然他问了，我就一股脑儿地全告诉了他。尤其是关于戴维叔叔。这种感觉就像朝着风中吹散一朵蒲公英，看着细小的种子随风飘散。我为爸爸妈妈感到骄傲，看着修整一新的前院，我也为自己感到骄傲。
还有后院，等着瞧吧！之后我也许会把整座房子粉刷一新的。我能做到。一定能。
查特听了我叔叔的故事，没有说话。午餐的时候，妈妈给我们送来了三明治，我们坐在门廊上，吃得很安静。然后他打破平静，朝对街一抬下巴：“我不知道他为什么不过来跟你说句话。”
“谁？”我问，把目光投向对街他指的地方。布莱斯房间的窗帘迅速滑了下来，我忍不住问他，“是布莱斯？”
“这是我第三次发现他在偷看。”
“真的？”我的心跳得就像一只振翅欲飞的小鸟。
他皱着眉头：“我们把活儿干完，来种草吧？日光的热量有助于它们发芽。”
终于到了给院子播种的时刻，我很兴奋，可是布莱斯的窗户分散了我的注意力。他在偷看吗？整整一下午，我都不好意思承认自己偷看了多少次。我想查特也看出来了，当工作全部完成，看着一个焕然一新的漂亮院子，我们相互祝贺的时候，他说：“他现在就像个懦夫，不过我对他还抱有希望。”
懦夫？我能说些什么呢？我只好一手拿着水管，一手扶着阀门，傻傻地站在那儿。
后来，查特跟我花了很长时间告别，挥着手，向对街走去。
几分钟以后，我看见布莱斯走上他家门前的人行道。一开始，我没认出来。我以为他这段时间只是躲在屋子里往外看，他真的走到外面来了吗？我又开始感到尴尬了。
我转过身，背对着他，把注意力集中在浇水上面。我真是个傻瓜！百分之百的傻瓜！刚开始生自己的气，我就听到有个声音在说：“这儿看上去漂亮极了，朱莉。干得不错。”
那是布莱斯在说话，他就站在我家的车道上。突然，我不再生自己的气了。我开始生他的气。他怎么像个监工似的站在那儿对我说，干得不错？想想他对我做的一切吧，他没有资格说任何话。
我正想用水管浇他，只听他说：“我为我做过的事情向你道歉，朱莉。这件事，你知道……我做得不对。”
我看着他——直视他湛蓝的眼睛。我试着用查特教我的方法——试着看到他的内心深处。表象下面是什么？他是怎么想的？他真的感到抱歉吗？或者他只是为他说过的话感到抱歉？
就像直视着太阳，我不得不把目光转向一边。
我不记得后来我们说了些什么，只知道他很友好，他让我很开心。布莱斯走了以后，我关上水龙头，走进屋子，感觉非常非常奇怪。
那天晚上，我辗转反侧，无法入睡。最糟糕的是，我根本说不清自己到底为了什么而沮丧和不安。当然，这和布莱斯有关，但我为什么不单单是生气？他做过的事情是多么……恶劣。还有，为什么开心？为什么我感到的除了开心还有别的？
他来到我家。他站在我家的车道上。他说了些动听的话。我们都笑了。
但我不是生气，也不是开心。当我躺在床上，试图理解这一切，我发现心中的不安甚至压倒了沮丧。我觉得好像有人在监视自己。我被自己吓得够呛，从床上跳起来，把窗户、橱柜和床底下都检查了一遍，但这种感觉始终还在。
直到将近午夜，我才明白那是什么。
是我自己，我在监视自己。
Chapter 08
The Yard
JULIANNA
I'd never been embarrassed by where we lived before. I'd never looked at our house, or even our side of the street, and said, Oh! I wish we lived in the new development — those houses are so much newer, so much better! This is where I'd grown up. This was my home.
I was aware of the yard, sure. My mother had grumbled about it for years. But it was a low grumbling, not worthy of deep concern. Or so I'd supposed. But maybe I should have wondered. Why let the outside go and keep the inside so nice? It was spotless inside our house. Except for the boys' room, that is. Mom gave up on that after she discovered the snake. If they were old enough to adopt a snake, she told my brothers, they were old enough to clean their own room. Matt and Mike translated this to keep the door closed, and became quite diligent about doing just that.
Besides the yard, I also never really wondered about the money, or the apparent lack thereof. I knew we weren't rich, but I didn't feel like I was missing anything. Anything you could buy, anyway.
Matt and Mike did ask for things a lot, but even though my mother would tell them, No, boys, we just can't afford that, I took this to mean, No, boys, you don't deserve that, or, No, boys, you don't really need that. It wasn't until Bryce called our home a complete dive that I started really seeing things.
It wasn't just the yard. It was my dad's truck, my mother's car, the family bike that was more rust than steel, and the fact that when we did buy something new, it always seemed to come from a second-time-around store. Plus, we never went on vacation. Ever.
Why was that? My father was the hardest-working man in the world, and my mother worked for TempService doing secretarial jobs whenever she could. What was all that hard work about if this is where it got you?
Asking my parents whether we were poor seemed incredibly impolite. But as the days went by, I knew I had to ask. Just had to. Every day I'd ride home from school on our rusty bike, pull past the broken fence and patchy yard, and think, Tonight. I'll ask them tonight.
But then I wouldn't ask them. I just didn't know how.
Then one day I had an idea. A way to talk to them about it and maybe help out a little, too. And since my brothers were working at the music store that night, and nobody was saying much of anything at the table, I took a deep breath and said, "I was thinking, you know, that it wouldn't be hard to fix up the front yard if I could get some nails and a hammer and maybe some paint? And how much does grass seed cost?It can't be that much, right? I could plant a lawn, and maybe even some flowers?"
My parents stopped eating and stared at me.
I know how to use a saw and a hammer — it could be, you know, a project.
My mother quit looking at me and stared at my father, instead.
My father sighed and said, "The yard is not our responsibility, Julianna."
It's ... it's not?
He shook his head and said, "It's Mr. Finnegan's."
Who's Mr. Finnegan?
The man who owns this house.
I couldn't believe my ears. "What?"
My father cleared his throat and said, "The landlord."
You mean we don't own this house?
They looked at each other, having some private wordless conversation I couldn't decipher. Finally my father said, "I didn't realize you didn't know that."
But ... but that doesn't make sense! Aren't landlords supposed to come and do things? Like fix the roof when it leaks and clear the drains when they're plugged? You always do that stuff, Dad. Why do you do it when he's supposed to?
Because, he sighed, "it's easier than asking him for help."
But if —
And, my father interrupted me, "it keeps him from raising the rent."
But ...
My mother reached over and took my hand. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry if this is a shock. I guess we always thought you knew."
But what about the yard? Why keep up the inside but not the outside?
My father frowned and said, "When we signed the lease, he assured us he would fix the fences, front and back, and plant sod in the front yard. Obviously that never happened." He shook his head. "It's a major undertaking, and fencing is not cheap. I can't see putting that sort of investment into a property that's not ours. Plus, it's the principle of the thing."
But we live here, I whispered, "and it looks so bad."
My father studied me. "Julianna, what happened?"
Nothing, Daddy, I said, but he knew I was lying.
Sweetheart, he whispered, "tell me."
I knew what he'd say if I told him, and yet I couldn't not tell him. Not with the way he was looking at me. So I took a deep breath and said, "The Loskis have been throwing my eggs away because they were afraid they'd have salmonella because our yard is such a mess."
My father said, "Oh, that's ridiculous," but my mother gasped, "What?" Then she cried, "Did Patsy say that?"
I looked down. "No, Bryce did."
But it must've been a family discussion! A boy doesn't come up with that on his own ... My mother looked for all the world like a doe waiting to be shot through the heart. She covered her face with her hands and said, "I can't go on like this! Robert, things have got to change. They've just got to!"
Trina, you know I'm doing the best I can. I'm sorry about the yard, I'm sorry about the situation. This isn't the picture I had for my life, either, but sometimes you have to sacrifice for what's right.
My mother looked up from her hands and said, "This is not right for our family. Your daughter is suffering because we won't fix up our own yard."
It's not our yard.
How can you say that? Robert, wake up! We have lived here for twelve years. It's not temporary anymore! If we ever want to have a decent place with our own yard, if we're going to help the kids through college or do any of the other things we've promised each other, we're going to have to move him into government care.
My father let out a deep sigh and whispered, "We've discussed this so many times, Trina. In the end you always agree that keeping him at Greenhaven is the right thing to do."
I wanted to say, Wait! What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? But the conversation was flying so fast and furious that I couldn't seem to break in, and it wasn't long before they were bickering so badly that it was almost like I wasn't there.
Then in the back of my mind, it clicked. Everything clicked. It was my dad's brother they were talking about. My uncle. David.
To me Uncle David was only a name. Someone my parents had explained to me, but not someone I'd ever actually met. And even though I knew my dad visited him, I never knew exactly when. He never talked about it.
Dad also thought we shouldn't talk about Uncle David to others because David was retarded. "People jump to conclusions," he'd told me. "They assume that, by association, something must also be wrong with you. Trust me, I know."
So we didn't talk about it. Not at home, not with friends. It was almost like there was no Uncle David.
Until now. Now he felt larger than life, and I could tell from their argument that he was the reason we didn't have our own house; he was the reason we didn't have nice cars or fancy things. He was the reason there always seemed to be a cloud of weariness hanging over my parents.
Why did I have to bring up the yard in the first place? I'd never seen my parents fight like this. Ever. I wanted to grab them and say, Stop it! Stop it! You love each other! You do! But I just sat there with tears streaming down my face.
My mother stopped suddenly and whispered, "We should not be doing this in front of her!"
I'm sorry, Julianna, my dad said, then reached over and held my forearm. "Don't cry. None of this is your fault. We'll work it out, I promise we will."
My mother tried to laugh through her tears, saying, "We always have, and we always will."
That night my parents came into my room and talked to me, one at a time. My father talked about his brother and how much he loved him and how he'd promised his parents he'd always take care of him. My mother talked about how much she loved my father for his strength and kind heart, about dreams and reality, and the need to count your blessings. And she made me cry all over again when she kissed me goodnight and whispered that of all her many blessings, I was her best and brightest.
I felt sorry for my father. I felt sorry for my mother. But most of all I felt lucky for me that they were mine.
And in the morning, as I rode my rusty bike out the driveway to school, I promised myself that when I got home, I'd tackle the yard. Rented or not, this was our home, and I was going to help make living here better.
As it turns out, this was easier thought than done. First it took me half an hour of rummaging through the garage to find a hammer and a box of nails, a saw, and some pruners. Then it took another half hour of standing around to figure 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.
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 come 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 completely 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 uncomfortable. 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 competent person."
We both worked quietly for a minute, 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 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 become 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?"
