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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 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 cou