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?”
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