but you can find him there day or night, sitting in the big easy chair they moved in with him, staring out the window.
Okay, so he also reads Tom Clancy novels and the newspapers and does crossword puzzles and tracks his stocks, but those things are all distractions.
Given no one to justify it to, the man would stare out the window until he fell asleep.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It just seems so… boring.
Mom says he stares like that because he misses Grandma, but that’s not something Granddad had ever discussed with me.
As a matter of fact, he never discussed much of anything with me until a few months ago when he read about Juli in the newspaper.
Now, Juli Baker did not wind up on the front page of the Mayfield Times for being an eighth-grade Einstein, like you might suspect.
No, my friend, she got front-page coverage because she refused to climb out of a sycamore tree.
Not that I could tell a sycamore from a maple or a bird for that matter,
but Juli, of course, knew what kind of tree it was and passed that knowledge along to every creature in her wake.
So this tree, this sycamore tree, was up the hill on a vacant lot on Collier Street, and it was massive.
Massive and ugly. It was twisted and gnarled and bent, and I kept expecting the thing to blow over in the wind.
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