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？”
My grandfather looks at him for a minute； then quietly says； “Juli's father has a retarded
brother； and—”