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 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—”

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