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fences, front and back, and plant sod in the front yard.
Obviously that never happened.” He shook his head. “It's a major undertaking, and fencing is
not cheap. I can't see putting that sort of investment
into a property that's not ours. Plus, it's the principle of the thing.”
“But we live here,” I whispered, “and it looks so bad.”
My father studied me. “Julianna, what happened?”
“Nothing, Daddy,” I said, but he knew I was lying.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “tell me.”
I knew what he'd say if I told him, and yet I couldn't not tell him. Not with the way he was
looking at me. So I took a deep breath and said, “The
Loskis have been throwing my eggs away because they were afraid they'd have salmonella
because our yard is such a mess.”
My father said, “Oh, that's ridiculous,” but my mother gasped, “What?” Then she cried, “Did
Patsy say that?”
I looked down. “No, Bryce did.”
“But it must've been a family discussion! A boy doesn't come up with that on his own … !” My
mother looked for all the world like a doe waiting to
be shot through the heart. She covered her face with her hands and said, “I can't go on like
this! Robert, things have got to change. They've just got
to!”
“Trina, you know I'm doing the best I can. I'm sorry about the yard, I'm sorry about the
situation. This isn't the picture I had for my life, either, but
sometimes you have to sacrifice for what's right.”
My mother looked up from her hands and said, “This is not right for our family. Your daughter
is suffering because we won't fix up our own yard.”
“It's not our yard.” “How can you say that? Robert, wake up! We have lived here for twelve
years. It's not temporary anymore! If we ever want to
have a decent place with our own yard, if we're going to help the kids through college or do
any of the other things we've promised each other, we're
going to have to move him into government care.”
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My father let out a deep sigh and whispered, “We've discussed this so many times, Trina. In
the end you always agree that keeping him at
Greenhaven is the right thing to do.”
I wanted to say, Wait! What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? But the
conversation was flying so fast and furious that I couldn't
seem to break in, and it wasn't long before they were bickering so badly that it was almost
like I wasn't there.
Then in the back of my mind, it clicked. Everything clicked. It was my dad's brother they were
talking about. My uncle. David.
To me Uncle David was only a name. Someone my parents had explained to me, but not
someone I'd ever actually met. And even though I knew
my dad visited him, I never knew exactly when. He never talked about it.
Dad also thought we shouldn't talk about Uncle David to others because David was retarded.
“People jump to conclusions,” he'd told me. “They
assume that, by association, something must also be wrong with you. Trust me, I know.”
So we didn't talk about it. Not at home, not with friends. It was almost like there was no Uncle
David.
Until now. Now he felt larger than life, and I could tell from their argument that he was the
reason we didn't have our own house; he was the reason
