Crane finished frying up a bunch of eggs, and then went to work putting a generous amount of mayonnaise on the toasted slices of bread. He pulled lettuce and tomatoes out of the refrigerator, and put those on, too, and then the fried eggs.

While he'd been cooking up the eggs, he hadn't said anything at all to me, and I was silent, too, sitting down at the

table, and putting my head down on the table, like little kids do at school, with my face laying on my folded arms.

When he said, "Sit up," I did so reluctantly, and he set a plate in front of me. He preceded to get out the milk, carrying it and two glasses to the table.

He poured us both a glass full of milk, and pushed the plate in front of me a little closer. "Eat," he said.

I looked at the sandwich. It was mammoth-sized. I even saw sliced pickles peeking out of the side of the bread.

"This is a huge sandwich," I said, mostly to make conversation.

"It's a Dagwood," Crane said.

"What's a Dagwood?" I asked, lifting it up and taking a bite.

"Dagwood. You know, from the cartoon, Blondie? Dagwood Bumstead. This is what kind of sandwich that he always

eats."

"Oh."

For a few minutes, we ate in silence.

I remembered that he'd had plans that night with Lila. So, again in an attempt at conversation, I asked, "How was

your date with Lila?"

"It was good," he said, taking a long drink from his glass of milk.

Again, there was quiet between us. Crane finished his milk, and poured another half a glass.

"Want some more?" he asked, holding the jug of milk over my half-empty glass.

"No, thanks."

As Crane set the jug down, and leaned back a little in his chair, I watched him covertly, trying to gauge his mood. His demeanor didn't suggest that he was angry, but with Crane it's hard to tell sometimes. He tends to have more of a "quiet" type of anger. He very rarely yells.

"Are you mad at me, too? Like everybody else?" I asked him, a little plaintively.

Instead of answering immediately, Crane leaned back even more, and stretched his legs out, his eyes on my face.

"Do you think I should be?" he asked me.

What kind of question was that supposed to be? He either was, or he wasn't. It must be one of those questions that adults ask to make you think about stuff.

I sighed. "I guess so."

"Things that begin small can snowball really quickly, until they're way bigger than they should ever be," he said.

I thought of not just tonight, but of the whole time since Karissa had first come around. It sure did fit that snowball

analogy of Crane's.

I bit at my lip, looking at him. "I wasn't drinking tonight, Crane. That was the truth."

"I hope it is," he said, looking serious.

My stomach had begun to hurt and I knew I couldn't eat any more. I pushed the plate away, with half of my sandwich still on it. "There's no use to anything, if no one is going to believe anything that I say from now on!"

Crane gave me a hard look. "I hope you don't mean that, Harlie." He stood up, picking up his plate and glass, taking them to the sink.

"Are you finished?" he asked me, gesturing to my plate.

When I nodded, he said, "Bring it over here."

I picked up my plate and glass, and set them on the counter, taking the remainder of my sandwich, and tossing it out the back door to Gus, who was in his usual spot. I closed the back door, and turned to watch Crane, who had started rinsing the plates.

"Why do you hope that?" I asked quietly, feeling defeated.

"Because that's a pretty immature attitude to have. I expect better from you."

"You expect a lot from me. You all do," I said crossly.

"Yep. And that's not going to change," Crane said.

He turned around to lean against the sink, drying his hands on a dishtowel.

"Past time to hit the sack," he said. He tossed the towel onto the counter, and motioned me to head out of the

kitchen in front of him, switching off the light as we went out.

At the door of my bedroom, he paused, and rested his hand on the back of my head.

"Thanks for the Dagwood sandwich," I said, wishing he would give me a hug.

"You're welcome," he said. "Get some sleep."

I watched him go down the hall to his own room, before I sighed, and went in to my bedroom. I was suddenly so

lonely for Daniel that I wanted to burst into tears. If he was here, he'd be mad at me too, but after he'd grouched at me for awhile, then we would talk, and he'd end up making me laugh.

I started to climb under my quilt, and then I got up again, going down the stairs as quietly as I could. I opened the front door and snapped my fingers. I could make out Clarence's square body, by the light from the pole light in the driveway.

"Come on, fella," I whispered. He obediently got to his feet, and I reached down to pick up his blanket.

Once inside, I picked him up, and climbed the stairs. By the time I got to the top I was winded.

When we were safely in my bedroom, with the door shut, I set him on the floor gently.

"You seriously need to go on a diet," I told him. "Then you'd be able to climb the stairs by yourself."

He thumped his tail in reply, and rolled over on his back. I scratched his belly, and then went to pick up the cashmere

sweater off of the floor. I hung it over the headboard of my bed, figuring that it hadn't done it any good to be thrown on the floor that way.

I was settled in my bed, lights off, when Clarence began to cry.

"Shush," I told him, reaching down to pet him in the darkness. "You want to get us both kicked out of the house?"

After another whimper, I sighed, got up, and lifted Clarence to lay on my bed.

"Happy now?" I asked him.

In answer, Clarence pressed his fat self against me, and within a few minutes, was snoring.

7

I woke up the next morning to the sounds of doors opening and closing, and footsteps up and down the hallway.

I looked at my alarm clock. 6:45. Clarence was still snoring, so since he wasn't asking to go outside, I turned over and

went back to sleep. After all, what did I have to get up for? There was only chores facing me. And disapproving faces.

Maybe more lectures.

When I woke up again, it was 7:30. Still early, especially for a Saturday, but Clarence was making his usual noises

about wanting to go outside.

"Don't be impatient," I told him, and he waited at my door while I got dressed in a pair of jeans that are torn at the

knee, and a George Jones t-shirt that used to belong to Daniel. I left on the heavy woolen socks that I'd worn to bed, and toted Clarence down the stairs. The front stairs, since I wanted to avoid using the back ones. Too near the kitchen, where there was bound to be brothers eating breakfast.

The living room, thankfully, was empty, though I could hear voices coming from the kitchen. I put Clarence down, and

opened the front door, stepping out onto the porch after him. Clarence ambled across the yard and I laid his blanket on the top step where he could retrieve it when he wanted to.

I took a deep breath of morning air. Everything smelled so clean, and fresh. I wished that it could be that way for me, too.

That I could just start my day with a new beginning. No past offenses hanging over my head.

I had the sudden worrisome thought that Guthrie might be mad at me. For leaving Butch's Place, and going to

a party without telling him. And then causing him to be questioned by Adam when he got home.

Great. Something else to make my stomach knot in worry, and dull the beauty of the morning. I was trying to work up

my courage to head to the kitchen for breakfast, when the screen door was pushed open, and Adam came out, a

cup of coffee in one hand.

"Morning," he said, when he saw me standing there.

"Morning," I answered, turning to face the barnyard, to avoid his eyes.

"Clarence spend the night in your room?" he asked.

I gave an inner groan. Good grief. Was there nothing that he didn't know? Well, yes, there was. He didn't know

about Karissa. Aunt Karissa.

"Yeah," I admitted.

Clarence, upon hearing his name, came obediently back to the stairs, and managed, with difficulty, to

heave his hefty body up the stairs.

"He seems pretty stiff today," Adam observed.

"His arthritis bothers him," I said.

After a couple of moments, Adam said, "You'd better get to the breakfast table before Ford and Guthrie eat everything that's left."

"Okay," I said.

I turned and went inside without saying anything more. Going into the kitchen, I tried to avoid really looking at

anybody. It was noisy, as is typical, and the smell of bacon filtered thru the air. I slid into my seat, pouring some milk from the pitcher in front of me.

"Good morning," Hannah said, kind of quietly.

"Morning," I said, without meeting her eyes.

Hannah reached out for the platter of eggs, and handed it to me.

I took it and scooped some eggs off, and started eating, letting the conversation float around me.

Clare was getting ready to head to work at the hospital, and was drinking a last cup of coffee.

"I'm running late," she groaned, looking at her watch.

"Finish your coffee. I'll start your car," Brian said, and went out the back door.

"Drive safe," Crane told her.

"I will. See you all later," Clare said, and went out the way Brian had gone.

When Brian came back in, Adam was with him, and they both got more coffee and sat back down in their chairs.

Conversation turned to chores that were on the agenda for the day. I finished my eggs, but just sat there quietly. I

didn't want to call any attention to myself. I felt as if I did, that I would probably just get jumped on by any one of a number of people still at the table.

I heard Evan ask who was going to make the run into town for the weekly pickup of feed.

"Harlie gonna do that?" he asked, in a general way.

"No," Adam said, sounding terse.

Evan looked a little surprised, and so did Ford, and I reached for my glass of milk, avoiding everyone's gaze. I felt my face turn red in embarrassment. I felt even lower. They didn't even trust me to do that!

"You have time to go?" Adam asked Evan then.

"Yeah," Evan agreed, still sounding puzzled.

Adam was asking Hannah if we needed anything at the grocery store, and did she want Evan to grab it while he was

in town, or was she going to go herself later?

"I planned to go after lunch sometime. I'd thought about taking Isaac with me to go visit with Marie for awhile," Hannah told him.

Adam nodded. "Okay."

Evan and Ford got up and pushed in their chairs, going out together.

Guthrie, who up until now had been quiet, and just eating, now spoke up. "What do you guys want me to do?"

"You can do your regular chores, and then help Ford change the oil in the truck. And the Jeep, too, if you have time," Adam told him.

Guthrie nodded. "Okay." He nudged me with his elbow. "Come on," he said, in a low voice, getting up.

I knew he wanted to talk to me, and find out about last night, and what had been going on when he got home.

I stood up, and Adam held up a hand.

"Just a minute," he told me, and then to Guthrie he said, "Go on out, Guth. She'll be out in a minute to talk to you."

"Okay," Guthrie said, looking hesitant. When he'd gone, I stood there, one folded knee resting in my chair.

Inside, I was anxious. What now? More lectures?

"Sit down," Adam said, motioning to my chair.

I sat down reluctantly.

"Let's talk about what you're goin' to do today," he said.

"Chores. I already know," I said, and immediately regretted it, as his eyebrows raised.

"Harlie," Crane said, his tone reproving.

"I'm just saying, I know I have chores," I said, by way of explanation, but I think I only made it worse.

"Well, that's good," Adam said, sounding mad again, "it's good that you know that. That means you were listening

to at least that much of what I said to you last night."

"I listened to more than that," I said, feeling defensive. I could hear it in my voice, too. "I heard everything that

you said."

"You did, huh?"

"Yes. I did," I said, and tried to look him in the eye.

"Adam," Hannah said quietly, from her end of the table.

Adam's glance flicked from me to Hannah, and then back to me again. He sighed.

"Help Hannah this morning in the house, and then after lunch, we'll find somethin' for you to do outside," he said.

I couldn't believe it! They didn't even trust me to stay in the house by myself! What in the heck did they think I was going to do?

It was all I could manage to nod at him. I didn't trust myself to answer. If I tried, I thought that I might scream, or raise my voice to him louder than I'd ever done. All that would do is get me into more trouble.

When I could finally escape outside, I found Guthrie sitting on the top step on the front porch.

I sat down next to him, and for a couple of moments we were quiet, watching as Evan and Ford shoved each other playfully across the barnyard.

"I wish Daniel was home," I said.

Guthrie turned to look at me. "What happened last night?" he asked me, ignoring my comment about Daniel.

"Lori and I went over to Miranda's," I admitted. "Somebody was acting stupid and dumped us out of the canoe. I guess

Lori must have gotten caught in her wet clothes. And then her mom called Adam to tell him where we'd gone."

Guthrie didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he looked away, out towards the barnyard again.

"What did you go and do that for?" he demanded. "I thought you were just gonna drive around or somethin'."

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I apologized.

He was quiet again and I said, "I didn't drink or anything. We just went for a canoe ride and then came back."

"What did Adam say? He seemed like he was pretty steamed."

"He was. He still is. And Brian is, too. He's not even talking to me at all."

"Because of last night?"

"Not just last night. Adam brought up me being late getting home Wednesday and all of that."

"Did you tell him about-" he turned to check behind him for anybody listening, "about Karissa?"

"No. How could I do that, especially now? He said I'm nothing but a big fat liar. Imagine me telling them about her

right now?"

"He did not say that to you," Guthrie said decisively. "He did not call you a big fat liar."

"Well, not those words exactly." I admitted. "But that's what he meant. He said," I paused, trying to remember

the exact words that Adam had used, "not to talk any more, because he was starting to not believe a word that

came out of my mouth."

"Ouch," Guthrie winced.

"Yeah." Just saying the words had made me feel really bad again. "He's never said anything so mean to me before."

"Probably he didn't intend for it to sound that way," Guthrie said, in an attempt to make me feel better.

"Yes, he did," I said, with certainty. "He meant it. He said I can't go anywhere except school and church, and I can't drive at all, not even to my night class. Somebody has to take me and then come to pick me up. "

"How long?"

"Two weeks."

"Well, I knew if you kept pushin' him, he was going to lose patience with you," Guthrie said, sounding regretful.

"That's nice, Guth. Say 'I told you so' to me."

"I didn't say that. I wouldn't tell you that," Guthrie denied.

"Oh, I know," I said, with a sigh. And I did know that. It's not Guthrie's way to rub my mistakes in my face, even if

it's something that he thinks I shouldn't have done.

"I'm just feeling bad," I told him. "You're not mad at me, are you? For going over to Miranda's?"

"I wish you would have just stayed at Butch's, but no, I'm not mad at ya."

"You and Ford," I sighed. "The only friends I have in the house."

"Oh, come on," Guthrie said, elbowing me in the ribs. "What about Isaac? And then there's Clarence-"

7