“Dee, will you do me a favor? If it ever comes up, if you ever get a chance to talk to him, see if you can find out what he…thinks…about me.” She felt embarrassed and looked down at her hands. “That sounds silly, doesn’t it? But I’d really like to know.”

“Okay, Bethrah. But Tucker’s so…” I stopped. You can’t just tell a girl the boy she likes is nondescript.

After that, I used to watch the way she looked at him when he came into the kitchen. Sometimes he’d talk to her in that really high voice he had, but he’d never look at her. He always pretended to be doing something else like bending down under the sink looking for leaks.

She’d stand by the stove and just look at him like he was simply beautiful, so upset by him she’d stutter. “Tucker, would you take out the garbage, please?” She’d sound like she was apologizing for something.

He’d look at her then, but like he was angry at her. Then he’d pick up the garbage pail or whatever it was and go outside.

When he was gone, she’d sigh like she was relieved to get him out of the room, like the strain of having him around was too much for her. I guess that’s what it was, and I could understand that. She’d look at me and even though I was only fifteen, I’d understand. Then she’d turn back to the stove.

I don’t know how much later it was, but Tucker took me into New Marsails to get a tooth pulled. When he came to get me, I hopped in beside him instead of getting in the back.

I wanted him to say something first, so I groaned. Actually the tooth didn’t hurt. It was so rotten it just about fell out by itself. But I groaned anyway. He didn’t say anything at all.

Tucker used to drive like you think a race driver does, bent over the steering wheel, staring at the road, his eyes squinty, his shoulders hunched. He looked silly, because he was so tiny. He looked like a too-serious little boy.

I groaned again. But still he didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t hear me over the motor. So finally I just said, “Isn’t Bethrah nice, Tucker?”

He didn’t move. You would imagine that if a man was thinking about marrying a girl, when someone mentioned her name, he would at least twitch. He didn’t.

I wanted to know for myself now. I suppose it wasn’t actually any of my business; Bethrah just wanted to know if he ever thought about her. “I mean, do you like her at all?”

He sounded like it hurt him to say it. “Yes, Miss Dymphna.”