'What painters?" Jenny asked. "I was talking about me."

Confusion. "You?"

"Me," Jenny said. "Your daughter, remember?"

More confusion. Plus a little guilt. Had she forgotten something important about her daughter?

Jenny decided to come to the rescue. "I was talking about my reservation," she said. "You'd better make one for me, too. Unless you want me to stay here."

"That's it!" Mrs. Fowler jumped on Jenny's last thought. "You can deal with the painters." She raised an eyebrow, slightly exasperated. "Honestly, Jenny, of course we didn't forget you. You don't want to go."

There was no question mark in her voice. It was a flat statement. Her mother tended to do that.

much to Jenny*s annoyance. Assume things about what people wanted or didn't want. Unfortunately, she was often right.

She was right this time, too. Jenny really did not want to go. They'd just moved their entire household. They were barely unpacked. Just the thought of repacking even a suitcase brought on an attack of exhaustion. And if she stayed, she could arrange her room, hang some pictures, shelve some books, and generally putter around without the parental cheering section urging her to move a little faster. Or worse, organizing a hike.

On the other hand, she wasn't crazy about the idea of staying alone. True, she was a boringly responsible sixteen, and if they'd just been here a couple of months longer, she wouldn't have minded. But she wasn't used to the place yet, especially the night noises. And she didn't know anybody. School didn't start for another three weeks.

Her parents were giving each other '*the look," trying to communicate without words. Actually, they were pretty good at it. And Jenny was pretty good at interpreting it. Neither one of them would insist that she stay, but they hoped she would. Her mother wanted someone here for the painters; her father wanted someone to keep an eye on the house, since the nearest neighbors were a mile and a half away. And both of them were getting impatient because she was taking so long to think about it.

Be decisive, she told herself. Be bold. "You're right," she said. 'Taking a trip is the last thing I

want to do. You go, and Fll stay and handle the painters."

Great relief. Her mother went back to the phone. Her father poured himself more coffee. Jenny reached down to pet Peaches, who had stationed herself under the table hoping for a handout and dozed off before she got one. "Wake up. Peach. You're going to have to be a watchdog for a couple of days."

Mr. Fowler snorted. "That dog can't watch anything, including her weight. You should take her for some long walks. Hey, take her with you when you go climbing, that'll work some of the fat off."

"It might give her a heart attack, too," Jenny pointed out. "Besides, it's dangerous to climb alone. rU wait."

"Never mind." Her father laughed. "You're right about climbing alone, so you and the mutt just keep the home fires burning. Remember, though," he added, his eyes twinkling, **the rimrocks will still be there when we get back."