Grand & Humble by Brent Hartinger

even sure what he was asking.
    “Planters,” his dad said.
    “Huh?” Manny said.
    “We’ve got plenty of planters. Maybe I could fill one with tulips.” He bent down to examine a cluster of ceramic pots. “Nah, they’re all chipped. If they’re not chipped, they’re ugly. Why do I keep these plastic planters, anyway? I’ve never seen one that doesn’t look cheap.”
    “I don’t know,” Manny said softly.
    His dad kept scanning the clutter, thinking out loud. “Christmas is over, so wreaths and ornaments are out. I don’t have time to reupholster furniture—not that any of our furniture is worth reupholstering anyway. Something to do with old CDs? A mobile or something?”
    Manny just listened. What was he thinking—that the perfect segue would magically present itself? Hey , Dad, speaking of mobiles, I wanted to ask you about breakfast the other morning….
    His dad sighed again. “I never realized what a load of junk we have. One of these days, we should take it to the dump. Well, I could always make fudge.” He turned for the stairs.
    “Wait!” Manny said.
    His dad jumped a little, startled. “Manny? What is it?” He had his dad’s full attention at last. But did he dare ask the question he wanted to ask?
    Manny pointed. “The yard gnome! You could repaint it. Bright colors or something?”
    No, Manny hadn’t dared.
    His dad cocked his head. “Well, it’s a thought. But I think the crowd’s going to be kind of upscale. Lots of lawyers.” He started for the stairs again.
    “Dad!” Manny said. “Wait.”
    His dad looked back at him again.
    “There’s something I want to ask,” Manny said.
    His dad’s expression shifted. Was that nervousness Manny saw creeping across his face? Whatever it was, Manny was certain that his dad had suddenly realized what his son was going to ask.
    “It’s cold down here,” his dad said, turning. “Can we talk about this upstairs?”
    No, Manny thought, they couldn’t talk about itupstairs. If he didn’t get this out now, he’d never be able to.
    “Dad,” he said. “The other day, at breakfast—”
    “Breakfast?” his dad interrupted. “What are you talking about? Look, I’ve really got to get started on that fudge.” Now Manny knew his dad had known what he was going to ask. He had responded far too quickly.
    “Dad, just listen, okay?”
    His dad stopped. He couldn’t keep walking now, not without being really rude. But even so, he didn’t turn around to face Manny again.
    “It was when I was telling you about my nightmare,” Manny said.
    “I don’t know what this has to do with—”
    “It’s just that you seemed kind of weird. And I thought maybe I said something that upset you.”
    “Upset me?” his dad said. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
    “All of a sudden, you wanted to get away,” Manny went on. “You said you had an errand to run before work, but I don’t think you did.”
    His dad turned to him. “Manny, you were the one who was upset. You’d just had a nightmare!” So he did remember. He’d been lying before. And as Manny watched his dad now, he saw just howtightly he was gripping the rail at the base of the stairs.
    “Are you sure?” Manny said. “Because it seemed like there was something else going on. I thought maybe my dream reminded you of something. Something about the past.”
    And right then, Manny knew: the nightmares were about something that had happened to him as a small child! He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he did.
    “Saturday!” his dad said suddenly.
    “What?” Manny was confused.
    “That’s when we’re throwing all this stuff away! I’ll call Goodwill! Maybe they can send a truck! Now, Manny, I’ve really got to get started on that fudge.” Then, without another word, he thundered up the stairs.
    This time, Manny let him go. It didn’t matter. There was nothing he could say to get his dad to give him a straight answer.
    Which was, of course, an