the price for her folly. Itâs a risk he would be prepared to take.â
Folly indeed! As if he knew anything about Nick. As if I was ever going to think Greg would make a better boyfriend than Nick would. It was ridiculous.
It was also intriguing, the idea that he was willing to put himself in the position heâd just described. I could suddenly see the very real possibility that it would indeed help me get Nickâs interest.
And I knew what Mom would have to say about such a thing. Not that I would ever discuss it with her, but in spite of that, her voice was in the back of my head pestering my conscience. I wonder sometimes how she manages to come through at moments like that. Iâd just had a pretty tempting offer, and I couldnât take advantage of it because her unspoken disapproval hung over me like some sort of weird ethical cloud.
âWell, thanks for the fairy tale,â I told Greg, standing up. âBut if you ask me, itâs the guy in your hypothetical story who needs his eyes opened, not the girl.â
âYou could be right,â he smiled. âMaybe we can discuss it further at Christmas.â
âChristmas?â
âYes, your mother has kindly invited my dad and me to have Christmas dinner with your family.â
I knew right off that he wasnât making that up. Itwas just the kind of thing my mom would do. At that moment I wished she wasnât such a nice person!
Later on though, when Iâd had more time to think about it, I decided that it wasnât really all that bad. Talking to Greg could be fun, especially if there was no one else nearby to hear some of the strange things he said. I figured I could stand having him around for a couple of hours. I was curious about his dad too, and this would be a chance to meet him.
Maybe I could look at him and somehow be able to tell if he was the Little River fire starter!
CHAPTER NINE
My stomach was growling from the smells of Christmas dinner by the time our family and the Taylors sat down to eat. Dad carved the turkey while steam wafted up from the dishes holding potatoes, gravy, stuffing, carrots, turnip, and warm rolls.
Greg and his father hadnât been at our place long when I saw where Greg got his way of talking. Mr. Taylor spun out conversation that captured our attention and held us still, waiting for more. It made me think of a spiderâs web.
He didnât look at all as Iâd pictured him. In my imagination heâd been tall and thin and pale, with a beard and glasses. It had been a surprise to find that he was broad shouldered, with muscular forearms that bulged against the rolled-up sleeves of the blue plaid shirt he wore. His hair was long, about shoulder length,and looked as though he didnât give it much attention. It wasnât exactly messy; it just didnât have that overly styled look you usually see on an older guy who has long hair. There was no beard, no glasses, and he had a healthy, weathered look that youâd expect from someone who spends most of his time outdoors.
I liked him. When he spoke, he included everyone instead of passing over us teens and concentrating on the adults, like most grown-ups tend to do.
He didnât ask me how old I was or what grade I was in or how I liked school. Those questions irritate me. Itâs as though theyâre the only things adults can think of to ask a kid, and you can always tell they arenât really interested in your answers.
âGreg tells me that you have a love for literature, Shelby,â heâd said during a break in the conversation. âSuppose that you were to spend five years in an isolated place, say a cabin in the woods where youâd have no contact with anyone. Suppose that you could take only three books with you.â
âThatâs not very many,â I said, dismayed at the thought. I couldnât imagine being limited to the same three books for five years.
âThen
Folly indeed! As if he knew anything about Nick. As if I was ever going to think Greg would make a better boyfriend than Nick would. It was ridiculous.
It was also intriguing, the idea that he was willing to put himself in the position heâd just described. I could suddenly see the very real possibility that it would indeed help me get Nickâs interest.
And I knew what Mom would have to say about such a thing. Not that I would ever discuss it with her, but in spite of that, her voice was in the back of my head pestering my conscience. I wonder sometimes how she manages to come through at moments like that. Iâd just had a pretty tempting offer, and I couldnât take advantage of it because her unspoken disapproval hung over me like some sort of weird ethical cloud.
âWell, thanks for the fairy tale,â I told Greg, standing up. âBut if you ask me, itâs the guy in your hypothetical story who needs his eyes opened, not the girl.â
âYou could be right,â he smiled. âMaybe we can discuss it further at Christmas.â
âChristmas?â
âYes, your mother has kindly invited my dad and me to have Christmas dinner with your family.â
I knew right off that he wasnât making that up. Itwas just the kind of thing my mom would do. At that moment I wished she wasnât such a nice person!
Later on though, when Iâd had more time to think about it, I decided that it wasnât really all that bad. Talking to Greg could be fun, especially if there was no one else nearby to hear some of the strange things he said. I figured I could stand having him around for a couple of hours. I was curious about his dad too, and this would be a chance to meet him.
Maybe I could look at him and somehow be able to tell if he was the Little River fire starter!
CHAPTER NINE
My stomach was growling from the smells of Christmas dinner by the time our family and the Taylors sat down to eat. Dad carved the turkey while steam wafted up from the dishes holding potatoes, gravy, stuffing, carrots, turnip, and warm rolls.
Greg and his father hadnât been at our place long when I saw where Greg got his way of talking. Mr. Taylor spun out conversation that captured our attention and held us still, waiting for more. It made me think of a spiderâs web.
He didnât look at all as Iâd pictured him. In my imagination heâd been tall and thin and pale, with a beard and glasses. It had been a surprise to find that he was broad shouldered, with muscular forearms that bulged against the rolled-up sleeves of the blue plaid shirt he wore. His hair was long, about shoulder length,and looked as though he didnât give it much attention. It wasnât exactly messy; it just didnât have that overly styled look you usually see on an older guy who has long hair. There was no beard, no glasses, and he had a healthy, weathered look that youâd expect from someone who spends most of his time outdoors.
I liked him. When he spoke, he included everyone instead of passing over us teens and concentrating on the adults, like most grown-ups tend to do.
He didnât ask me how old I was or what grade I was in or how I liked school. Those questions irritate me. Itâs as though theyâre the only things adults can think of to ask a kid, and you can always tell they arenât really interested in your answers.
âGreg tells me that you have a love for literature, Shelby,â heâd said during a break in the conversation. âSuppose that you were to spend five years in an isolated place, say a cabin in the woods where youâd have no contact with anyone. Suppose that you could take only three books with you.â
âThatâs not very many,â I said, dismayed at the thought. I couldnât imagine being limited to the same three books for five years.
âThen
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