One thing I’ll say for Uncle Lenny is that he fixes a pretty extensive breakfast.
“Nice day to be outside,” he observes, flipping a page in the sports section of the newspaper. I follow his gaze to the window. It’s golden out; multicolored leaves litter the never-ending yard , trees flame orange and burgundy, and the sunshine drizzles over everything, like icing on a coffeecake.
“Chilly, though,” I say, just to be perverse.
Uncle Lenny glances at me. “Who says nice weather and warm weather are one and the same?”
I shrug. “It’s cold in here, that’s all. I was freezing last night. Something’s wrong with the windows in this place.”
“Harper!” cries Mom, admonishing me.
Uncle Lenny cracks a smile. “No, she’s right, Diana,” he says. “There are some cracks in the sills around here that need caulking—up in her bedroom, too. I forgot about that.”
Although I resent Uncle Lenny for inviting us out here to live with him, I’m grateful that he’s taking my side. It’s the least he could do….
Uncle Lenny’s an interesting person, not really one of those warm and cozy uncle types who swoops you up and calls you princess, but not a jerk, either. Mom says he’s hardened, but not hard. I guess that about fits.
Uncle Lenny’s mom’s brother, and while they’re both a quarter Algonquin Indian on Granddad’s side of the family, you’d never know it by looking at Mom. She’s fairer than Chase and me put together, with sort of dishwater-blonde hair and blue eyes. Uncle Lenny, on the other hand, has the whole Native American vibe going on: creased tan skin, flinty eyes, dark hair back in a ponytail. He really plays it up, feather-shaped earrings in his lobes and leather cording to tie back his hair.
Chase says that all he needs is war paint. But the look fits Uncle Lenny, as do his pilled flannel shirts, well-worn jeans, and tooled-leather boots. He’s an enigma, with a hard-drinking party boy side b alanced by a reserved compassion and mild sense of humor.
I never minded Uncle Lenny—in fact, I always sort of liked him, until Grammy died, and Uncle Lenny invited Mom and Chase and me to come live in the farm house with him. I guess he was lonely or something; who would ever have guessed that after looking out for my grandparents all those years, providing for them on his income as a locksmith at the local hardware, and taking care of the house and grounds, that proud Uncle Lenny would pine for company in their absence? People are such a riddle.
Anyway, Mom jumped at the opportunity to leave behind our happy lives in a little ranch house in the suburbs of Chicago and move back into her childhood home in the nether regions of Wisconsin farm country. As a single, working mother, she said it made a lot more sense to not have to pay rent on a house; besides, she missed her home and brother, and everything came cheaper in Wisconsin, and she could easily arrange to work long-distance for the publishing company where she’s an editor.
Yada, yada, yada. Never mind that moving here came with great cost to Chase and me, forcing us to leave behind our high school and our friends and Chase’s girlfriend and our extracurricular activities….
We got here two nights ago. So far, my brother and I haven’t been to our new school yet . We start next week, I guess. Oh, joy! Welcome to Hick Town USA. How am I ever supposed to meet a guy around here, one who actually washes his hair and doesn’t dress in overalls and work boots? Okay, so I know that sounds stereotypical, but I really don’t care. What right did Mom have to bring us here? And as long as we have to live on a farm, why can’t it be a functional
“Nice day to be outside,” he observes, flipping a page in the sports section of the newspaper. I follow his gaze to the window. It’s golden out; multicolored leaves litter the never-ending yard , trees flame orange and burgundy, and the sunshine drizzles over everything, like icing on a coffeecake.
“Chilly, though,” I say, just to be perverse.
Uncle Lenny glances at me. “Who says nice weather and warm weather are one and the same?”
I shrug. “It’s cold in here, that’s all. I was freezing last night. Something’s wrong with the windows in this place.”
“Harper!” cries Mom, admonishing me.
Uncle Lenny cracks a smile. “No, she’s right, Diana,” he says. “There are some cracks in the sills around here that need caulking—up in her bedroom, too. I forgot about that.”
Although I resent Uncle Lenny for inviting us out here to live with him, I’m grateful that he’s taking my side. It’s the least he could do….
Uncle Lenny’s an interesting person, not really one of those warm and cozy uncle types who swoops you up and calls you princess, but not a jerk, either. Mom says he’s hardened, but not hard. I guess that about fits.
Uncle Lenny’s mom’s brother, and while they’re both a quarter Algonquin Indian on Granddad’s side of the family, you’d never know it by looking at Mom. She’s fairer than Chase and me put together, with sort of dishwater-blonde hair and blue eyes. Uncle Lenny, on the other hand, has the whole Native American vibe going on: creased tan skin, flinty eyes, dark hair back in a ponytail. He really plays it up, feather-shaped earrings in his lobes and leather cording to tie back his hair.
Chase says that all he needs is war paint. But the look fits Uncle Lenny, as do his pilled flannel shirts, well-worn jeans, and tooled-leather boots. He’s an enigma, with a hard-drinking party boy side b alanced by a reserved compassion and mild sense of humor.
I never minded Uncle Lenny—in fact, I always sort of liked him, until Grammy died, and Uncle Lenny invited Mom and Chase and me to come live in the farm house with him. I guess he was lonely or something; who would ever have guessed that after looking out for my grandparents all those years, providing for them on his income as a locksmith at the local hardware, and taking care of the house and grounds, that proud Uncle Lenny would pine for company in their absence? People are such a riddle.
Anyway, Mom jumped at the opportunity to leave behind our happy lives in a little ranch house in the suburbs of Chicago and move back into her childhood home in the nether regions of Wisconsin farm country. As a single, working mother, she said it made a lot more sense to not have to pay rent on a house; besides, she missed her home and brother, and everything came cheaper in Wisconsin, and she could easily arrange to work long-distance for the publishing company where she’s an editor.
Yada, yada, yada. Never mind that moving here came with great cost to Chase and me, forcing us to leave behind our high school and our friends and Chase’s girlfriend and our extracurricular activities….
We got here two nights ago. So far, my brother and I haven’t been to our new school yet . We start next week, I guess. Oh, joy! Welcome to Hick Town USA. How am I ever supposed to meet a guy around here, one who actually washes his hair and doesn’t dress in overalls and work boots? Okay, so I know that sounds stereotypical, but I really don’t care. What right did Mom have to bring us here? And as long as we have to live on a farm, why can’t it be a functional
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