Page 44

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's afraid of going to hell," I said, gazing

back. He looked like a mad prophet razing against the

heavens, his arms lifted, that machete painted in our

direction.

"He should be locked up somewhere. He's

dangerous."

Daddy and Uncle Simon had just parted and

Daddy was stepping onto the porch when we

appeared, hurrying from the path to the pond toward Chandler's car. Both he and Uncle Simon turned to

watch us a moment.

"Why are you guys walking barefoot?

Something wrong, Honey?" Daddy asked when we

drew closer.

"Grandad," I said.

"What did he do?"

"He frightened us and accused us of things," I

said. "And he waved his machete at Chandler." "He did what?"

Daddy and Uncle Simon looked toward the

pond.

"I'd better get going," Chandler said, reaching

for his car door handle. He didn't pause to put on his

shoes and socks first. "I'll call you. Or, maybe you call

me when you can," he added. He looked absolutely

terrified. I couldn't blame him.

"I'm sorry," I said. He nodded, started the

engine, and drove off qui

ckly, forgetting the bump

again. I looked up at Daddy.

"He's horrible," I cried. "I don't care if he is