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"I meant to ask you if you knew how to drive a stick shift?"

"No. I took driver's education class in school, and going for my driver's test was part of the final, but we always drove automatics. Actually, I haven't done all that much driving in any kind of car. Grandpa's always trying to get me to take the wheel, but I've never been that interested. Another thing that makes me weird to my schoolmates, I suppose," I added. "Grandpa would probably buy me my own car if I showed any interest."

"I saw how reluctant you were to take Zipporah's car the other day. It's because of the accident you were in, right?"

"Something like that."

"You know what they say. If you fall off a bike, you should get right back on. I'd be glad to give you some lessons on my stick shift. It's a fun car to drive."

"I don't have anywhere I'd like to go."

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know. My car isn't used all day and most of the night because

I'm chained to the cafe. With a few lessons, it could be your way of tooling around as well." He leaned toward me and whispered, "Zipporah hates driving it, so she'll be more reluctant to give up her car."

"Thanks for the offer," I said, smiling. "Maybe I will let you give me some lessons."

"That's the spirit. You're too young not to be eager to try new things." He sipped his coffee. "Zipporah was telling me about your painting. It sounds interesting."

"I don't know. I'm just tinkering with something."

"That's how most artists do it, I bet. Well, I'd better get going. Zipporah's still asleep," he whispered. "Something was bothering her last night. She tossed and turned so much, I thought she'd bounce me out of the bed."

"Oh?"

"Pm sure it's nothing serious," he quickly added. "She's had nights like that before. Don't worry about it," he told me, but I couldn't help wondering if she had seen or heard more than she had let on last night and she was worrying about me.

I didn't want to wake her, but I didn't go into the studio for a while, hoping she would come down. Finally, I went out and started to set up to continue my painting. I tried to get back into it, but there was just too much distracting me. I did very little before I heard Aunt Zipporah call from the doorway.

"Morning," I said.

"Morning. I don't want to bother you, but I'm heading out. I overslept. You going to be all right?"

"I'm fine," I said. "You sure I shouldn't go with you to the cafe?"

"Tyler is adamant that you have time for your art. We're so much busier on the weekends. Don't worry about it. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will. Thanks," 1 shouted after her.

I went to the doorway and listened to her back out of the garage and then drive off. When I turned around again, Duncan was standing in the studio bathroom doorway. He looked like he had just woken up himself. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were still sleepy. In fact, he looked dazed.

"How did you get in there?" I asked

immediately. "How long have you been in there?"

He stared at me, then scrubbed his cheeks vigorously.

"I fell asleep on the floor," he replied.

"When?"

"Last night sometime."

"Why?"

He didn't say anything. He walked over to my painting and looked at it.

"Duncan? What are you doing? Why did you peep through our bathroom window last night?" I demanded, and he turned.