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"I just think some of it should be published." "It is. Right here," he said, holding up the notebook.

"But that's not publishing it. Publishing it is getting other people to read it."

"And get their dumb opinions? No thanks." "Not everyone is dumb, Duncan."

"When it comes to me, they are," he said.

He put the notebook down and turned the pages slowly, inspecting every one.

"You don't have to worry. I didn't write in it or tear out any pages."

He continued to check. "A cup of coffee," he said without looking up at me. "Black."

I glared at him, then turned and went to the counter. Aunt Zipporah looked up from the counter in the kitchen. She watched me pour the cup of coffee.

"Something wrong?"

"No," I said, obviously too quickly. "Not with me," I added.

I brought the cup of coffee to him and slapped it down so hard on the table that some spilled into the saucer. He looked up.

"You're not the only one who feels these things," I said, "and expresses them in some artistic form or another."

"Oh really?"

"That's right, really. I'm not a poet, but I happen to paint, and that's where my feelings and deeper thoughts go. My grandparents are coming up this weekend and my grandfather is bringing my art supplies. I'm setting up the studio behind my aunt and uncle's house, the one the sculptor created."

His face softened with interest.

"Really?"

"Yes, really, Duncan, really. Maybe if you opened a window, some fresh air would go into your head," I told him and walked away to fume on the other side of the restaurant.

"How come you're spending so much time with him?" Missy asked me.

"I'm doing penance."

"What?"

"Penance. Don't you know what that means? I'm punishing myself to make up for my sins."

"Huh?"

The confusion twisted her face, making her lips look like thin pieces of rubber. I had to smile, which calmed me.

"Despite the way he talks to other people, he's an interesting boy, Missy. He's written some great poetry."

"You read it?"

"How else would I know it's good, Missy?" She looked at him and then at me.

"But why bother with someone like him? Why spend the time'?"

"I inherited a ton of it. I have lots to spend," I told her, and she gave me that quizzical look again.

"You sound nuttier than he is."

"So there you are. You've answered your own question. We're two peas in a pod. You want to come in, too?"