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there, isn't it?"

"Yes," Aunt Zipporah said, laughing. "It's

Tyler's meat loaf, Dad."

"Right. Well?"

My grandmother shook her head and looked at

me. I could see that she was half hoping I had

changed my mind about everything, but the

improvements in my bedroom and now my art

supplies installed in what would be my studio drove

home my determination.

"I'll be fine here, Grandma," I told her. "Next

year I would be going off to college anyway," I said. "Some birds throw their babies out of the nest,"

my grandfather said, smiling.

I quickly looked at Aunt Zipporah. She and I

shared a secret. I knew that she and my mother had

baptized the attic as Nest of Orphans, and ever since I

learned that, I could never hear the word nest without

thinking about it, thinking about the two of them

treasuring their privacy, their imaginative world, their

precious. secrets.

"If you want to base your behavior on other animals and insects, Michael, female black widows kill

their male mates, too," my grandmother threw back at

him, and he roared with laughter.

We went to the cafe in two cars because my

grandparents were going to leave right after lunch.

Aunt Zipporah thought I should ride with them to

spend as much time with them as possible. It also

gave my grandmother one more chance to ask me

questions that might annoy or embarrass Aunt

Zipporah if she heard them.