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a miracle.
      "I suppose I could try," I said.
    "Try real hard!" Eric pleaded.
      "I will, I promise."
      "And soon!" he wailed. "What if Duck's egg gets cold while you're looking?"
      "I'll try real soon. Meanwhile, why don't you keep Duck's egg in your shirt pocket? Of course you'll have to be really careful not to shake it, but that should keep it warm enough."
      "Okay," Eric said. He carefully placed the egg in his pocket, and he and Duck trotted off--slowly--to find Dad.
      "And what happens if he falls and breaks it?" Michael asked, shaking his head.
      "Well, at least he can't blame either of us," I said. "And since there isn't any Mr. Duck around to fertilize the egg, it's not going to hatch no matter how long we incubate it. Eric accidentally breaking it might be the best solution; the kids could have a funeral. Pet funerals are very popular around here, especially since Dad came back from a trip to Scotland with a set of bagpipes for each of the grandkids."
      "They really play the bagpipes?" Michael asked.
      "No, but they can march around making such an ungodly amount of noise that they completely forget to be upset about the dear departed."
      "Let's hope the egg survives. You've got quite enough to do as it is; I'll see if I can find an incubator. Since it was all my fault in the first place."
      "You're on."
      "By the way, Meg, I was wondering if you would like to go--" Michael began, only to be interrupted by Mother calling and beckoning to us from the porch.
      "Michael, you will come to dinner tomorrow, won't you?" Mother asked as we arrived at the porch. "Jake's sister-in-law arrived this morning to spend the summer and help with the wedding, and we want to have a few people over to welcome her. Nothing formal," she insisted, "just a little light refreshment by the pool. Meg, dear, I have something to show you," she said, taking Michael's acceptance for granted and moving to the next item on her agenda. "It's about the dining room ..."
      I waved at Michael and went off with Mother to spend the rest of the afternoon fruitlessly trying to talk her out of totally redecorating the dining room in addition to the living room. I hoped Mrs. Brewster wouldn't up the ante in the decorating competition by decorating three rooms so that Mother would feel obliged to do the family room as well. I hoped Jake was more than reasonably well heeled. I hoped Michael would have the sense to realize that Mother's idea of "nothing formal" meant that guests weren't actually required to wear black tie and tails. I hoped the summer would be over soon.

               Sunday, May 29

      I'd gone to bed Saturday night expecting a relaxing Sunday. At least the morning, when Mother and all her cronies would gather at Grace Episcopal, dressed to kill and waiting with decorative impatience for the service to be over so they could get down to the serious business of catching up with the week's gossip. I planned to sleep late, read the paper, and rest. But I woke early and got up when I couldn't stop worrying about my to-do list.
      I padded downstairs, fixed coffee, and sat at the kitchen table waiting for it to take effect. I was enjoying the peace and quiet of the empty house. I suppose I was halfway asleep again when a noise at the kitchen door startled me. I jumped and whirled, only to see Jake, halfway through the door. He started and looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He was clutching a brown paper bag in both hands with a convulsive grip.
      "I thought everybody was in church," we said, almost in unison. I laughed when I realized we'd both said the same thing. Jake didn't. No sense of humor, either, I thought. What on earth does Mother see in him?
      "I just came by to drop off some things for the party," he said, opening the kitchen door a fraction more and then slipping in sideways and over to the refrigerator. He opened the refrigerator door and surveyed the inside, already crowded with