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cheeks."
    Henry sighed. He couldn't count the number of times his grandfather had said those words in an attempt to whitewash what they both felt, both knew in their hearts. Tonight, though, he abandoned his standard reply. "She's not better, sir."
    Grandpa gave him a disapproving look. "Why on earth would you say such a thing?"
    Henry paused, wondering the same thing himself. Stil , he felt compel ed to go on. "She's sick."
    "Dr. Morris said it's normal for women to be fatigued from time to time."
    "Mother's in pain," Henry said. "It's not only fatigue. I wish the doctor could have done more for her before it was too late."
    "What do you mean by that?" his grandfather demanded.
    Henry couldn't bring himself to broach the subject, to even suggest what Mother might do, what she would do if the summer ended. "She's in a great deal of pain," he repeated.
    Grandpa went back to rocking. "Al of us live in pain, Henry. That's the human condition. Some pain you can see from the outside, and some is buried deep on the inside. We al have our crosses to bear."
    Henry studied his grandfather's weathered face. "I haven't heard you quote the Good Book in a while."
    "You know my daddy was a preacher back east in the Carolinas," Grandpa said. "I had quite a dose of the Bible growing up."
    "Did you ever stop believing?"
    His grandfather let out a breath. "No, young man, that, I did not do. The world turns because of the Lord. The fact that we live each day is a miracle. A gift."
    "A gift that people take for granted," Henry said.
    "Have you been into those philosophy books again?" Grandpa said, al owing himself a laugh.
    "Not today, sir," Henry said. He'd read through al of them so many times he didn't think there were many mysteries of the universe left to unravel.
    "The world is a complicated place," Grandpa said. He put a hand on Henry's shoulder. "We al do our best." Grandfather surveyed Henry's eyes. "You surely do seem different tonight. You certain you're feeling wel ?"
    "Yes, sir." Henry got up and walked to the edge of the porch, facing the clearing.
    "Maybe you're growing up," Grandfather said. "You're older now—soon you'l be a man like Robert, fighting the good fight."
    Henry gripped the railing. Yes, that was the unspoken topic at the table that evening: that in the real summer, if it were al owed to continue, the letter from the draft board requesting him to report would most likely come. That within days he would take his place with the other boys of Rockvil e who were shipping out to the armed forces. He'd be a man like Robert, a man prepared to die for his country. A man who maybe wouldn't make it home at al .
    "The summer's only just begun. That's not for a while yet," his grandfather said. "Don't you worry."
    "Yes, sir," said Henry. Then he excused himself. There were prayers to be said. Futures to hold off. Lives right there on the farm to protect.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Over the next few days at school, my mind kept returning to the clearing with Henry. How peaceful the time seemed there with him, and how different he seemed from the rest of the people in Rockvil e. He didn't ask a lot of questions, and he didn't seem to want anything from me. It felt restful to be with him, talking in the field with the cool mist, al the while the grasshoppers singing, and a stray dragonfly buzzing through the fog like a little helicopter. It was like a dream.
    Rockvil e High's Creative Living class, on the other hand, was not a dream. Ms. Grady had just finished presenting a lecture about nutrition and was now walking us through a recipe for "homemade" pizza that involved store-bought biscuit mix and a jar of spaghetti sauce. When she cal ed for us to find a partner, I looked up to see Quinn moving purposeful y toward me across the room of kitchenettes.
    "Hey." Jackson popped up in front of me, holding out two aprons. "How about it?" he said. "The pizza toss is my best event."
    "Uh..." I stuttered. I was focused on Quinn, who had started over