Then I remembered what Bryce had said about our yard, and suddenly I knew why he was there.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, throwing his clippings into my pile. “Did I cut it down too far?”

“N-no.”

“Then why the look?” he asked. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just thought you might like a little help.”

“Well, I don’t. I can do this by myself.”

He laughed and said, “Oh, I have no doubt about that,” then got back to clipping. “You see, Julianna, I read about you in the paper, and I’ve lived across the street from you for over a year now. It’s easy to see that you’re a very competent person.”

We both worked quietly for a minute, but I found myself throwing the clippings into the pile harder and harder. And before long I couldn’t stand it. I just couldn’t stand it! I spun on him and said, “You’re here because you feel bad about the eggs, aren’t you? Well, our eggs are perfectly fine! We’ve been eating them for nearly three years and none of us have gotten poisoned. Mrs. Stueby and Mrs. Helms seem in good health to me, too, and the fact of the matter is, if you didn’t want them, you should’ve just told me so!”

His hands fell to his sides and he shook his head as he said, “Eggs? Poisoned? Julianna, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Inside I was so angry and hurt and embarrassed that I didn’t even feel like me. “I’m talking about the eggs that I’ve been bringing over to your house for more than two years— eggs that my chickens laid that I could’ve sold! Eggs that your family has been throwing away!” I was shouting at him. Shouting at an adult, like I’d never shouted at anyone in my entire life.

His voice got very quiet. “I’m sorry. I don’t know about any eggs. Who did you give them to?”

“Bryce!” My throat choked closed as I said his name again. “Bryce.”

Mr. Duncan nodded slowly and said, “Well,” then went back to pruning his bush. “That probably explains it.”

“What do you mean?”