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Show Hannah Mae and the Mona Lisa 49 "Do you still miss her?" Colby turned his eyes away. "You can't miss something you never had," he answered. He was trying to act like a man. Colby left and I listened to the night. I thought about what Colby said. "You can't fill your pockets with want." I'd heard the saying a hundred times around the farm, from Gus and Mom and especially from Dad. Heaven knows, I sure was sick of that saying. Last fall I asked for a pair of shoes for school and Mom had said it again. I boiled over and shouted, "Can't anybody around here have something in their pockets once in while." I shouldn't have said it. Mom looked sad like she had been a failure. Dad looked disgusted. Colby shook his head like he couldn't believe a person could say such a thing. I was sorry about Mom and Dad, but I was most sorry about Colby. I lost his respect that night and, if there was anything I had always counted on, it was Colby's respect. I could be short and impatient and even mean to Colby, but he would always come back to my side as soon as I'd let him. That night even Colby had kept his distance like I was a plague of selfishness. What would Colby think if I told him I wouldn't be helping with the vegetable stand? "You'll only help in July?" he'd ask. "Maybe the last week in June," I'd remind. "Why?" he would ask, and he would look at me with his eyes all hurt like the time he lost his dog. |