rded。

“People　jump　to　conclusions；”　he'd　told　me。　“They

assume　that；　by　association；　something　must　also　be　wrong　with　you。　Trust　me；　I　know。”

So　we　didn't　talk　about　it。　Not　at　home；　not　with　friends。　It　was　almost　like　there　was　no　Uncle

David。

Until　now。　Now　he　felt　larger　than　life；　and　I　could　tell　from　their　argument　that　he　was　the

reason　we　didn't　have　our　own　house；　he　was　the　reason

we　didn't　have　nice　cars　or　fancy　things。　He　was　the　reason　there　always　seemed　to　be　a

cloud　of　weariness　hanging　over　my　parents。

Why　did　I　have　to　bring　up　the　yard　in　the　first　place？　I'd　never　seen　my　parents　fight　like　this。

Ever。　I　wanted　to　grab　them　and　say；　Stop　it！　Stop　it！

You　love　each　other！　You　do！　But　I　just　sat　there　with　tears　streaming　down　my　face。

My　mother　stopped　suddenly　and　whispered；　“We　should　not　be　doing　this　in　front　of　her！”

“I'm　sorry；　Julianna；”　my　dad　said；　then　reached　over　and　held　my　forearm。　“Don't　cry。　None

of　this　is　your　fault。　We'll　work　it　out；　I　promise　we　will。”

My　mother　tried　to　laugh　through　her　tears；　saying；　“We　always　have；　and　we　always　will。”

That　night　my　parents　came　into　my　room　and　talked　to　me；　one　at　a　time。　My　father　talked

about　his　brother　and　how　much　he　loved　him　and

how　he'd　promised　his　parents　he'd　always　take　care　of　him。　My　mother　talked　about　how

much　she　loved　my　father　for　his　strength