Sun & Spoon Read Online Free Page A

both.”
    Spoon was so hungry he ate two peanut butter and banana sandwiches (sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar). He drank two bottles of root beer as well.
    Joanie decided that she wanted milk mixed with honey and chocolate syrup, which Pa was nice enough to let her have. She sipped it noisily from a gravy boat. “This is called kitty soup,” she declared. “And it’s delicious. Meow.”
    â€œYou are so weird,” Spoon said, shaking his head.
    Compared to his grandchildren’s concoctions, Pa’s lunch seemed particularly ordinary—a big salad and some crackers and cheese.
    â€œWe specially delivered that lettuce,” Joanie said between slurps, pointing to Pa’s salad. “Like a mailman, only better.”
    Pa laughed softly and nodded.
    Except for Joanie’s occasional insight—“Fancy trees wear gold leaves, and they like kitty soup better than rain.” “Fancy cats purr when their kitty soup gets caught in their neck with a bumblebee.”—the lunch was a quiet one.
    Spoon noticed that there was a stack of New Yorker magazines on Gram’s chair and a potted grapefruit plant at her place on the table. He wondered if Pa had set those things there purposely so that no one would sit where Gram always had.
    When in the dining room, one couldn’t help but think of Gram. More than anyplace else in the house, this was where her presence was felt most strongly. Gram had collected suns, and they hung all around, orbiting the table like colorful planets in some fantastic solar system. The four walls were covered with suns fashioned from different materials—wood, clay, plaster, metal. Stained-glass suns dangled in the windows. Gram had owned more than two hundred of them from all over the world. They were big and small, shiny and dull, delicate and sturdy, ornamental and plain. Some were gifts, and some Gram had bought when she and Pa had been traveling. Spoon, Joanie, and Charlie had made a few of them—nothing but clumsy attempts, in Spoon’s opinion. Kay had sculpted some of the best ones; they were clay and she had fired them in the kiln at the school where she taught.
    Spoon’s favorite was one of the largest—a stern-looking sun from Mexico. He couldn’t remember the reason, but he had named this particular sun Bob when he was younger. Bob’s flinty face was divided by a deeply etched frown as thick and long as a dinner knife. A heavy brow shielded Bob’s penetrating eyes. Years ago, Spoon had been convinced that Bob’s eyes blinked when Spoon was alone in the dining room. As soon as anyone else entered the room, the eyes became fixed again. Bob had truly frightened Spoon, but in a deliciously pleasing way. Now, to think that Bob had scared him at all caused Spoon to smile.
    â€œThe suns are all girls, you know,” Joanie said thoughtfully, as she scooted down from her chair. “And they’re watching us.”
    â€œIf they’re all girls,” Spoon said, gesturing toward a brightly painted sun made from a coconut shell, “how come that one has a mustache?”
    Joanie picked up the empty gravy boat and started for the kitchen. “Because,” she answered matter-of-factly, “she forgot to shave this morning.”
    Spoon shot an acid look in Joanie’s direction.
    Pa followed Joanie with his dirty dishes. Spoon rose to follow Pa, but one of the stained-glass suns in the window caught the light of the real sun and sent off pure white flashes directly at Spoon. He sat down again, mesmerized by the gleaming orb, feeling as if he was on the brink of a meaningful thought, on the verge of solving his problem.
    His eyes darted from one sun to the next. Something of Gram’s.
    Thinking, thinking.
    Taking one of Gram’s suns was an obvious choice. But each one was too important in its own way, too substantial a thing to take without permission. And Spoon couldn’t bring