She closed her eyes, smiled painfully, shook her head.ĭavid kicked the door and got out. 'We could dye some eggs ourselves and say that's what I found. 'Tell him we came and it was too crowded.' He did not look up into her face, but he knew she was closing her eyes, trying to be patient. Looks like a good crowd,' she said, her voice all peachy cheery, like nothing had ever happened. They were stopping, pulling to the curb at the end of a line of cars. This was all his life had been since April 29 of last year: a ride to somewhere he did not want to go. Didn't she know that tricks only made him hate her more? Wasn't the trick his mother had played on him enough? More than enough? Did the world have to go on playing tricks on him?

She said, 'Would you like your window open?' They could tell him the hunt was called off, or they got there too late. It wasn't even her idea anyway, it was his dad's. Maybe then she would turn around, take him home, let the Easter Egg hunt go on without him. Unreplied to, the word would get bigger and bigger, filling the car, suffocating her, forcing her to open her mouth and take it back, swallow it. He let it hang there: 'silly.' He said nothing.

She settled for a sigh and a purse of the lips.

He knew she wanted to give him a look, but she dared not take her eyes from the road. Participating.' Her fists gripped the steering wheel. 'So what is it?' He no longer bothered to trim the surliness from his voice when speaking to her. 'It's not just the eggs,' said his grandmother.

Eggs by Jerry Spinelli