"Something happen at school today?"

I shrugged. "No."

"Mrs. Bruen try to air out your sneakers again?"

"No."

Now Carol peeked in behind him. "Hey, Jeffers," she said.

Jeffers? That was new. I didn't like it.

"Hi," I said.

"Something's bugging Jeff," Dad told her. He sat down on the bed next to me. "You sure you don't want to say what it is? Something about the wedding?"

I took a deep breath. I didn't really feel like saying anything. I especially didn't want to talk about Mrs. Bruen when she was close enough to hear.

But I could mention the furniture. Dad was being pretty nice. And maybe I was worrying for nothing. Maybe Carol was going to sell her stuff, or give it to a charity, or to the Museum of Modern Ugliness.

"Um, when are the movers coming?" I asked.

Carol rolled her eyes. "The evening of the wedding, if you can imagine that."

"Where's all your stuff going to go?" I asked.

She shrugged and looked at Dad. He shrugged, too.

"We haven't thought much about it, to tell you the truth," he said, looking toward his room. "I suppose the dresser will fit in our bedroom."

"It had better," Carol said.

"What about that wall unit?" Dad asked. "We don't really need two."

"True," Carol agreed.

"And I'm sure the Salvation Army will make a pickup at your house on short notice — "

Carol frowned. "My house?"

"Well, yeah," Dad replied. "You don't want to keep that thing, do you? I mean, it's not very well made. And you said you've had it since just after college."

"So? It's already a period piece, sweetheart. I came of age with that wall unit. It would be like losing a part of me."

Dad chuckled. "I lose a part of me when I clip my toenails, but — "

"Jack, did I hear you right? Did you say what I thought you said?"

"I was kidding, Carol. But — "

"Besides, your unit is smaller than mine. Maybe you could put it in Jeff's room."