a tiny chip you only noticed up close

yvette had an over-the-shoulder smile like a pinup girl, and when the smile caught him right, it made it hard for teddy to breathe. she had a chipped tooth on the right, a tiny chip you only noticed up close, and teddy loved it. even more, he loved the smile that forgot the chip was there. he wanted to kiss her teeth when he thought of it. she was down from canada like he was, and came from catholics like he did, and he felt he knew her in his blood, and had always known her. it hurt him to be away ... when teddy was six, his grandfather died, and the priest stood over the big dirt hole with the white box in it, and said things teddy didn't understand, and then teddy's grandmother threw herself like a great bird in her black dress down into the hole, and held the box in her long, thing arms, crying, "il est mort! il est mort!" still more like a bird, and they had to pull her collapsed body from the grave. was that what teddy wanted from yvette? he thought it was. it had frightened him, but was still his model for devotion. he wouldn't throw himself into yvette's grave if she died—it was too hysterical for a man—but he would do more. he was quite sure he would do more.