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He wrapped his arm around her waist and hoisted her up off the ground. As he carried her toward the trunk of his New Yorker, she delighted him by starting to struggle, although he did think she could have put a little more effort into it if she'd concentrated harder.
“I'm not the kind of woman you make love to on the back of a car,” she said in a voice so haughty she sounded like the queen of England. Except Dallie didn't imagine the queen of England would be moving her hand up and down the front of his jeans in quite the same way.
“You can't fool me with that accent of yours, ma'am,” he drawled. “I know exactly how you red-blooded American girls like to make love.”
As she opened her mouth to reply, he took advantage of her parted lips to give her the kind of kiss that guaranteed him a few minutes of silence. Eventually she began to work at the zipper on the front of his jeans, which didn't take her long at all—Francie was magic with anything that had to do with clothes.
Their lovemaking started out raunchy, with a little bit of dirty talk and a lot of shifting around, but then everything turned tender and sweet, exactly like their feelings for each other. Before long, they were sprawled across the trunk of the New Yorker, lying right on top of the pink satin Porthault sheet that Francesca kept stored in the car for just such an emergency.
Afterward, they looked into each other's eyes, not saying a word, just looking, and then they exchanged a kiss so full of love and understanding that it was hard to remember that any barriers had ever existed between them.
Dallie took the wheel to drive back to Wynette. When he turned out onto the main highway, Francesca was cuddled up against him and he was feeling lazy and contented, pleased with himself for having had the good sense to marry Miss Fancy Pants. Just then the Bear made one of his increasingly rare appearances.
Looks like you're in real danger of making a fool of yourself over this woman.
You've got that right, Dallie replied, brushing the top of her head with a kiss.
And then the Bear chuckled. Good work, Beaudine.
On the opposite side of Wynette, Teddy and Skeet sat next to each other on a slatted wooden bench, the mulberry trees overhead shielding them from the summer sun. They sat quietly, neither of them having any need to talk. Skeet gazed off down the gently rolling slope of grass, and Teddy sipped at the dregs of his Coke. He was wearing his favorite pair of camouflage pants belted low on his hips, along with a baseball hat sporting an American flag. A No Nukes button occupied a place of honor in the exact center of his Aggies T-shirt.
Teddy thought that this summer in Wynette had been about the best time in his life. He had a bike here, which he couldn't have in New York, and him and his dad had built this neat solar collector in the back yard. Still, he missed some of his friends and he didn't absolutely hate the idea of going back to New York in a few weeks. Miss Pearson had given him an A on the social studies project he'd done on immigration. She said the story he'd written about how his mom had come to this country and everything that had happened to her once she got here was the most interesting student report she had ever read. And his gifted teacher next year was the nicest one in the whole school. Also, there were lots of museums and stuff in New York that he wanted to show his dad.
“You about ready?” Skeet said, getting up from the bench where they had been sitting.
“I guess.” Teddy noisily drained the last of his Coke and then got up to toss the empty cup into the trash can. “I don't see why we have to make such a secret out of this,” he grumbled. “If this wasn't such a big secret, we could come here more often.”
“Never you mind,” Skeet replied, shielding his eyes to look down the grassy slope toward the first green. “We'll tell your dad about this when I decide we're going to tell him and not before.”
Teddy loved coming out on the golf course with Skeet, so he didn't argue. He took the three-wood from a bag of old clubs that Skeet had cut down for him. After drying the palms of his hands on the legs of his pants, he set up the ball, enjoying its perfect balance on the red wooden tee. As he took his stance, he gazed down the grassy slope toward the distant green. It looked so pretty sitting there, all sparkly with sunlight. Maybe it was because he was a city kid, but he loved golf courses. He took a little sniff of clean air, balanced himself, and swung.
The club head hit the ball with a satisfying thwack.
“How was it?” Teddy asked, peering down the fairway.
“About a hundred and eighty yards,” Skeet said, chuckling. “I never saw a little kid hit a ball so far.”
Teddy was aggravated. “It's not a big deal, Skeet. I don't know why you always make such a big deal out of it. Hitting a golf ball is easy. It's not like trying to catch a football or hit a baseball or something really hard like that. Anybody can hit a golf ball.”
Skeet didn't say anything. He was carrying Teddy's clubs down the fairway and he was laughing too hard to talk.
