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Nealy had wedged the car seat into the booth this morning, and the baby, wearing a pair of candy pink overalls and blue sneakers with worn toes, was strapped into it looking increasingly unhappy. Nealy was fairly certain they’d have to stop soon, and she didn’t look forward to sharing that information with Mat. “I made some coffee. It’s a little strong, but your taste buds are probably pickled anyway, so I doubt it’ll make a difference. Oh, and I took some money from your wallet for breakfast. I’m keeping a record of everything I owe so I can pay you back.”
She’d eaten two Egg McMuffins all by herself, along with an orange juice. It was wonderful having an appetite again, even more wonderful being able to swallow.
Mat grunted, rose, and headed for the coffeepot, only to change his mind at the last moment and disappear into the bathroom.
“Do you think he’s going to hurl?”
“I doubt it. He strikes me as the cast-iron stomach type.”
Lucy outlined her lips with brown lipstick. “When Sandy was choosing a father’s name for our birth certificates, I don’t know why she couldn’t have picked somebody like Mel Gibson.”
Nealy laughed. “You know, Lucy, for the world’s most obnoxious teenager, you’re fairly amusing.”
“It’s not funny. How’d you like it if you had a last name like Jorik, and it came from him?”
Despite Lucy’s words, Nealy thought she heard a touch of yearning in her voice. “Really? Jorik is your last name?”
“Like duh. What did you think it was?”
“Your mother’s name, I guess.”
“Jorik was her name. She never changed it back after they got div
orced. She always liked him.”
Nealy heard the shower go on. She waited a minute, then deliberately jerked the wheel to the left, back to the right, then to the left again. A bang, then a muffled curse came from the bathroom.
Lucy laughed. It was a good sound.
Nealy smiled, then returned her attention to the subject at hand. “So Marigold’s a Jorik, too?”
“Stop calling her that!”
“Then give me another name. And not you-know-what.”
“Shit.” A long, put-upon sigh. “Call her Button, then. That’s what Sandy did. And I know it’s stupid, but I’m not the one who named her.”
“Button?” So that’s where Butt had come from.
Lucy slapped the lipstick tube down on the table. “Call her whatever you want, okay?”
“I like Button. It’s cute.”
They crested a hill, and Nealy devoured the view. She’d seen so many vistas throughout her life: Mount McKinley on a crystal-clear day, the Grand Canyon at sunset. She’d seen Paris from the steps of Sacre Coeur, gazed out over the Serengeti from the front seat of a Range Rover, and watched a school of whales in the North Atlantic from the deck of a naval destroyer. But none of those sights seemed quite as glorious as these green West Virginia hills. This might be a poor state, but it certainly was beautiful.
The shower shut off. A minute ticked by.
“He might be shaving now,” Lucy said, a vaguely hopeful note in her voice.
Nealy smiled, but kept the wheel steady. “I’m not that mad at him.”
“He got drunk last night, didn’t he?”
“He must have.”
“I hate drunks.”
“I’m not too fond of them, either.”
