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He sounded as cranky as an animal with a thorn in its paw, and she gave a shaky laugh. “Iowa?”
“That’s right. Iowa. Mark it in ink on your calendar, sweetheart.”
Just like that, the Hawkeye State became the Land of Lust.
12
MAT SPENT THE night alternating between wakefulness and fever-hot dreams. The next morning, he mainlined his first cup of coffee, then poured a second as Nell and Lucy left with Button to say good-bye to the Waynes. He slouched in the passenger seat with his mug and told himself that he was an adult, not a randy teenager, but the sight of Nell as she’d emerged from the bathroom less than an hour ago in that plain blue nightgown had been just about more than he could handle. He turned on the radio to distract himself.
“. . . the disappearance of Cornelia Case continues to have the entire nation on edge . . .”
He was slipping. He’d been so caught up in his sexual frustration that he’d forgotten all about the Case story. It was hard to believe she still hadn’t surfaced. How many places were there where one of the most famous women in the world could have disappeared?
A funny tingling crept down his neck.
The door of the motor home flew open, and Lucy stormed in, glaring at him. “I don’t know why we couldn’t stay here another day like Bertis and Charlie! You have to have everything your way!”
“You’re damn right,” he growled. “Now buckle up. We’re leaving.”
Nell was coming in with Button, and she raised an eyebrow at his surly tone, but he pretended not to notice. She knew better than anybody why he was so irritable.
He felt guilty about the way he’d snapped at Lucy, so he ignored the fact that his favorite Blackhawks cap was perched on her head. He couldn’t begin to count how many items of his clothing had ended up in his sisters’ closets.
After they’d finished filling the water tank and using the flushing station, they began heading west across Indiana. Nell seemed to be spending an unusual amount of time with Lucy, so he figured she was self-conscious about last night. The kids felt like even bigger millstones. If it weren’t for them, Nell’s self-consciousness would be a thing of the past.
He tuned in the radio again and listened to the news, keeping the volume just low enough so that no one else could hear. He wanted a little more time to think this over.
The story grew bigger as the morning progressed, and with each report, the pronouncements of the fatuous Washington pundits became more irresponsible.
“Although no one likes to think about it, Mrs. Case’s life could be in danger . . .
“. . . It’s impossible not to speculate on the repercussions if the First Lady fell into unfriendly hands . . .
“. . . domestic enemies to consider as well as foreign ones. Imagine if a militia group, for example . . .”
When a popular radio psychologist suggested that Cornelia Case might have experienced a nervous breakdown because of her sorrow over the President’s death, Mat flipped off the radio. Idiots. It was a lot easier speculating about a story than it was doing the legwork to get at the truth.
But who was he to cast stones? Not long ago, he’d spent three days following a transvestite with a camera crew. He had too many of the same sins on his own conscience to criticize the way other journalists sensationalized the news.
The morning slipped by, and as the passenger seat next to him remained empty except for occasional visits from Lucy trying to talk him into making unnecessary stops, he realized Nell was deliberately avoiding him. Maybe it was better that way. He wouldn’t be so distracted. Still, as they approached Indiana’s western border, he realized how much he missed her cheerful running travelogue.
Those cloud formations remind me of a circus parade.
Who do you think is funding that recycling center?
What a pretty town! They have a blueberry festival. Let’s go!
Wildflowers! We have to stop!
And at least every other hour . . . Let’s see where that road goes.
Even though he missed her enthusiasm, he was still surprised when he heard himself say, “Anybody for a picnic?”
“Yes!” Nell exclaimed.
“I guess.” Lucy tried to hide her enthusiasm but couldn’t quite manage it, and half an hour later, he was parking in front of a Vincennes, Indiana, Kroger grocery store. He picked up Button and followed Nell and Lucy inside.
“William Henry Harrison lived right here in Vincennes,” Nell said. “He was the ninth president of the United States, but he died in office a month after he was inaugurated.”
