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“It’s in the shade, and she’ll wash. You want to try out the sandbox, Demon?”
“Gah!”
“I thought so.” He dropped her in, then glanced toward the other children playing there. “May God have mercy on your souls.”
Keeping one eye on the baby, he moved back to the table to claim his root beer. “Panda-face cupcakes? Do we have little pointy hats to go with them? Hey, Demon, knock it off!” The baby was about to heave a plastic bucket at one of the other children.
“Go watch her while I finish putting the food out.”
He looked as if she’d asked him to poke needles in his eyes.
“And don’t call her Demon in front of the other kids,” she added. “They’ll tease her.”
He managed a pained smile and trudged off to supervise the sandbox.
The boys with the skateboards had disappeared, and Lucy came drifting back to the table. She sat down on the bench and began picking at the wood. Nealy knew something was on her mind, but if she asked what it was, Lucy would shut her off, so she waited.
The teenager glanced toward the sandbox, where Mat’s frown was intimidating all of the children except Button. “I guess Jorik’s not as much of a jerk as I first thought.”
“Well . . . he’s hardheaded and domineering. And loud—I don’t know how he has the nerve to complain about Button.” She smiled. “But I know what you mean.”
Lucy dug at the wood with her fingernail. “He’s pretty hot. I mean, older women like you probably think so.”
“He’ll do, and I’m not an older woman.”
“I think he likes you.”
Nealy replied slowly, “We get along all right.”
“No, I mean, I think he really likes you. You know.”
Nealy did know, but she wasn’t going to explain that the attraction was sexual.
“We’re just friends. That’s all.” Until they got to Iowa. Then they’d be lovers. If the White House didn’t find her first.
Lucy’s expression grew belligerent. “You could do a lot worse, you know. He drives a Mercedes sports car. A convertible.”
“He does?”
“Yeah. It’s really cool. Dark blue. I’ll bet he’s got gobs of money.”
“I don’t think steelworkers make gobs of money.” How could he afford a Mercedes? she wondered.
“Whatever. All I know is, you could probably have him if you wanted.”
“Have him?”
“You know . . . go out.” Lucy’s voice dropped to a mutter. “Get him to marry you or something.”
Nealy stared at her.
“Yeah . . . if you’d just, you know, fix yourself up or something. Wear a little more makeup. And get some clothes that aren’t so lame. He’d probably be a good husband and everything. I mean, he wouldn’t beat you up like that jerk you were married to.”
&n
bsp; Nealy felt something inside her melt in the face of Lucy’s earnestness, and she sat down so she could look right at her. “There’s a lot more to marriage than finding a husband who won’t beat you up. Good marriages are based on companionship and mutual interests. You want to marry somebody who’s a friend, not just a lover. Someone who . . .” Pain hit her in a dizzying wave. She’d done exactly that, and her marriage had been a mockery.
Lucy regarded her sulkily. “You two’ve got mutual interests. You both like talking, and good manners, and crap like that. And you both like Button.” She picked at the wood sliver. “You might, you know . . .”—she drew a deep breath—“decide to adopt her or something.”
