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“Alone!” Mat boomed.
She set Button down, narrowed her eyes, lifted her chin, and marched toward the motor home.
Nealy watched her go and shook her head in admiration. “Are you sure she’s not your daughter?”
Mat ignored her and set out after the teenager, his lips compressed in a taut line. Worried, Nealy grabbed Button and began to follow him, only to stop herself. He looked like he was going to commit violence, but she knew better. Mat had some bite behind his bark, but she didn’t believe it was lethal.
And bark he did, until she expected the walls of the Winnebago to bulge. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she carried Button inside to explore. They would be spending at least one night here, and she wanted to see the house.
In the back, a roomy, light-filled kitchen opened onto a wonderful sunporch. Cozy brown wicker furniture clustered around a worn Oriental rug, and a collection of mismatched tables held scholarly journals, back issues of Rolling Stone, and junk food refuse. Clay saucers that looked as if they’d once contained houseplants sat here and there, along with some pottery lamps. Through the windows, she caught sight of a small backyard defined by shrubs and a little grape arbor. The weedy flower bed contained several old rosebushes full of blossoms.
The upstairs held a bath and three bedrooms, the smallest of which had been converted into a storage room. A portable CD player, some scattered clothes, and an open book on Zen indicated that Nico occupied the master bedroom. In the guest room, an India cotton throw printed in blues and lavenders was tossed over the double bed, and simple woven curtains hung at the window. The bathroom was old-fashioned, charming, and in need of a good cleaning. Tiled in gray and white, the room held a clawfoot tub with a spray attachment, a wicker basket overflowing with out-of-date magazines, and an open window of honeycombed glass that looked out over the backyard and, in the distance, a sliver of the Iowa River.
She heard the side door slam and went downstairs to see that Mat had sealed himself behind the French doors of Joanne Pressman’s abandoned office, which looked as if it had once been the dining room. Through the glass, she saw him pick up the phone. Her spirits sank. He was beginning the process of divesting himself of the children.
“He didn’t hit me or anything.”
Lucy’s soft voice came from behind her, and Nealy turned to see her standing in the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sad. She looked defeated, but determined not to show it.
“I didn’t think he would.”
“He was really mad, though.” Her voice cracked. “Because I disappointed him and everything.”
Nealy wanted to hug her, but Lucy was working too hard at holding on to her pride. “Let’s see if we can find someplace to order pizza for dinner. And Button’s out of clean clothes. Can you show me how to use the washer?”
“You don’t know how to use a washer?”
“I had servants.”
Lucy shook her head at Nealy’s utter lameness, then patiently demonstrated the basics of doing laundry.
By the time the pizza arrived, Mat had disappeared. She found him outside with his head under Mabel’s hood. He grunted that he would eat later. She suspected he needed some time alone, and she was more than happy to give it to him.
After dinner, Nealy scrubbed the tub, undressed the baby, and set her in the water. She gave a gleeful shriek, then began splashing with the plastic measuring cups Nealy’d brought up from the kitchen. “You certainly do know how to have a good time,” she said with a laugh.
“Da!”
She turned and saw Mat standing in the door. His arms were crossed and one shoulder pressed against the jamb. “I’ll take over,” he said wearily. “I didn’t mean to stick you with her.”
“I don’t feel stuck.” Her words sounded sharper than she’d intended, but she was angry with him. Angry with him for not being the man she wanted him to be—a homebody who would hold on to these girls.
She knew she was being unfair. Mat hadn’t asked for any of this to happen, and it said a lot for his character that he had gone to so much effort on their behalf. But she was still angry with him.
Button slapped both arms into the water and sent up a tidal wave to impress him.
“I just saw Lucy heading downstairs carrying a portable television,” he said. “I hope I don’t have to worry about pawnshops again.”
“Where was she taking it?” She did her best to wash one of Button’s ears, but it was a catch-as-catch-can proposition.
“To the motor home. She said she and Button weren’t going to stay in the guest room no matter what you said.”
Nealy sighed. “There’s a double bed with one side against the wall so Button couldn’t roll out. I thought it would be a good place for them. Obviously Lucy didn’t agree.”
“Lucy’s a brat.”
The pizza must have revived the teenager’s fighting spirit because Nealy would bet anything that she was matchmaking again—making certain Nealy and Mat were going to be alone in the house.
Squid followed Mat into the bathroom and plopped on the tile near the tub. Button shrieked and sent up a splash to welcome him. The dog regarded her balefully, then mustered the energy to crawl beneath the sink where the undertow wouldn’t get him.
