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.”
He told himself it was information anyone could know. The fact that Vincennes was Harrison’s home had been printed on one of the signs as they were coming into town.
Nell headed for the produce department, still chatting about William Henry Harrison and his successor, John Tyler. He watched her happily examining a display of blueberries, then admiring cartons of strawberries as if she’d never seen them before. This whole grocery store thing was way too domestic for him, and he started feeling claustrophobic. The feeling got worse when the Demon sighed and tucked her head under his chin. “Daaa . . .”
“Take her, Lucy. I’ve got to go buy some . . . some . . . guy stuff.”
“EEOOWWW!”
“Never mind,” he sighed. “I’ll take her with me.”
They left Vincennes and almost immediately crossed the border into Illinois. Nell hummed as she stood at the counter, swaying with the motion of the Winnebago while she made sandwiches. She looked so happy that he was glad he’d come up with the idea of having a picnic.
His hand crept back to the radio when he heard one of Mrs. Case’s old college friends being interviewed.
“. . . we knew we could count on Nealy to have the best class notes when it was time for an exam . . .”
Nealy? He’d forgotten that was Mrs. Case’s nickname. The press seldom used it. Nealy. Nell. Close.
Forget it. He was a journalist. He dealt in facts, not fancy. He’d always been proud of having no imagination, and only someone with a big imagination could believe that the First Lady of the United States would take off across the country in a Chevy Corsica, then hook up with a man hauling around two kids who didn’t belong to him so she could change diapers, put up with a teenager’s sass, and practice tongue kisses.
But the nape of his neck was still tingling.
Toni peered through a magnifier to study the proof sheet the photographer for the small West Virginia newspaper had given her. There wasn’t a single clear shot of the Cornelia Case lookalike. A shoulder here, the top of her head, part of her back. That was it.
She handed them to Jason. “Does anything strike you as strange?”
While Jason took his time studying the photographs, she moved restlessly around the newspaper photographer’s tiny office. Their interview with Laurie Reynolds, the promotion manager at WGRB radio and the person who’d been running the contest, hadn’t given them much to go on.
According to Reynolds, the woman who’d called herself Brandy Butt had only spoken Spanish and seemed to have been forced into the contest by the teenage girl who was with her. Afterward, she’d run off the stage and Reynolds had seen her leave the mall with a good-looking dark-haired man, a baby girl in a pink cap, and the teenager.
Jason set down the magnifier. “It looks like she was deliberately dodging the camera.”
“Hard to tell, but it does seem that way.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. A husband, a baby, a teenager. Highly unlikely this woman is Aurora.”
“I agree. But—this is a small town. Why doesn’t anybody know who she is?”
“She was probably just traveling through with her family. The girl said she was from Hollywood.”
“Nobody in Hollywood even knows where West Virginia is. And why did she dodge the camera, then disappear so fast afterward? Even more interesting—why did the teenager give a phony address when she picked up the prize?”
&nbs
p; “Because Brandy Butt or somebody in her family doesn’t want to be found.”
She picked up the proofs again. “And she only won second place. Let’s not forget that.”
“Yeah. Pretty hard to forget.” He pulled a tin of Altoids from his pocket and slipped one in his mouth. “So do we agree that we have exactly nothing?”
“I’d say that’s about right. Still, this morning we had less than nothing, so we’re working our way up.”
* * *
Nealy vetoed two potential picnic spots before she found a location that pleased her. It was in a park on the edge of one of the small farming towns that lay just west of Vincennes across the Wabash River. She chose it for its duck pond, baby swings, and nice open space where they could throw a Frisbee around.
“We don’t have a Frisbee,” Lucy said when Nealy mentioned this.
“We do now.” As Nealy pulled one from a grocery bag at her feet, she saw Mat’s frown and knew he was about to announce that they didn’t have time. “Lucy and I are throwing a Frisbee,” she said firmly. “If you don’t like it, you can go to Iowa without us.”
Iowa. As he gazed at her, the word seemed to hang between them like a particularly alluring sex toy. She remembered the box of condoms she’d slipped back into the pharmacy to buy because she couldn’t figure out how to ask Mat if he had any. Another new experience.
“Oh, goody . . .” Lucy muttered. “I get to throw around a freakin’ Frisbee.”
“Take these.” Nealy shoved a bag of food at her.
“You are sooo rude.”
“I know. And I like it.”
Mat smiled, then banged his elbow into a cupboard as he retrieved some soft drinks from the refrigerator. The motor home was too small for him, but he didn’t complain about it. She suspected he was accustomed to things being too small for him.
She swallowed hard, quickly handed over Button, and forced her one-track mind away from sex to contemplate her food choices. Would everyone like turkey sandwiches? She’d made them with Swiss cheese, but Lucy’d probably rather have American. The tortellini salad might be too exotic, and the precut baby carrots too plain. The chocolate cupcakes with panda faces had looked cute in the store, but both Mat and Lucy had stared at them when she’d taken them out of the sack. At least Button should like her special surprises.
The irony of fretting over a simple meal like this in light of all the elaborate White House social functions she’d overseen didn’t escape her. But this was so much more personal.
“Where do you want everything?” Mat asked as they stepped out into the midday sunshine beating down on the small park.
She pointed out a picnic table set in some shade not far from the playground, then smiled to herself as she thought about putting out Dixie plates instead of Lady Bird Johnson’s wildflower china. Lucy gazed toward the far edge of the parking lot where three teenage boys were cutting back and forth on their skateboards.
“Go watch while I set out the food.”
“Why should I watch a bunch of losers like that?”
“Because, if you’re lucky, one of them will break his leg, and then you can laugh at him.”
Lucy smiled. “You’re such a loser, Nell.”
“I know.” Impulsively, Nealy reached out to hug her. Lucy’s entire body went rigid, and Nealy immediately backed away. Lucy rubbed her arm and wandered off, not moving toward the boys, but not exactly moving away from them, either.
Mat set the baby in the grass, then popped a root beer. “What were the two of you talking about this morning?”
She frowned as Button started to prowl, but she knew if she mentioned anything about dirt, bugs, or dogs he’d ignore her. “Mainly whether or not Lucy should get her navel pierced.”
“Over my dead body.”
He sounded very much like a father. She began putting out the food. “I told her I definitely thought she should.”
“Why’d you tell her that?”
“Because a navel’s better than a nose or eyebrow. Besides, anything I’m in favor of she’ll automatically reject. Then we discussed whether I should get my ears done.”
“Your ears are already done.” He touched the small hole in her left lobe, lingering longer than he had to.
She cleared her throat. “According to Lucy, one pierce doesn’t count, and I should get another one in each ear.”
“You’re going to start wearing two earrings in each ear?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
He got the strangest expression on his face. It almost seemed like relief. “Maybe you’re not such a blue blood after all.”
She put out the carrots, and he started to sit down on the bench, only to have Button pull herself back up on him. He glanced toward a sandbox sitting a few yards away. “Come on, Demon.”
“The sand box? No, Mat. She’s too young. She’ll eat it.”
“After a bite or two, she’ll stop.” He hoisted the baby in his arms, tossed her once into the air, and carried her toward the sandbox, where two little boys were already playing.
“She’ll get dirty,” Nealy called out. “And sunburned.”
“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.”
Nealy finally understood what this conversation was about, and it broke her heart. She didn’t care whether Lucy wanted to be touched or not. She reached across the table and cupped her hand. “Oh, Luce . . . Mat and I aren’t going to get together, not the way you want. I’m sorry. We can’t make a home for Button or for you.”
Lucy shot up from the table as if Nealy had struck her. “Like I’d want to live with either one of you. You’re so fucking pathetic!”
“Lucy!” Mat came storming toward them with Button tucked under his arm. His expression was angry, and he shot one hand toward Mabel. “Get in there.”
“No, Mat . . . it’s all right.” Nealy rose, trying to stem his anger.
Button began to whimper.
“It’s not all right.” He gave Lucy a blistering look. “You’re not going to talk to Nell like that. If you want to act like a brat, you can do it by yourself. Now get going.”
“Fuck you, too!” Lucy stomped off through the grass toward Mabel.
Mat clenched his fist. “I want to hit her.”
“Lucy can be maddening, but I think—”
“No, you don’t understand. I really want to hit her.”
Button looked up at him, eyes wide, lower lip beginning to tremble. He set her to his shoulder and patted her back. His expression was troubled. “It’s what I used to do with my sisters when I was a kid.”
“Did you?” She was torn between listening to him and going to Lucy. If only he’d been more patient with her instead of flying off like that.