First Lady

  She picked the baby back up. “You’d better start walking soon. I mean it. You’re getting too heavy for me to carry. And stop poking me in the eye, will you?”

  Babies were always doing crap like that. Waking you up real early in the morning when you wanted to sleep, poking you in the eye, scratching you with their finger-nails. They didn’t mean to be jerks. They just couldn’t help it.

  Nobody was in the rest room when they got there, and Lucy was glad to see that it wasn’t too scummy. Her arms felt like somebody was trying to pull them right out of her shoulders, and she barely made it into one of two big shower stalls before they gave out. She plopped her sister on the concrete floor and dumped all their stuff on the wooden bench.

  That was when she remembered that she’d forgotten soap and shampoo. She looked into the shower stall and saw that somebody’d left a little piece there, but it was green, and she didn’t like green soap because of the way it smelled. Still, she’d have to use it because she didn’t have any choice, just like she didn’t have a choice about anything that had happened to her.

  Her stomach started hurting again. It had been hurting a lot lately, mainly when she got scared about things.

  The baby babbled while Lucy undressed her, and those soft, happy sounds made up for having to get up so early. While the baby crawled around, Lucy pulled off her own clothes and carefully tested the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. She stepped inside, then knelt down and held out her arms, but her sister was scared of the running water and didn’t want to come in.

  “Come here.”

  “Nuh!” She puckered up her face and crawled backward.

  Lucy tried not to get mad because she was just a little baby, and she didn’t know water wouldn’t hurt her. But it was hard not to be mad with her stomach hurting and everything.

  “Get in here right now!”

  Her bottom lip stuck out, but the baby didn’t move.

  “I mean it! Get in here!”

  Oh, shit. The baby’s face crumpled and her eyes filled with tears. She didn’t even make any noise, just started to shake, with her lip all quivery, and Lucy couldn’t stand it. She stepped out of the stall and, naked and cold, squatted down to hug her.

  “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m sorry, Button. I’m really sorry.”

  Button buried her face in her neck, just like she always did, and hung on because Lucy was the only person she had left in the world.

  That was when Lucy started to cry, too. With goose bumps breaking out all over her skin, and Button hanging on, and her heart hammering. She started to cry until she was shaking because she didn’t know how she was going to take care of Button, and she didn’t know what Jorik would do when he found out about her grandmother.

  She told herself she wouldn’t be so scared if she was by herself. She was fourteen, and she was smart, the smartest kid in her class, although she made sure none of those losers she went to school with knew about that. A few of the teachers had figured it out, and some of them made Lucy come up to their desks after class to talk about how she should apply herself and crap like that. But with a mother like Sandy, and never having any money, and moving from one ugly, run-down house to another, Lucy already felt like a freak. She didn’t need everybody knowing she had a smart brain, too.

  Except her smart brain hadn’t figured out how she was going to take care of Button. Right after Sandy’d died, she’d cashed her mother’s last paycheck and used it to pay the rent and phone and stuff. Then she’d started baby-sitting one of the little kids in the neighborhood while his mom went to work. She’d been doing okay until that lawyer had found her.

  If it was just her, she’d run away to New York City or someplace like Hollywood, and get a job and make a whole lot of money. But she couldn’t do that and take care of Button, too.

  Right now, she only knew one thing. She had to be tough. That was about the only good thing Sandy had ever taught her. When somebody gets in your face, just spit right in their eye. If you don’t stand up for yourself, nobody else is going to do it.

  So that’s what she was doing. Being tough, standing up for herself, and trying to slow down this trip while she figured out how to take care of her baby sister.

  Button started sucking on Lucy’s neck. She did that sometimes when Lucy hugged her, and it made Lucy’s stomach hurt so bad she wanted to start crying again because she knew Button couldn’t tell the difference between her sister and a grown-up. Even worse, she knew Button didn’t understand that Lucy wasn’t her mom.

  It had come to this, Nealy thought. The First Lady of the United States was traveling toward the heartland with a drunk, a teenage hellion, a baby she was terrified to touch, and an unborn Wal-Mart pillow.

  “Where the hell are we?” Mat’s big, booming voice bounced off the walls of the Winnebago.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw him uncoiling from the couch like a bear coming out of hibernation. Except he looked more like a gorgeous, rumpled pirate with his unkempt hair, wrinkled black T-shirt, and jaw covered in dark stubble.

  “West Virginia.”

  He levered himself up, winced, and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “I know that. Where in West Virginia?”

  “This is the most beautiful state. Mountains, rivers, bucolic woodlands, winding roads.” She thought about singing a little “West Virginia, mountain mama,” but decided that might be pushing a man with a nasty hangover too far.

  “The tollbooths are behind us for now, and we’re not supposed to be on a winding road. We’re supposed to be on a four-lane highway.” His voice sounded gravelly, as if he might have swallowed dirt.

  “We’re near it,” she said. “That’s all that’s important. Please go back to sleep. You’re only causing trouble awake.”

  Lucy smiled. She was sitting in the banquette putting on makeup. Her eyelashes were already so heavy with mascara, it was a wonder she could lift them. The remains of their McDonald’s breakfasts were scattered around her, along with a newspaper Nealy had picked up at the campground before they’d pulled out. While they’d been waiting at the drive-in window for their Egg McMuffins, Nealy’d glanced through it and found what she was looking for, a short item on page three announcing that Cornelia Case had been stricken with the flu and forced to cancel her scheduled activities for the next week.

  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.”

  “They think they’re funny and sexy when they’re drunk, but they’re just pathetic.”

  Nealy had the feeling she wasn’t talking about Mat. She wanted to ask about her mother, but she knew Lucy would lash out if she did.

  The sound of an electric shaver penetrated the thin wall, and then the baby started to fuss. It wasn’t safe to take her out of the car seat, but Nealy couldn’t imagine how they were going to keep such an active child confined for another day. Apparently Lucy couldn’t, either, because she got up and made her way over to her sister. In the rearview mirror, Nealy saw her get ready to unfasten the straps. “Keep her in the seat. It’s too dangerous while we’re moving.”

  “Then you got to stop soon so she can play for a while.”

  Nealy could just imagine how that would go over with Mat. The bathroom door swung open. “Gross!” Lucy exclaimed.

  Nealy looked into the mirror and nearly drove off the road as Mat ducked through the door wearing only a baby-blue towel. He was anything but gross. His hair was damp and straight, but she suspected the hint of curl would spring back as it dried, and the electric shaver had temporarily tamed his pirate’s stubble. She took in that long expanse of tan, muscular male. He was so oversized for their small space that he should have looked ridiculous. He didn’t.

  “I have to get my clothes,” he grumbled. “If you don’t like it, don’t look.”

  “Mel Gibson’s got a lot better body than you,” Lucy said.

  “And that’s supposed to bother me, why?”

  Not better at all, Nealy found herself thinking, and Mat was taller. She didn’t have her mind on the road, and she had to swerve to avoid a pothole.

  He grabbed the doorframe. “Will you watch where you’re going?”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re all over the road.”

  “The scenery is distracting me.” All six feet six of it.

  “Well, pay attention to what you’re doing.”

  As Mat headed for the back, Button held out her arms toward him and shrieked. He winced. Her pick-me-up message was unmistakable, but he closed the sliding door. She let out a howl. Lucy managed to distract her with the Beanie Baby walrus.

  Nealy decided to enjoy the scenery before Mat insisted they get back on a bigger road. Sure enough, as soon as he emerged, he grabbed a mug of coffee, then told Nealy to pull over so he could drive.

  She took in his worn jeans and gray athletic T-shirt. “I want Lucy to see the covered bridge first.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This part of West Virginia has one of the best collections of covered bridges in the state. The brochure I picked up at the campground said so. A lot of taxpayer money has gone into maintaining these bridges, and I think it’s important to her education that she see at least one of them.”

  “I don’t care about Lucy’s education.”

  “That’s exactly the kind of attitude that’s put this country’s public school systems into jeopardy.”

  He stared at her, and she found herself wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. Then he shook his head. “Will you just pull over?”

  “Stop being such a grouch. Lucy needs to broaden her horizons.”

  “She’s going to spend her life as a convicted felon. What difference does it make if she sees a covered bridge?” He slouched down in the passenger seat.

  “You’re not funny, Jorik,” Lucy retorted. “And She promised me I could see the bridge.”

  “It’s not far,” Nealy said. “Why don’t you settle back and enjoy the ride? Or at least enjoy it as much as someone with a colossal hangover can.”

  “You got something to say, just say it,” he grumbled.

  “All right. Lucy and I don’t fancy traveling with someone who gets drunk.”

  “Fancy? You don’t fancy?”

  “She means you’re gross and we hate it.”

  “Pull over,” he snarled. The baby started to fuss again.

  “Here’s the turnoff for the covered bridge.” As Nealy made a left onto a narrow country road, she decided it might be best to change the subject. “Do you know why these were built, Lucy?”

  “No, and I don’t care.”

  “Some people say it was to keep horses from being spooked by the water, but it was probably done to protect the bridges from the elements so they’d last longer. Nobody knows for sure.”

  “You’re a regular walking encyclopedia,” Mat drawled.

  “I told you I have a photographic memory.” The baby’s howls of protest were getting louder.

  “Then what did that sign we just passed say?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “ ‘Jesus Saves,’ ” Lucy offered.

  Mat ignored her. “What about the big sign at the campground office? Right next to the front door?”

  “It didn’t interest me, so I didn’t bother to read it.”

  Once again, the teenager piped up. “ ‘No open fires.’ ”

  Nealy shot her a glare. “Don’t you have something better to do with your time?”

  “No.” Lucy handed her sister an empty paper cup, but Button threw it to the floor with a yowl.

  They rounded a bend and an old bridge came into view spanning a narrow ribbon of water at the bottom of a gentle hill. Built of weathered brown wood, it had a faded tin roof that might once have been painted red, and a pockmarked metal sign warning away vehicles over ten feet high. Even though this was West Virginia instead of Madison County, Iowa, the bridge was so picturesque she expected to see Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep emerge from the dark interior. It was Americana at its very best, and she sighed. “Isn’t this wonderful?”

  When neither of her traveling companions responded, she chose to believe the bucolic beauty had left them too moved to speak.

  “Let’s stretch our legs.” She parked Mabel on the shoulder. “Lucy, you can get your sister.”

  “She’s not poison, you know. The two of you could carry her once in a while.”

  Nealy pretended not to hear.

  “We’re not staying long,” Mat declared. “Two minutes, and then we’re heading for the highway.”

  “Two minutes it is.” There was no way two minutes would do it.

  Outside, everythin
g was drowning in sunlight, and the warm, humid air carried the fragrance of dust, grass, and country road. The river was low, as if it hadn’t rained for a while, and the sounds were pure music: water lapping over rock, birdsong, the chirp of crickets and buzz of bees. On each side of the bridge a grassy bank covered with wildflowers sloped down to the water. Lucy set the baby in the grass.

  “Gah!” She chortled and clapped her hands.

  “It’s your turn to watch her.” Lucy took off for the interior of the bridge before Nealy could protest.

  “Gah!” The baby made an unsuccessful lunge for a bumblebee.

  “Watch it, Button. Those things aren’t friendly.”

  “I thought her name was Marigold.” Coffee mug in hand, Mat emerged from the Winnebago.

  “Lucy says her mother called her Button. Bring the quilt that’s in the back, will you? ” She probably wouldn’t stay on it, but it might keep her from getting too dirty.

  Nealy hadn’t failed to notice that Lucy had bathed her early that morning. Sunlight glinted in her dandelion hair, and her worn clothes were clean. She found herself wondering if any of the National Merit Scholarship winners she’d hosted at the White House would have taken such good care of a pesky baby sister.

  Mat reappeared with the quilt. Nealy took it from him and tossed it down on the slope. She set the baby on it, but Button immediately headed for the open range. Her overalls protected her from the prickly grass, and she grew entranced with a butterfly hovering over a clump of buttercups. She sped toward it, then settled back on her bottom to issue an indignant protest as it flew away.

  Nealy sat on the quilt and was surprised when Mat sprawled down beside her. She sighed and breathed deeply, savoring every moment of this stolen summer day.

  “I don’t usually get drunk, you know.”

  She closed her eyes and tilted her face into the sun. “Uhm.”

  “I mean it. I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “Good, because I don’t think the girls should be exposed to that sort of thing.”

  She opened her eyes and saw that he was watching her. Something in his gaze made her feel as if she were being bombarded with a shower of sparks. He took his time before he looked away.