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Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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concern.
Lucy yanked off her headset. “Turn on the air-conditioning. It’s hot.”
“Have you ever heard the word please ?”
“Have you ever heard the words I’m hot as hell ?”
Lucy had pushed him too far. Instead of turning on the air-conditioning, he shut off the engine, got up from the driver’s seat, and calmly pocketed the keys. “I’ll see you ladies in half an hour.” He let himself out of the Winnebago.
It was warm inside, and Nealy lifted an eyebrow at the teenager. “Nice going.”
“He’s an ass.”
“He’s an ass who just left us without air-conditioning.”
“Who cares?”
When Nealy had been Lucy’s age, she’d been expected to dress neatly and carry on polite conversation with world leaders. Discourtesy would never have occurred to her. The teenager was beginning to fascinate her.
The baby had begun to smear her gooey fists into her blond fuzz. Nealy looked around for some paper towels, but didn’t see any. “How am I supposed to clean her up?”
“I don’t know. With a washcloth or something.”
“Where are they?”
“Someplace. Maybe in that drawer.”
Nealy found a dish towel, wet it at the sink, and, under Lucy’s watchful eyes, began wiping up the baby’s hair, only to discover that she should have started with her hands. As she worked, she tried not to notice the drooly smiles coming her way. Finally, the child was reasonably clean.
“Take her out of her seat and let her crawl around for a while.” Lucy sounded thoroughly bored. “She needs some exercise.”
The rug didn’t look very clean. Thoughts of typhoid, dysentery, hepatitis, and a dozen other diseases ran through her mind, and she glanced around for something to set her on. She finally found a machine-made quilt in one of the overhead bins at the back of the Winnebago, and she spread it on the floor, between the couch and the table. Her hands fumbled with the straps on the baby seat before she got them to release.
She braced herself, just as she always did when she had to pick up an infant. Don’t die. Please, don’t die.
The child kicked and let out a happy squeal as Nealy lifted her from the car seat. She felt warm and solid beneath her hands, blissfully healthy. Nealy quickly set her on the floor. The baby craned her neck to look up at her.
Lucy had stopped making even a pretense of listening to her Walkman. “You shouldn’t have bothered with the blanket. She won’t stay on it.”
Sure enough, the baby shot forward on her hands and knees. In seconds she was off the blanket heading for the front of the motor home.
“If you know so much, why don’t you take care of her?” Nealy enjoyed the novelty of being rude. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to snap at everyone who offended her?
The baby pulled herself to her feet, using the driver’s seat for support, and began cruising on two wobbly feet balanced by one small hand smeared with dried green peas.
“What do you think I’ve been doing since my mother died?”
Nealy felt terrible. “I didn’t know about your mother. I’m sorry.”
Lucy shrugged. “No big deal. Leave that alone, Butt.”
Nealy saw the baby had edged forward and was standing on her toes to reach for the gearshift. The infant turned toward her big sister, grinned, and plopped her fist into her mouth.
“I’m not calling her Butt,” Nealy said.
“Then how’s she going to know you’re talking to her?”
Nealy refused to get drawn into an argument. “I have an idea. Let’s give her another name. A nickname.”
“What kind of nickname?”
“I don’t know. Marigold.”
“That’s so lame. “
“It may be lame, but it’s better than Butt.”
“She’s doing it again. Move her.”
Nealy was getting tired of taking orders from a teenager. “Since you know her behavior patterns so well, it would probably be better if you watched her.”
“Yeah, right,” Lucy scoffed.
“I think it would be best. You’re obviously good with her.”
Lucy’s face
Lucy yanked off her headset. “Turn on the air-conditioning. It’s hot.”
“Have you ever heard the word please ?”
“Have you ever heard the words I’m hot as hell ?”
Lucy had pushed him too far. Instead of turning on the air-conditioning, he shut off the engine, got up from the driver’s seat, and calmly pocketed the keys. “I’ll see you ladies in half an hour.” He let himself out of the Winnebago.
It was warm inside, and Nealy lifted an eyebrow at the teenager. “Nice going.”
“He’s an ass.”
“He’s an ass who just left us without air-conditioning.”
“Who cares?”
When Nealy had been Lucy’s age, she’d been expected to dress neatly and carry on polite conversation with world leaders. Discourtesy would never have occurred to her. The teenager was beginning to fascinate her.
The baby had begun to smear her gooey fists into her blond fuzz. Nealy looked around for some paper towels, but didn’t see any. “How am I supposed to clean her up?”
“I don’t know. With a washcloth or something.”
“Where are they?”
“Someplace. Maybe in that drawer.”
Nealy found a dish towel, wet it at the sink, and, under Lucy’s watchful eyes, began wiping up the baby’s hair, only to discover that she should have started with her hands. As she worked, she tried not to notice the drooly smiles coming her way. Finally, the child was reasonably clean.
“Take her out of her seat and let her crawl around for a while.” Lucy sounded thoroughly bored. “She needs some exercise.”
The rug didn’t look very clean. Thoughts of typhoid, dysentery, hepatitis, and a dozen other diseases ran through her mind, and she glanced around for something to set her on. She finally found a machine-made quilt in one of the overhead bins at the back of the Winnebago, and she spread it on the floor, between the couch and the table. Her hands fumbled with the straps on the baby seat before she got them to release.
She braced herself, just as she always did when she had to pick up an infant. Don’t die. Please, don’t die.
The child kicked and let out a happy squeal as Nealy lifted her from the car seat. She felt warm and solid beneath her hands, blissfully healthy. Nealy quickly set her on the floor. The baby craned her neck to look up at her.
Lucy had stopped making even a pretense of listening to her Walkman. “You shouldn’t have bothered with the blanket. She won’t stay on it.”
Sure enough, the baby shot forward on her hands and knees. In seconds she was off the blanket heading for the front of the motor home.
“If you know so much, why don’t you take care of her?” Nealy enjoyed the novelty of being rude. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to snap at everyone who offended her?
The baby pulled herself to her feet, using the driver’s seat for support, and began cruising on two wobbly feet balanced by one small hand smeared with dried green peas.
“What do you think I’ve been doing since my mother died?”
Nealy felt terrible. “I didn’t know about your mother. I’m sorry.”
Lucy shrugged. “No big deal. Leave that alone, Butt.”
Nealy saw the baby had edged forward and was standing on her toes to reach for the gearshift. The infant turned toward her big sister, grinned, and plopped her fist into her mouth.
“I’m not calling her Butt,” Nealy said.
“Then how’s she going to know you’re talking to her?”
Nealy refused to get drawn into an argument. “I have an idea. Let’s give her another name. A nickname.”
“What kind of nickname?”
“I don’t know. Marigold.”
“That’s so lame. “
“It may be lame, but it’s better than Butt.”
“She’s doing it again. Move her.”
Nealy was getting tired of taking orders from a teenager. “Since you know her behavior patterns so well, it would probably be better if you watched her.”
“Yeah, right,” Lucy scoffed.
“I think it would be best. You’re obviously good with her.”
Lucy’s face
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