and the curb, leaning on the open door of the Impala.
“Where’d you get that car?” Megan asked.
“Confiscated from a traitorous fairy.”
Megan opened her mouth, shut it, then wisely said nothing.
While we’d been inside, an infant seat had miraculously appeared as well. “I never even thought of that.”
“Considering she was a kitten when you came here, understandable, but it would be illegal, dangerous, and uncomfortable for Luther to hold her all the way to . . .” Megan spread her hands waiting for me to answer, but I didn’t.
“Well, thanks,” I said, then slid awkwardly inside, one leg in the car, one leg out as I did my best to strangle the baby with the various straps and buckles necessary to keep her in the seat.
By the time I was done, Faith was glaring at me exactly as her father would have. Except her father would have impatiently flicked his hand and sent me flying five feet without ever having to touch me at all. I certainly hoped Faith didn’t grow that talent anytime soon.
As I inched out of the car and began to straighten, Faith lunged to the side, straining to reach something that had captured her attention. Figuring it was a flicker of sunlight or a dust mote, maybe even the shiny buckle on the other seat belt, I nearly kept going. Then I caught a flash of pink flannel.
“Frick!” I exclaimed, and managed to snatch the kitty binkie right before she did.
Faith wailed. I felt like an ogre. Even more so when I straightened out of the backseat, blanket in hand, to discover a middle-aged couple taking a stroll on the sidewalk. Their gazes went from the pink material to my face and they frowned.
“She—uh—puked on it.” I rolled the thing into a ball and tossed it at Luther. “Put that in the trunk.”
He narrowed his eyes at the order but did as I asked. The couple moved on but not before they gave first me, then Luther, an oddly disgusted look.
Megan watched them then turned back with a grin. “They thought she was yours.”
“I get that a lot,” I muttered.
She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “And his.”
My eyes widened. “Yuck! He’s like fourteen.”
“He isn’t.” Megan sobered. “Remember that.”
“And again I say ‘yuck.’ ”
“I didn’t mean remember it because I thought you’d touch him.” I made a gagging sound, and she punched me in the arm. “I meant other people will think so, too, and you might get hassled. Not just because of his age but because . . . well, you know.”
I frowned. “I don’t. Know. What are you talking about?”
“He’s, um—”
“Black.” Luther slammed shut the trunk. Nothing wrong with his super-duper hearing. “I’m black, Liz. You’re not.”
“I’m not white, either.” I was part Egyptian and part who the hell knew.
“Your eyes,” he said. “They’re pretty white.”
My eyes were blue, and they did appear darn strange in my darker-than-Caucasian face. But then so did Luther’s.
“We’re both something other than white. So’s the baby.”
“My point exactly,” Megan said. “In some areas of the country, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Still?” I asked.
“Still,” Luther answered.
CHAPTER 7
The drive from Milwaukee to South Dakota was fairly uneventful. We passed by Madison, then La Crosse, drove over the Mississippi River and into the West, stopping for the night in Sioux Falls.
Faith had been extraordinarily good, but she was done, and so was I. Just me and Luther, I’d have continued driving across the inky black unknown roads toward the Badlands. But fiddling with Faith, even if I wasn’t the one doing the fiddling, had worn me out. The constant tension in my neck that came from waiting for her to wake up, to whimper, to whine, to cry had developed into a full-blown pain that shot from my shoulders and into my brain.
We found a cheap but clean motel on the west side of town that boasted free Wi-Fi. Sure enough, when I asked for one room, the same
“Where’d you get that car?” Megan asked.
“Confiscated from a traitorous fairy.”
Megan opened her mouth, shut it, then wisely said nothing.
While we’d been inside, an infant seat had miraculously appeared as well. “I never even thought of that.”
“Considering she was a kitten when you came here, understandable, but it would be illegal, dangerous, and uncomfortable for Luther to hold her all the way to . . .” Megan spread her hands waiting for me to answer, but I didn’t.
“Well, thanks,” I said, then slid awkwardly inside, one leg in the car, one leg out as I did my best to strangle the baby with the various straps and buckles necessary to keep her in the seat.
By the time I was done, Faith was glaring at me exactly as her father would have. Except her father would have impatiently flicked his hand and sent me flying five feet without ever having to touch me at all. I certainly hoped Faith didn’t grow that talent anytime soon.
As I inched out of the car and began to straighten, Faith lunged to the side, straining to reach something that had captured her attention. Figuring it was a flicker of sunlight or a dust mote, maybe even the shiny buckle on the other seat belt, I nearly kept going. Then I caught a flash of pink flannel.
“Frick!” I exclaimed, and managed to snatch the kitty binkie right before she did.
Faith wailed. I felt like an ogre. Even more so when I straightened out of the backseat, blanket in hand, to discover a middle-aged couple taking a stroll on the sidewalk. Their gazes went from the pink material to my face and they frowned.
“She—uh—puked on it.” I rolled the thing into a ball and tossed it at Luther. “Put that in the trunk.”
He narrowed his eyes at the order but did as I asked. The couple moved on but not before they gave first me, then Luther, an oddly disgusted look.
Megan watched them then turned back with a grin. “They thought she was yours.”
“I get that a lot,” I muttered.
She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “And his.”
My eyes widened. “Yuck! He’s like fourteen.”
“He isn’t.” Megan sobered. “Remember that.”
“And again I say ‘yuck.’ ”
“I didn’t mean remember it because I thought you’d touch him.” I made a gagging sound, and she punched me in the arm. “I meant other people will think so, too, and you might get hassled. Not just because of his age but because . . . well, you know.”
I frowned. “I don’t. Know. What are you talking about?”
“He’s, um—”
“Black.” Luther slammed shut the trunk. Nothing wrong with his super-duper hearing. “I’m black, Liz. You’re not.”
“I’m not white, either.” I was part Egyptian and part who the hell knew.
“Your eyes,” he said. “They’re pretty white.”
My eyes were blue, and they did appear darn strange in my darker-than-Caucasian face. But then so did Luther’s.
“We’re both something other than white. So’s the baby.”
“My point exactly,” Megan said. “In some areas of the country, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Still?” I asked.
“Still,” Luther answered.
CHAPTER 7
The drive from Milwaukee to South Dakota was fairly uneventful. We passed by Madison, then La Crosse, drove over the Mississippi River and into the West, stopping for the night in Sioux Falls.
Faith had been extraordinarily good, but she was done, and so was I. Just me and Luther, I’d have continued driving across the inky black unknown roads toward the Badlands. But fiddling with Faith, even if I wasn’t the one doing the fiddling, had worn me out. The constant tension in my neck that came from waiting for her to wake up, to whimper, to whine, to cry had developed into a full-blown pain that shot from my shoulders and into my brain.
We found a cheap but clean motel on the west side of town that boasted free Wi-Fi. Sure enough, when I asked for one room, the same
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