Allie climbed Spoon Hill sweating herself thirsty. As she got closer to the top, she imagined a Suther-Donovan household. Oh, days could be very copacetic for all; Leo and her father could renovate the cabin, add a big section onto her room for her and Leo and their baby; a room or two out back for Jim Suther, a larger studio upstairs for her mom to paint in. Jim could still work at Heywood Paper, and Leo and her dad could build houses during the day. Some nights, her father could preach his politics down off the gazebo on Thompson Green while the Suther men played blues music in between speeches. And of course Leo would be happy about all this, wouldn’t he? The question hung behind her face like a rigged bomb, and she thought of the dozen long-stemmed roses that still sat in a vase on the kitchen table. He seemed to like working at the carpentering. And maybe someday he could take that harmonica playing of his and do something with that too. There was no doubt he was a reliable man. Her father had even said so to her one night in only the second week of the summer. “Your beau’s a good hand on the job, Allie Cat.” What more proof was there of innate character and strong provider potential? Not that Allie Donovan would just be married to a house and child. She could get a scholarship and take night classes at the university, maybe be a teacher, or an anthropologist, or a film star. Why not? She did look sultry in those sunglasses Leo gave her. And actresses have babies too.

As she reached the top of the drive she thought of Jayne Mansfield again, of her frying head, and Allie had to kneel on one bare knee in the gravel and take a deep breath, which was hard to do from the climb. She wanted a cold cola on ice, that, and a long talk with her mother. No need to pretend Allie was in the dark about things. But Tess was asleep on the sofa beneath the ever-watchful eye of Mr. Marx. She was wearing one of Allie’s dad’s button-down shirts and a pair of shorts. Her legs were long and smooth, still very appealing, Allie thought.

Chris’s door was open. He was sleeping in his crib, his bottom sticking up in the air. Allie pulled a glass bottle of Coke from the fridge. She opened it quietly, took a huge sip, and went into her room. Both windows were open and there was no breeze whatsoever. She could smell a sour touch of this morning’s evidence, even though not a drop had fallen inside. She stretched out on her bed and fell asleep in her UFO dress.