Her bottom lip protruded, and she looked so pitiful that Nealy could hardly bear it. She rose and moved toward the miserable infant, although why she thought Button would come to a second-stringer like herself after she’d already rejected her favorite people, she couldn’t imagine.

To her astonishment, Button reached out. Nealy took her in her arms, and the baby gripped her as if she’d come home. Shaken, Nealy set her to her shoulder. As she stroked her back, her tiny spine shook beneath her palm. Nealy felt like crying herself. She carried her out to the sunporch where they could be alone and settled the two of them in the big wooden rocker.

The porch was warm from the afternoon heat, but the rocker sat in a corner that was shaded by a maple growing at the side of the house, and the ceiling fan stirred the breeze coming through the screen door. Button curled against her breast as if Nealy were all she had left. Gradually the hiccuping sobs faded as Nealy stroked her, kissed her Band-Aid, and crooned nonsense. She heard the low voices of Lucy and Bertis in the kitchen, but nothing from Mat.

Button finally looked up into Nealy’s eyes, her expression full of trust. As Nealy gazed back, she could almost feel her heart expanding until it filled all the dark, cold spaces that had been carved out inside her. This little baby had absolute confidence in her.

Nealy heard a rushing in her ears, the sound of great black wings beating a final retreat, and as she looked down at the beautiful little girl curled in her lap, she finally felt free.

Button gave a triumphant chortle, almost as if she could read Nealy’s mind. Nealy laughed and blinked away tears.

Button was finally ready to address what had happened. She settled herself more comfortably in Nealy’s lap, grabbed her toes, and began to talk. Multisyllabic words, long sentences, complex paragraphs of baby chatter, detailing the injury, the insult of her experience.

Nealy gazed into that small, expressive face and nodded in response. “Yes . . . I know . . . A terrible thing.”

Button’s chatter grew more adamant.

“He should be hung.”

More outrage.

“You think hanging’s too good for him?” Nealy stroked her cheek. “Well, all right. How about torture?”

A bloodthirsty squeal.

“All his veins at once? Yes, that sounds about right.”

“Enjoying yourself?” Mat wandered onto the sun-porch, both hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts.

Button shot him a look of betrayal and turned her face into Nealy’s breast. Nealy felt so blissfully happy that she wanted to sing. “You’ve got some big making up to do. With both of us.”

Guilt oozed from him. “Come on, Nealy. She’ll recover. And it had to be done.”

“Button doesn’t think so, do you, sweetheart?”

The baby stuck her fingers in her mouth and glowered at him.