“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.”