He said, “I’d guess you’re parked out here in nowhere because your friend Mister Sloane wanted to ease you on out without you making trouble for him. I guess you saw that handwriting before he even opened his mouth and already knew what was the best angle for you. I bet you thought That Jamie, he’s a stupid son of a bitch and I can work whatever I need off him. I bet you’ve got more money on you than you ran away with. And I even bet you already thought of everything I could say before I even knew there might be a reason for me to say it, and had a answer cooked up ready to serve me. And here I am. Feeling like the chicken just looked up to see no it’s not shellcorn but the old woman with the axe.”

She looked away from him then. Down to the table where she spread her hands flat and studied them. Without looking up she said, “It’s our baby, Jamie. Yours and mine.”

“Why, of course it is.” He backed a step away from the table and jammed his hands down in his trouser pockets. “You wouldn’t have called me down here to ask my help raising up another man’s child, no. Not at all. You, you’re a straight-shooter. You’re not a girl chases opportunity down whatever rathole offers up. Not you.”

She pushed hair off her face. Turned her head as if she was tired. “You say anything you want. You won’t get a fight out of me. Go on, spout all you like. It’s you made the trip down here.”

“Could’ve saved me that trip, you’d written more than a single line. It wouldn’t have taken much. Could’ve just asked if I wanted to raise up a bastard child with you.”

Her eyes cut in half. “You wouldn’t have come? You really wouldn’t have come?”

“Even an animal, given the chance, won’t lay down in shit.”

The water glass burst against the side of his head. His shirtfront was wet with the sprayed flung drops of water. He’d closed his eyes before the glass struck and against his closed lids could see like moving pictures the black and white of her snatching up the glass and hurling it. Not ducking. Closed his eyes against the splinters of glass. Then the image of her was gone and the pain swept through him. It was more hurt than he expected. He thought it would be like a slap. He leaned forward and shook his head, getting rid of the glass splinters, trying to shake his head free of the pain. He opened his eyes. One hand up, trailing fingers through his hair to pull away the glass. His fingers came down bloody. Then heard her. He thought she’d been speaking right through it.