“Shut up, you little asshole.” The words whistled through the space where a front tooth should have been.

“Come on, Leslie. You don’t really want to go there.”

“Which driveway? This one?”

“Yes.” Ned slumped down in the seat of the rattletrap pickup. He would give anything to be somewhere else. Anywhere.

They slid around the turn, throwing rocks and gravel behind them, Leslie gunning the engine and racing up the long drive. His belly was full of beer and his eyes had dollar signs in them. He was out to get some tonight. They drove around the corner and almost ran into the bronze van parked by the front door.

“Doctor Withins. Oh, shit, it’s Doctor Withins’ van! Let’s get out of here!”

Leslie hit the brakes, cussing, spinning the wheel, sliding the truck around in a circle. His luck. Well, that was fine. He’d hit on her tomorrow night, and he’d leave this little wimp somewhere else. He lifted the capless quart of beer to his lips and drank deep. He looked at Ned out of the corner of his eye, cowering by the door. I should just dump that little fucker out on the turn, he thought. What a jerk. Instead, he turned toward town.

“Let’s get some action.”

Ned said a silent prayer of thanks.

Leon showed up bright and early the next morning, pickup filled with lumber and paint. Martha was feeding the chickens, watching them squawk and scratch at the hard earth, pecking at the little bits of seed she threw on the ground.

“Good morning!” he called, as he jumped out of the cab and grabbed a plank.

“Hello.”

“I’m going to start on the chicken coop.”

“Okay.” He looked so smooth. He looked so young and energetic, long muscles sliding under his skin. She watched him unload, then went into the house and sat at the makeup table.

With nervous hands she worked meticulously on her nose, looking carefully from all angles. She powdered once, then again as an immediate shine crept through the heat and the powder. The lipstick was crayoned on next, and she smiled in the mirror. Leon would like her. He was going to be here for a lot of days. They would become good friends. She wished she had some of that light blue that Priscilla put on her eyelids. Next time she went to the store, she would get some.

Just before noon, she limped past the chicken coop where Leon was hammering and picked fresh lemons. She made a big pitcher of lemonade and a plate of tuna-fish sandwiches. Then she sat at the table, nervously picking at the hem of her dress, and waited.

She jumped when she heard his sneaker-light step on the porch; he swung open the screen door and came in.

His sweaty presence overpowered the room. He looked at the plate of sandwiches and glistening pitcher and smiled.