Holly Grace bristied like a lioness springing to the defense of her cub. "Don't get any ideas about trying to put the screws to him, because I swear to God I'll testify in court to everything you've told me today. Don't think for one minute that I'll sit on the sidelines and watch Dallie pass out dollar bills to help you raise another man's kid. Got it?"
Francesca hid her relief behind an aristocratic arch of her eyebrows and a bored sigh, as if this were all just too, too tedious for words. "God, you Americans are so full of melodrama."
Holly Grace's eyes turned as hard as sapphires, "Don't try to screw him over on this, Francie. Dallie and
I may have an unorthodox marriage, but that doesn't mean we wouldn't take a bullet for each other."
Francesca pulled a six-shooter of her own from its holster and sighted down the barrel. "You're the one who forced this confrontation, Holly Grace. You can do whatever you want." I take care of myself, she thought fiercely. And I take care of what's mine.
Holly Grace didn't exactly look at her with new respect, but she didn't say anything, either. When their meal was finally over, Francesca grabbed the check, even though she couldn't afford to. For the next few days, she anxiously watched the front door of the station, but when Dallie failed to show up, she concluded that Holly Grace had kept her mouth shut.
Sulphur City was a small, graceless town whose only claim to fame lay in its Fourth of July celebration, which was considered the best in the county, mainly because the Chamber of Commerce rented a tilt-a-whirl every year from Big Dan's Traveling Wild West Show and set it up in the middle of the rodeo arena. In addition to the tilt-a-whirl, tents and awnings encircled the perimeter of the arena and spilled out into the gravel parking lot beyond. Beneath a green and white striped awning, Tiipperware ladies showed off pastel lettuce crispers, while in the next tent the County Lung Association exhibited laminated photographs of diseased organs. The pecan growers badgered the Pentecostals, who were handing out tracts with pictures of monkeys on the covers, and children dashed in and out of the tents, snatching up buttons and balloons only to abandon them next to the animal pens, where they set off firecrackers and bottle rockets.
Francesca moved awkwardly through the crowd toward the KDSC remote tent, her toes pointed slightly outward, her hand pressed to the small of her back, which had been aching since yesterday afternoon. Although it was barely ten o'clock in the morning, the mercury had already reached ninety-four and perspiration had formed between her breasts. She gazed longingly toward the Kiwanis Sno-Cone machine, but she had to be on the air in ten minutes to interview the winner of the Miss Sulphur City contest and she didn't have time to stop. A middle-aged rancher with grizzled cheeks and a fat nose slowed his steps and gave her a long, appreciative look. She ignored him. With a full-term pregnancy sticking out in front of her like the Hindenburg, she could hardly be anybody's idea of a sex object. The man was obviously some sort of loony who was turned on by pregnant women.
She had almost reached the KDSC tent when the sound of a single trumpet came toward her from the area near the calf pens where the members of the high school band were wanning up. She turned her head to see a tall young boy with a hank of light brown hair falling over his eyes and a trumpet pressed to his mouth. As the boy played the notes of "Yankee Doodle Dandy," he turned his head so that the bell of the instrument caught the sun. Francesca's eyes began to tear from the glare, but she couldn't bring herself to look away.
The moment hung suspended in time as the Texas sun burned above her, white and merciless. The smell of hot popcorn and dust mingled with the scent of manure and Belgian waffles. Two Mexican women, chattering in Spanish, passed by with children draped from their plump bodies like ruffled shawls. The tilt-a-whirl clattered along its noisy track, and the Mexican women laughed, and a string of firecrackers went off next to her as Francesca realized that she belonged to it all.
She remained perfectly still while the smells and the sights absorbed her. Somehow, without knowing it, she had become part of this vast, vulgar melting pot of a country-this place of rejects and discards. The hot breeze caught her hair and tossed it about her head so that it waved like a chestnut flag. At that moment, she felt more at home, more complete, more alive, than she ever had felt in England. Without quite knowing how it had happened, she had been absorbed by this hodgepodge of a country, transformed by it, until- somehow-she, too, had become another feisty, single-minded, ragtag American.
"You better get out of this sun, Francie, before you suffer heat stroke."
Francesca whirled around to see Holly Grace ambling up next to her wearing designer jeans and eating a grape Popsicle. Her heart took a giant leap in the direction of her throat. She had not seen Holly Grace since their lunch together two weeks earlier, but she'd thought about her almost incessantly. "I assumed you'd be back in New York by now," she said warily.
"As a matter of fact, I'm on my way, but I decided to stop by here for a few hours to see how you're doing."
"Is Dallie with you?" She surreptitiously scanned the crowd behind Holly Grace.
To Francesca's relief, Holly Grace shook her head. "I decided not to say anything to him. He's playing in a tournament next week, and he doesn't need any distractions. You look like you're about ready to pop."
"I feel like it, too." Once again she tried to rub the ache from her back, and then, because Holly Grace looked sympathetic and she was feeling very much alone, she added, "The doctor thinks it'll be another week."
"Are you scared?"
She pressed her hand against her side where a small foot was pushing up. "I've been through so much this past year, I can't imagine that giving birth could be any worse." Glancing toward the KDSC tent, she saw Clare waving wildly toward her, and added wryly, "Besides, I'm looking forward to lying down for a few hours."
Holly Grace chuckled and fell in step next to her. "Don't you think it's about time you stopped working and took it easy?"
"I'd like to, but my boss won't give me any more than a month off with pay, and I don't want to start the clock running until the baby's born."
"That woman looks like she eats hardware for breakfast."
"Only the screws."
Holly Grace laughed, and Francesca felt a surprising sense of camaraderie with her. They walked toward the tent together, chatting awkwardly about the weather. A gust of hot air plastered her loose cotton dress to the mound of her stomach. A fire siren went off, and the baby gave her three hard kicks.
Suddenly a wave of pain ripped across her back, the sensation so fierce that her knees began to buckle. She instinctively reached out for Holly Grace. "Oh, dear-"
Holly Grace dropped her Popsicle and grabbed her waist. "Hang on."
Francesca moaned and leaned forward trying to catch her breath. A trickle of amniotic fluid began leaking along the insides of her legs. She leaned into Holly Grace and took a half-step, the sudden wetness squishing into her sandals. Clutching her abdomen, she gasped, "Oh, Natalie… you're not acting… much like a… lady."
Over by the calf pens, cymbals clashed and the boy with the trumpet once again turned the bell of his instrument into the blazing Texas sun and played for all he was worth:
I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy, Yankee Doodle do or die, A real live nephew of my Uncle Sam, Born on the Fourth of July…
Lighting the Lamp
Chapter 22
He pressed himself flat against the wall, the switchblade clenched in his fist, his thumb next to the button. He didn't want to kill. He found no pleasure in drawing human blood, especially female blood, but the time always came when such a thing was necessary. Tilting his head to the side, he heard the sound he'd been waiting for, the soft ding of the elevator doors opening. Once the woman stepped out, her footsteps would be absorbed by the thick melon-colored carpet that covered the hallway in the expensive Manhattan co-op building, so he began to count softly to himself, every muscle in his body tense, ready