a trail behind you for the pigs to follow.”
“What pigs, Daddy?” Dahlia asked.
Forrest lifted Dahlia off his shoulders and set her on the floor. He leaned down. “The little pig that went to market,” he said.
Dahlia ran out of the room, squealing with laughter as her father chased after her.
Tim turned to Marty. “You said they’d be happy to help us,” he said. “Overjoyed. Isn’t that the word you used?”
“Fuck off,” Marty said. “It’s gonna be fine.”
They ate beef stew and honey-wheat bread for supper, and no one said a word about the plans for the following day. It took CeeCee a while to realize that was for Dahlia’s sake: they wouldn’t talk about it with a child in the room. Dahlia talked to CeeCee throughout the meal, telling her about the latest geography lesson she’d had from her mother, in which she learned the names of the states in alphabetical order. She rattled them off with only a few mistakes. When supper was over, Forrest handed the baby to Naomi, who sat back in her chair, tucked the infant beneath her peasant blouse, and began to nurse him.
“Dahlia,” Naomi said, “would you go into the other room now and play? We need to have some grown-up time.”
Dahlia grabbed CeeCee’s hand. “Let me show you my toys,” she said, as though she knew CeeCee would be more comfortable playing with her than she would staying with the “grown-ups.”
“Go ahead,” Tim said. “We’ll fill you in on anything you need to know later.”
Letting Dahlia drag her into the living room, she felt relieved. The conversation in the kitchen wasn’t going to be pretty. Please talk them out of it, she thought to herself. Please.
“This is my Barbie.” Dahlia sat down on the braided rug and pulled a brunette Barbie doll from her toy box. It seemed laughable that this child of hippies owned a Barbie doll.
“She’s pretty.” CeeCee sat down next to her.
“She’s from a garage sale,” Dahlia said, running a finger over the doll’s miniature denim jeans. “So I’m happy I could give her a good home.”
CeeCee smiled. The little girl touched her heart. She heard Tim say something in the kitchen but couldn’t make out the words. Forrest’s voice, deep and resonant, responded. Then Naomi said something unintelligible. She should be in there, taking part in their discussion.
What’s wrong with you? she asked herself. She felt very young, as though she truly belonged here with Dahlia instead of in the kitchen. She was sixteen and looked more like fifteen and felt more like thirteen. Did everyone know it? Were they whispering about her in there? Wondering if it had been a mistake to involve her and if she was up to the task?
“We’re not dragging you into anything!” Marty suddenly shouted. Someone else said, “Shh!”
Dahlia looked at CeeCee, alarmed. “Why is that man yelling?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said. “He yells a lot. That’s the way he is.”
Dahlia looked toward the kitchen for a moment, then returned her attention to the toy box. “And this is my wedding doll,” she said, pulling out a naked baby doll.
“A wedding doll?” CeeCee asked, confused.
“Wet-ting!” Dahlia said. She lifted the doll so CeeCee could see the hole between its legs. “She pees.”
“Oh!” She laughed. “I get it.”
There was an innocence in Dahlia that she envied. The little girl had no idea what her parents were discussing with Tim and Marty. She had no idea that her parents had once done something illegal and had at one time been known by other names. They’d had other lives. Was this how Tim would end up? Would she have to drive miles into the woods to be able to see him?
“You have pretty eyes.” Dahlia stared at her.
“Thank you.” CeeCee stroked her hand over the girl’s hair. “And you have the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“It’s gossamer,” the girl said.
“It is.” CeeCee smiled. She wanted a child like this someday. She looked toward the kitchen. She couldn’t see Tim, but she could picture his green eyes and blond curls and full lips. They could have beautiful children together. She wanted to raise children the right way, with both a mother and a father. She would write letters to them every year, in case she died. She teared up at the thought.
Dahlia reached out to gently touch CeeCee’s cheek. “Why are you crying?” she asked.
“Oh, I think my eyes are a little burny today.” CeeCee used her fingertips to wipe away the tears. “I’m allergic to something, maybe.”
“Agnes?” Dahlia pointed to the cat asleep on the back of the couch. “Mom’s friend is allergic to her.”
“Maybe,” she said. “It’s not too bad.”
Naomi came into the room, the baby, whose name was Emmanuel, in a sling tied over her shoulder. She squatted down next to Dahlia, her skirt flowing over her knees and touching the floor.
“Hope she’s not wearing you out,” she said to CeeCee. Her smile looked forced.
“Not at all,” CeeCee said.
Naomi smoothed a hand over her daughter’s head. “Time for you to get ready for bed,” she said.
“No, Mom,” Dahlia said. “I can stay up ‘cause of company.”
“This company has a lot to do tomorrow, so we can’t tire them out.” Naomi stood up, her hands under the sling and her baby’s little body. “Come on,” she said. “Hop to it.”
The little girl got to her feet. She leaned over and kissed CeeCee’s cheek. “Good night. I love you,” she said, then turned and ran toward the hall.
CeeCee watched her go. “She’s the nicest girl,” she said.
“Thank you.” Naomi watched her daughter disappear into a room at the end of the hall. “She’s an angel most of the time.” She turned to CeeCee. “You come with me,” she said.
CeeCee followed her down the hallway. They walked past a bedroom just big enough for a double mattress on the floor.
“You and Tim can sleep in there.” Naomi nodded toward the room. “Marty can have the sofa.” She poked her head into another bedroom, this one with bunk beds. Dahlia was sitting on the bottom bunk, a Golden Book open on her lap.
“You can skip your bath tonight,” Naomi said to her.
“Yippee!” Dahlia bounced on the bed.
“Daddy and I will come in later to tuck you in.”
“Okay,” she said, returning her attention to her book.
“She
