“Well, it’s kind of a signal to the town, to be on the lookout,” Angie says. “So if anybody sees him wandering they’ll send him on home.”

Angie pronounces “wandering” like “wondering,” and before her meaning dawns on Taylor, she is stumped on what it is that Lucky would be wondering about. He seems to have little room for doubt in his life. She can see him inside now, talking excitedly to Turtle. Turtle looks rapt.

Taylor envies Lucky’s assurance, and Turtle’s state of grace: to be able to see neither forward nor backward right now, to see Lucky as a friend, just that. Not an instrument of fate.

The phone rings and Angie goes in to get it, but returns immediately. “It’s for you.”

Taylor’s heart thumps hard when she picks up the receiver; she can’t think what news there might be that isn’t bad.

“Are we not the species of critical thinkers?” the telephone inquires.

“Jax!”

“Oh, big surprise. Nobody else on Planet Earth knows where you are.”

“I hope. Have you heard from her? Did she come back?”

“She walks in beauty like the night.” He pauses. “Are you jealous?”

“No. What did she say?”

“That the Seven Sisters are actually the Six Pigs in Heaven.”

“The what?”

“Seven Sisters, the constellation. They’re actually six juven-ile males who got turned into pigs because of being selfish and not community-minded.”

“I swear I never can follow you, Jax. What did she say really?”

“That she’s really on your side.”

“Right. What else?”

“She says she’s on the warpath. Can you picture that woman galloping over the hill on an Appaloosa? Too divine.”

Taylor can picture it. She looks out the window and sees Otis filling up his car at the minimart across the street. “Does she know I’ve left town?”

“Yes. And her aim is true. She can hit a cardboard owl between the eyes at fifty paces.”

“Meaning what, Jax?”

“This woman is smarter than your average box of rocks.

Before she came here she’d already talked to people down at Mattie’s, and she’d figured out everything about the fake adoption. She might figure out where you are—returned to the scene. First she’ll try Oprah, then Lucky Buster.”

“You really think that? Is she still in Arizona?”

“No. She flew back to Oklahoma this morning.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t, as a matter of fact. She could be over eating kugel with Mr. Gundelsberger at this moment.”

“Shoot, Jax, I’m scared. We’ve got to get out of here. But I don’t know where. I can’t even go home, Mama’s moving out on Harland. Turtle wants to go to Sesame Street.”

Jax laughs. “Good idea.”

“I think we’ve had enough of TV land.” Taylor rolls her head from side to side, relaxing her neck, trying to stave off panic. Turtle is watching from the corner of the diner. “How’s everything back at the ranch? How’s Lou Ann? And Mr. G.?”

“Lou Ann is Lou Ann. Mr. G. is a troubled individual. He has to leave his shades down at all hours so he won’t see his voluptuous daughter exploring the desert in her natural state.”

“Gundi’s started her nature walks again? She’s amazing. I’d be scared of getting snakebit in a personal area.”

“Gundi has no personal areas. She’s painting a series of nude self-portraits with different cactus configurations.”

“Well, be nice to her anyway. She’s your landlady.”

“Landperson, please. Don’t worry, she’s not going to kick me out. I’m one of her favorite boys this week. This morning she was taking a very special interest in the cactus configurations outside my studio window. Turtle would have gotten an education.”

“Well, pay the rent anyway, it’s due this week, okay? Being handsome will only carry you so far in life.”

“Would you say that I’m actually handsome? I mean, in those words?”

“Listen, Jax, do you feed Turtle junk food when I’m at work?”

“We experiment. Peanut butter and green bean sandwiches.

Nothing hard core.”

“She misses you.”

“I miss you both. I’m radioactive with despair.”

Taylor knows he wants her to say she loves him, but she can’t. Not under pressure. It feels a little empty and desperate to her, like when husbands send wives into the store to pick out their own birthday gifts.