He smiled the crooked smile that I loved even harder. "I'll be back soonish," he promised. His eyes flickered back and forth between me and the porch, and then he leaned in to swiftly kiss me just under the edge of my jaw, against my jugular vein. My heart lurched frantically, and I, too, glanced toward the porch. Billy's wooden face was no long impassive; had switched to a wild passing, thought and emotion flowing freely through his face. His hands had become white fistulas, clutching at the armrests of his wheelchair.
"Soon," I stressed as I opened the door and stepped out into the rain.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I half-ran, half-hurried through the light sprinkle toward the porch.
As I got closer, I looked up at Squaw. Water streamed down his cheeks and I couldn't tell if it was the rain or if he'd started crying. I ignored it. "Hey, Billy. Hi, Squaw." I greeted them as cheerfully as I could imagine. "Chuck's gone for the day—you know how he likes to cruise on the weekends. I hope you haven't been waiting long."
"Not long, not short." Billy said in a subdued tone. His black eyes were piercing. "I just wanted to bring this up." He indicated a brown paper sack that had been soaked through with grease. It was resting in his lap.
"Oh... thanks," I said. "Why don't you come in for a minute and dry off?"
I pretended to be oblivious to his beady eyes scrutinizing me as I unlocked the door, and waved them in ahead of me.
"I'll take that... bag off your hands," I said, turning to shut the door. I allowed myself one last glance at Fredward. He was waiting, perfectly still, his eyes solemn.
"Now you'll want to put that in the fridge," Billy noted as he handed me the package. "It's some of Harry Firewater's famous homemade fish fry—Charlie's favorite. The fridge keeps it drier. I think." He shrugged.
"Thanks," I repeated. "I was

351

Chapter 17

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