"Besides, a sharp knife is
handy."
"Careful you don't slice anything off, okay?"
"I never cut anything *unintentionally*," she said in a silly-dramatic
voice, and socked him in the shoulder.
He snorted and went back to the driving, putting the hammer down, eating
up the kilometers toward Huntsville and beyond.
She fed him slices of apple and ate some herself, then rolls of ham with
little pieces of pear in them, then sips of cherry juice from a glass
bottle.
"Enough," he said at last. "I'm stuffed, woman!"
She laughed. "Skinny little fucker -- gotta put some meat on your
bones." She tidied the dinner detritus into an empty shopping bag and
tossed it over her shoulder into the back seat.
"So," she said. "How long since you've been home?"
He stared at the road for a while. "Fifteen years," he said. "Never been
back since I left."
She stared straight forward and worked her hand under his thigh, so he
was sitting on it, then wriggled her knuckles.
"I've never been home," she said.
He wrinkled his brow. "What's that mean?" he said.
"It's a long story," she said.
"Well, let's get off the highway and get a room and you can tell me,
okay?"
"Sure," she said.
#
They ended up at the Timberline Wilderness Lodge and Pancake House, and
Mimi clapped her hands at the silk-flowers-and-waterbeds ambience of the
room, fondled the grisly jackalope head on the wall, and started running
a tub while Alan carried in the suitcases.
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