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piss, if you must know. Besides,” he said, “I wouldn’t sit in those old rockers of your grandmother’s on principle.”
    Lillie yawned and giggled at the same time, readying herself for the familiar tirade.
    “They ruin the whole appearance of the front of the house. Here I buy you a house you could be proud of if you plunked it right down in the center of Nashville, and you put out these rickety old rockers that makes it look—”
    “Like a bunch of country bumpkins live here. I know,” she said.
    Pink smiled ruefully. “You’re used to me.”
    Lillie sat herself down in one of the rockers and let out a sigh of relaxation. “I guess I am,” she said. “I’ll be in in a few minutes. Will you take this dress in, Pink?”
    Pink nodded and took it from her as he went inside. She heard the TV come on in the living room and she put her head back in the chair. The air smelled uncommonly sweet to her, and the night was still, except for the faraway sounds of the band. The long day in the sun made her feel tired all over. She closed her eyes and felt herself drifting off as she rocked. In a few minutes she was asleep.
    She was awakened by Pink, shaking her on the shoulder.
    “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’m going after those kids.”
    Lillie bolted up in the rocker, clutching the arms, disoriented and alarmed. “What time is it?”
    “It’s after eleven,” said Pink.
    “But we told them eleven-thirty,” Lillie said.
    “Well, I’m going anyway. I just heard on the news they haven’t got that guy yet who broke out this afternoon. And he’s a bad apple. Ronnie Lee Partin. Those kids have got no business wandering around at this hour. Especially Michele.”
    “No, you’re right,” said Lillie. She tried to force her foggy brain to focus. “Ronnie Lee Partin. Was he the one that held up that restaurant on Route 31…”
    “…and pistol-whipped the manager and shot the cashier. Right, that’s the one,” Pink said. “Besides, I just want to get them back in this house so I can go to bed in peace.” He jangled the car keys.
    Lillie knew from long experience that Pink was an alarmist when it came to the children. But it was a quality that endeared him to her. She realized that the night was silent, that the music had stopped from the park. “You’re right,” she said. “Do you want me to come with you?”
    “No. You stay here in case one of them calls. Michele may have gone to a girlfriend’s house. I’ll be back soon.”
    Lillie watched her husband get into his car and drive off in the direction of Briar Hill. The kids will be fuming, she thought, when he shows up before their curfew, but it wouldn’t be the first time. She opened the front door and went into the house. The TV was still on. She shut it off and sat down in her corner of the sofa. A stack of magazines were piled up in a basket beside her. It seemed as good a time as any to go through them. She and Brenda regularly culled recipes from women’s magazines for the business. They were always looking for a good new casserole or dessert to try on their customers. Lillie put a stack in her lap, picked up the scissors from the end table, and began flipping and clipping. Her eyes roved restlessly over the pages until they lit, accidentally, on an article called “Soap Opera Dreamboats” in a woman’s magazine she bought regularly at the supermarket checkout. Jordan Hill, “who plays Paul Manville on Secret Lives,” smiled out of the page, his deep-brown eyes still bright, although a little weary after all these years. She had read the article hastily when it first came out. An article about Jordan was always news in Felton. And people were quick to make sure she knew about it. She could see them looking for her reaction. Lillie stared down at the picture, her fingers poised to turn the page if Pink appeared at the door. There was gray at Jordan’s temples now, and he had long ago grown a thick, well-groomed mustache, but he