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tinting.” As she pulled ahead of the Honda, Mrs. Bledsoe gave it a last glance. “Okay, I’m going on record here,” she said amiably. “Mr. Honda is a bad bet.”
    â€œSays the mom who really knew how to choose,” Janice said.
    Mrs. Bledsoe, who had twice been married and divorced, nodded good-naturedly. “Point to daughter,” she said.
    No one said anything for a few moments, and through the back window Lisa watched the Honda slowly splash through a right turn onto a side street. What was weird was how slowly Maurice drove.
    Up front, Mrs. Bledsoe said, “I have to exchange a bathrobe at the mall. You girls mind riding along?” The mall was in Syracuse, twenty minutes from Jemison. “When we get there, we’ll probably have to check in at Starbucks for hot chocolate.”
    â€œYum,” Lisa said.
    â€œHot chocolate,” Janice said matter-of-factly. “Very Mormon. Makes Lisa feel at home. Very obliging of the mother ship.”
    Mrs. Bledsoe grinned and said, “The mother ship will herself partake generously of caffeine.”
    â€œCould we look at shorts afterward?” Janice asked.
    â€œNyet,” her mother said. “But we could look at job apps. Dog on a Stick is hiring, I heard.”
    â€œHave you even
seen
the uniforms they wear?” Janice asked, and gave Lisa a grin over her shoulder. “We’d look like a couple of doggy dipsticks! Besides, Lisa and I are on to serious job possibilities at Village Greens.”
    Lisa leaned forward over the backseat to get nearer the heat vents and, trying to dispel the bad feeling about Maurice, said, “Healthy outdoor labor. We’re going to be yard girls.”
    Mrs. Bledsoe studied a chipped red fingernail as they waited for a red light. “Yard girls, huh?” Her tone was definitely dubious.
    Janice began to sing, “Greeeen acres is the place to be, Faaaarm livin’ is the life for me,” and Lisa jumped in with, “Land spreadin’ out so far and wide . . .”
    Mrs. Bledsoe interrupted. “You two are going to mow lawns at Village Greens? Have either of you so much as touched a lawn mower before?”
    â€œNo,” Janice said. “But the boys can do that. We’ll clip and prune. Rake and sweep. Wave at the old gentlemen.”
    â€œWhat boys?” Mrs. Bledsoe said.
    â€œThe yard boys,” Janice said. “Tanned, buff yard boys.” Then, mock serious, “Hardworking, college-bound boys who would never ever window tint. Which is why we need new shorts.”
    â€œWhat part of nyet don’t you understand, sweetness?” Mrs. Bledsoe said, and even though her tone was friendly, Lisa could tell that she meant it, and Janice seemed to understand it, too, because she let the matter drop. Probably the issue was money— with Janice and her mom, it usually was.
    The windshield wipers went
ka-tick ka-tick ka-tick.
For no reason she understood, Lisa found herself thinking of a boy she’d been watching lately during sacrament meeting, only he wasn’t really a boy, he was a missionary, which meant he was at least 19, or maybe 20. His name tag said only Elder Keesler—she had no idea what his first name was. Still, once or twice in the past week she’d found herself writing his last name over and over in the same place until KEESLER was impressed in the paper.
    Lisa felt the heat on her face and looked out the window at downtown Syracuse. Smith Restaurant Supply. Red turrets like in a gothic movie. Gold brick, gray stone, spires here and there, old concrete, bare trees, wet streets. Elder Keesler was too old for her, Lisa knew, and he was technically off limits while he was an elder, but who else was she supposed to think about? There were no Mormon boys that she liked in Jemison, or even in Syracuse. “Just wait until you get to BYU,” her mother said, but what kind of lame idea was that? Wait