Paradise Lost (41 page)

Joanna leaned over and gave her mother a hug. “Yes, Mom,” Joanna said. “It was.”

“That cut still looks awful. I wouldn’t be surprised if it leaves a terrible scar.”

“It probably will,” Joanna agreed. “And if it does, I deserve it. That’s the price of stupidity.”

That night, when Joanna and Butch finally climbed into bed, Joanna scooted over and snuggled under his arm.

“Tough day?” he asked.

“Tough week.”

“Was it only a week?” Butch asked, pulling her close while at the same time being careful not to touch her stitches. “It feels like more than a year since we got back home on Monday afternoon.

I’ve barely seen you. You’re working too hard, Joey. You’ll wear yourself out.”

“Sorry,” Joanna said. She was so tired that she was almost falling asleep, but for a change Butch wasn’t sleepy at all. He went right on talking.

“Whoever would have thought they’d do all that in the name of motherhood. I’ve always thought my mother was a couple of bub-bles out of plumb, but Irma Sorenson and Amy Bernard put Mom to shame. And speaking of mothers, yours was certainly teary-eyed at the funeral this afternoon. It’s nice that so many people came to the funeral and acted like they cared about Dora, but wouldn’t it have been better if they had cared about her more when she was alive?”

“Amen to that,” Joanna said.

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“And would a male sheriff have sorted it all out the way you did?” Butch asked. “That yahoo from Pima County, what’s his name?”

“Bill Forsythe.”

“I can’t imagine him seeing through Amy Bernard the way you did, or charming that confession out of Irma Sorenson, either. And even if I was upset with you for tackling Amy and getting hurt, it was still good work, Joey. I’m really proud of you, stitches and all.”

Joanna was awake now. She sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, and looked Butch in the eye.

“How proud?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How proud are you?” Joanna asked. “Proud enough that you wouldn’t mind if I ran for office again? I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided I want to.”

“Oh, oh. When do we start campaigning?”

“Soon,” Joanna said. “Not right away, but soon.”

“All right,” Butch replied. “I’m new at this, so you’ll have to tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“You have to smile a lot,” she told him. “You have to go on the rubber-chicken circuit and nod your head attentively while I make speeches.”

“Well, Scarface,” he said, “I think I can manage that much. I can probably even do a fairly good job of it, but is there anything in it for me?”

She leaned over and kissed him. “I think so,” she said. “I believe I know one or two things you happen to like. The good news is, you won’t have to wait until after the election to get them.”

Butch kissed her back. “Show me,” he said.

And she did.

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