“She’s eating ice cream for breakfast!” The older boy is pointing a finger in her face, almost touching the tip of her nose. It takes enormous control not to swat that finger away.

“She’s a grown-up.”

The boy continues to glare. Polly levels her eyes on him. He holds her stare for an impressive amount of time, but he finally folds.

The woman struggles to get him into the two-seater stroller with his brother, to roll out the door into the already burning hot day. She and Polly have the same number of hours ahead of them. But for Polly, who is on her day off, the hours feel like a long, slow bath in which she can luxuriate, whereas this young woman is confined, caught. Down in South Carolina, a woman is being tried for drowning her own kids, letting a car roll forward into a lake with them still strapped in the back. She claimed she was carjacked, but it turned out she just wanted to start over without the kids. A new man had entered the picture. A horrible thing to do—and yet what would you have her do? Men leave their kids all the time and no one thinks them unnatural for it. Not great guys, but not deviants. Women seldom have that option.

Everyone likes to tell that story about the mom who was able to lift a car off her toddler, how maternal love can give you superstrength. Polly’s pretty sure it’s bullshit. Besides, what if you’re under the car with your kid? What do you do then? You can’t save a kid if you can’t save yourself.

She grabs a PennySaver, heads out into the long July day.

9

Adam is enjoying life more than he should. At least, that’s the opinion of his boss—his real boss, not Mr. C—who is skeptical at the lack of results Adam has posted. But what can he do? It was never his intention to wind up here in Belleville. And he’s keeping expenses to a minimum. His client actually has the nerve to suggest that Adam’s earnings at the High-Ho should be counted against his per diem.

“Yeah, it doesn’t work that way,” he tells him. He cannot believe this guy wants to nickel and dime him all of a sudden.

“I don’t know,” the client says with a sigh. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there’s no money. Remember, 20 percent of nothing is nothing.”

Yeah, that’s why I’m charging you expenses plus forty hours a week, Adam thinks. And I could be charging you for my time 24/7, but I’m a good guy. You’re only paying me for the time I’m actively with her.

They are talking on his room phone. Adam has a mobile, but he tries not to use it and keeps it in his room at all times. A guy who takes a job working as a short-order cook wouldn’t have a phone like his. He did opt to use his real name, Adam Bosk, to keep things simple. If she got suspicious, she could go to the DMV over the line in Maryland and do a search—but why would she be suspicious? And how would she get there? Besides, all she would find is his address and his spotless driving record. Tell as few lies as possible, that’s his rule.

He knows he’s lucky now that he wasn’t able to strike up a friendship with Gregg at the beach, per the original plan. Because if he had started hanging out with her husband before she split, there’s no way he could have shown up here, too, in Belleville.

Why is she here? Does her husband know where she is? Does the husband know anything? Why did she leave him? And her little girl, how does that work? Feral, his client says of her. No capacity for genuine emotion. She’s out for herself, always.

“Whatever you do,” his client says, “don’t turn your back on her.” Then he chuckles in an odd way. “Even face-to-face, you might not be safe with that one.”

Adam cannot reconcile these dire warnings with the woman he sees at work. No, she isn’t warm, and she seems to have only two speeds with men, interested and uninterested. With him, she has flipped the switch so many times now, he’s almost dizzy. Not that he cares. He’s strong, he’s not going to muddy things. But that day at the auction, when he helped her to carry her new purchases into the apartment, even set up the bed for her, he had expected her to say something suggestive, throw him a signal. She couldn’t get him out of there fast enough. And since then she has been so cool. Nice, pleasant, but Max and Ernest get more attention from her than he does.

That night at work, the other waitress, Cath, catches him sneaking peeks at Polly through the pass-through for the food. Business has been picking up, and Mr. C now needs both women working Wednesday through Sunday. Cath, who has seniority, gets most of the tables. Polly has the bar and two tables near it.

“You like her.” Cath’s tone is almost accusing.

“What do you mean, I like her? I barely know her.”

Cath smiles. “I said you’re like her.”

“How so?”

“Mysterious. Not offering up much of anything. Not sure if you’re staying or passing through.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m passing through.”

“What could entice you to stay?”

She cocks a hip, gives him a look. She’s cute if you like that all-American type. He thinks about it, the pros and cons. If he takes up with Cath, he won’t have to worry about making a mistake with Polly. And Polly strikes him as someone who would find a guy much more interesting if she definitely can’t get to him. It could be messy, though, if Cath became attached. He has to be clear, say, This is just for fun, no strings.