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woman. 
    JUDY. (She goes behind the counter and gets crackers. She takes them to Linda.) Look, Linda. I brought you some stuff. I wasn’t sure what size shoe you wore, so I brought you a pair of house slippers. I only wore them once. They made my feet swell. And here’s a sweatshirt. The zipper sticks a little. It’s temperamental. Here, try this on. (She literally dresses Linda as if she were dressing a doll. Linda obliges.)
    LINDA. Thank you, ma’am. Thank you both. I don’t know what I would’ve done. I saw the light from the highway and I just followed it.
    JUDY. I’m just glad you got out of that car when you did. That maniac could’ve killed you. And the baby.
    LINDA. My father wanted me to have an abortion.
    JUDY. It’s the will of God you didn’t.
    LINDA. Do you have any children?
    RICARDO. She doesn’t need any. She’s got you now.
    JUDY. I’ve never been married, Linda. I don’t have any children of my own. I take care of my father because he – well, my mother left us years ago to fend for ourselves. He’s been broken hearted ever since.
    RICARDO. He isn’t broken hearted, Judy. He’s a drunk.
    JUDY. Don’t speak that way in front of Linda.
    RICARDO. She isn’t made of glass.
    JUDY.               Why are you scrubbing the floor, Ricardo?
    RICARDO. I can still smell her blood.
    JUDY. Use some bleach. That works on everything.
    LINDA. I think it’s very nice that you take care of your father. It means you’re a woman of good character. That’s what my Aunt Ruth always says. People who take care of other people are of good character.
    JUDY. Your Aunt Ruth sounds like a good Christian woman to me.
    LINDA. Well, no. Actually, she ran off with a married man and they robbed a Dairy Queen up north. (Beat.) Last I heard she was wanted in three states. She’s the one who introduced me to Alfred. He was my boyfriend. But he slept with my cousin and he told me he hated me when I got pregnant because I ruined any chance he ever had of getting out of Harmonville. That’s where I’m from. It’s about a hundred miles from here.
    JUDY. I know where it is. It’s in Hell’s backyard.
    RICARDO. What are you going to do now, Linda?
    LINDA. I have no idea. (Making light of her situation:) I don’t really have many options.
    JUDY. She’s coming home with me. I’ve already fixed up the guest room for her. Linda, you need to be drinking milk. Let me get you some.
    LINDA. I’m allergic to milk. It makes me sick. I throw up all the time. Can’t keep nothing down.
    JUDY. How old are you?
    LINDA. I’m fifteen, ma’am.
    JUDY. You’re just a child. A baby. And your folks just tossed you out in the cold?
    LINDA. I don’t have folks anymore. My father said I was disowned. He said Alfred was a bad influence on me, since he was so much older.
    JUDY. How much older?
    LINDA. He’s thirty-seven. (Judy nearly faints.) He’ll be thirty-eight next week. We were supposed to go to Cheyenne for his birthday. His sister owns a nightclub there. Alfred said after my baby was born, his sister was gonna give me a job as a dancer. I love to dance. I took ballet class when I was nine but the classes got real expensive and then my father lost his job at the refinery and we had to sell the car. It was an old car and it broke down all the time, but we sure missed it when it was gone. My mother worked in town and she walked back and forth everyday – seven miles, total. She had blisters all over her feet. They were huge. She would come home at night and sit in the kitchen and peel off her stockings and her feet would drip blood. But she’d never cry. My father didn’t like it if we cried. He said it made us weak. Alfred cried once. When he found out I was pregnant. At first, I thought he was crying because he was so happy. But I was wrong. He was angry. I’ve never seen someone so angry before. He said I was stupid. He used to always say he had big plans – real big plans. But he never did anything. Never did