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bit less. “But I’m not making any promises.”
    “I’m thinking the rest stop would sure be a hell of a lot cleaner, that’s all,” and Chance glances over at Alice behind the wheel, the woman more than twenty years her senior, and all the lines in her face right there to show every moment of her life. All the long days of scorching sun and freezing wind, her weathered, rugged face sculpted like the rock walls of the quarries and strip mines that she’s lived half her life in. My face someday, Chance thinks.
    “I feel like a beached whale,” she says. “A goddamned pregnant beached whale with hemorrhoids.”
    “Only a very small whale.” Alice smirks. “Maybe only a manatee.”
    “Thanks a lot,” and Chance adjusts the pillow behind her back again, but it doesn’t help.
    “Them’s the hazards of living that damn heterosexual lifestyle, dear. You should’ve listened to me and found yourself a good woman. She wouldn’t have gotten you into this sad predicament.”
    “I swear to god, Alice. I’m gonna pee on your floorboard if we don’t stop soon.”
    “Not much farther, I promise,” and there’s the reflective blue interstate sign to back her up, WELCOME—WE’RE GLAD GEORGIA’S ON YOUR MIND , and underneath that the big peach that Chance has always thought looked more like someone’s naked butt. She leans forward and braces one hand flat against the dash, wanting to unbuckle the seat belt, but she knows Alice would have a fit. It was hard enough just convincing her that she was up to the drive to Atlanta, lucky she’s not sitting in her office grading freshman papers instead while Alice makes the trip alone.
    “You should’ve stayed in town,” Alice Sprinkle says, like the woman can read her mind. “You should have listened to Deacon and let me handle this.”
    “Christ, I think the urine must have backed up into my brain. I could have sworn you just agreed with Deke.”
    “Hey, even he can’t be wrong all the time.”
    “Can I quote you?”
    “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re about to pop, kiddo,” and Alice makes a sound with her lips like pulling the cork from a bottle of wine.
    “Yeah, well, they’re my fossils,” Chance says glumly, and she looks out the window at the green pine trees and the autumn-wide sky. “And I’ve been trying to put this exhibit together for six months. Now I’m gonna see it through.”
    “Chance, you’re almost as stubborn as your grandpa was, you know that?”
    “I consider that the highest of compliments.”
    “I’m sure you do,” and Alice slows down and takes the exit for the Georgia Welcome Center, wrestling with the Toyota’s temperamental stick shift. A loud, grinding noise from beneath the hood, and “One day this old bitch is just gonna roll over and give up the ghost,” she says; Chance nods, too busy trying not to wet herself for words.
    “Here you go, Puddles,” Alice says and pulls in between a battered minivan and a yellow Corvette with California license plates. The truck’s engine sputters and dies as soon as she shifts into first. “Sit still, and I’ll give you a hand.”
    “I’m pretty sure I can still get out of a truck on my own,” but Alice is already on her way around the front of the Toyota to get Chance’s door. “I’m not a cripple,” she whispers, talking to no one but herself. “I’m eight months pregnant, but I’m not a goddamn cripple.”
    Alice opens the passenger-side door; “Six of one,” she says, “half dozen of the other.”
    “How did you possibly hear that?”
    “We lesbian paleontologists got ears of steel, didn’t you know that? Comes from not squandering all our precious bodily fluids having babies.” Alice laughs and puts one arm around Chance’s waist, holds her right hand, strong arms to keep her steady until she has both feet planted firmly on the parking lot asphalt.
    “You think anyone would care if I squatted down and peed right here?”
    “Now, we ain’t