He put the truck in gear. He had told himself all the way home from Lewistown that he would not do this. He would not pump his daughter for information like a deputy working a witness; whatever was going on was between him and his wife, and June was seven, and she had already been asked to carry something by one parent, and he would not ask her to carry the other half of it. He had promised himself that. He drove a hundred yards up the lane and broke the promise.
"Tell me about Danny," he said. "I'd like to meet him. What's he like?"
June considered. She liked being asked what things were like. "He's nice. He's tall but not as tall as you. He's not a grown-up exactly."
"No?"
"He's like a big kid. He goes to high school. He can whistle like a meadowlark, the exact same. He taught me how to throw a loop on the sawhorse, I can catch it like almost every time now. He calls me Junebug like you do." She bounced a little in the seat. "He has a truck with one green door. The rest is white but one door is green because it got smashed and they got a new one from the junkyard. He says it's his lucky door."
The pickup rolled on. Wade's hands were steady on the wheel.
"And he eats dinner with you and Mommy."
"Sometimes. When he works late. He eats a lot. Mommy says he eats like a threshing crew." She giggled. "He always says thank you, ma'am. Even to me. He says thank you ma'am to me, and I'm a kid."