Chapter 17

A lonely Cowboy watched this comical scene unfold with bemusement, particularly enthralled with every emotional reaction on Lucy's face.

He didn't even know her name.

Whatever it was, he would say it every day until forever. All she'd have to do is smile, and he would know she was his.

A Mexican in mirrored sunglasses watched from a different vantage point entirely. Hiding inside a $4,000 grandfather clock, he hoped Lucy would smile. He would die to see her smile just one more time.

Sneller watched her too, from underneath a ten gallon hat. His bald head began to sweat, worried her father would spot him. He'd been following Lucy once in his car (actually one of the times he'd been following Lucy in his car), and pulled into a parking lot three spaces from her car, wanting to "spontaneously" happen upon her smiling face as she disembarked from her car with her long sculpted legs.

Lucy's father, alerted to a suspicious follower by Lucy herself via cell phone, sped quickly in front of Sneller, slammed his truck into park basically in Sneller's nose, and hopped out so quickly that Sneller was face down on the truck's hood with his hands behind his back before he could even see who'd accosted him.

Mr. Ballman quietly informed Sneller, while Lucy waited in her car, that if he ever caught him following, discussing, or slightly bothering his daughter again, he would make full use of both his machete and his baseball bat.

Sneller quivered. He ducked behind a blanket display as Mr. Ballman's gaze wandered sideways, wishing he'd invested in some of those adult underpants he'd considered while following Lucy on her long car trips. He wanted to see her one more time. He lifted his head. Ballman must have smelled fear, because he'd made a beeline for the blankets. Sneller shot back down faster than a jack in the box, sitting in his own pee. He'd have to wait a little longer.

A security guard watched Lucy, too: a guard with a fake mustache.

Meanwhile, as Lucy and her sister calmly quieted little frozen Elvis, an alternate outfit was fished out of one of the strollers. He gladly stripped off his chilly pink costume and shook lemonade out of his hair and boots before slipping into a pair of blue jeans, a striped t-shirt, and a tiny brown cowboy hat.

Lucy glanced across the madness and realized his outfit matched his cousin's, even down to the boots.

She felt a pang of jealousy. Always a middle child, she watched her little brother and older sister breed with rapidity and ease (with their respective spouses, of course), and yearned--no, longed--no, craved--children and a family of her own. How she wanted her own little cowboy dressed in triplicate.

Alas, no one noticed her. No one loved her except her family, because they had to. She want want wanted someone to love. She want want wanted someone to see her, to really see her.

All the time from its quietest, darkest, most glittery depths, her heart screamed like a little Who in Whoville: We are here!

We are here!

We are here!