“The isolation—” I was starting to say. “You like it or you don’t,” Laurie said. “Callie, our daughter, is a fourth-generation Nevadan. That’s something in a state where most people are from somewhere else. I wanted to have the baby on the pool table, but nobody would listen. So we had to make a ninety-mile-an-hour drive to Reno at three in the morning. God, what a ride!” “On the pool table?” “I don’t think anyone’s ever been born in Frenchman in a hundred and thirty-five years.” “A pool table on a bombing range?” “It would have been something for her to remember.”
