"Okay, that's it. Fourteen two-by-fours, seven sheets of T-111 siding, a box of ten-penny nails." Judd stuffed the scribbled paper in his shirt pocket. "Let's go."

S.T. climbed in the passenger seat, as June appeared around a curve of the road. He giggled and pounded his thighs excitedly.

"Swish," he said, voice rising, "Pretty!"

"Shhh." Judd looked up from the building diagram lying between them on the truck seat and caught June's eye.

"How ya' doin'?"

"Great! Just getting some exercise, fresh air."

"Beautiful day for it. You goin' to the Moose dance this Friday?"

"Yeah, probably. You?"

"Yeah. We'll be there."

"Ever see that band?"

"Uh-uh. Lucius said they're good tho. He heard 'em in Staunton last year."

"Country?"

"I reckon," Judd grinned. "They got a fiddle player."

June laughed. "That's country," she nodded. "See you there."

"Right." Judd started the pickup. "See you Friday."

"Uh-huh." June smiled, "See ya, Stop."

He smirked and rocked his head. "Pretty," S.T. resounded, rubbing his knees.

Judd gave him a stern glance. "How many two-by-fours do we need?"

S.T. scowled and concentrated on his fingers. "Eight," he ventured finally.

Judd pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket. "Fourteen."

S.T. turned his hands over and spread his fingers. "Fourteen."

Stretching to place Stop's right hand down, Judd bent the left thumb toward the palm of his friend's hand. "Fourteen," he said.

S.T. focused on his fingers. "Fourteen," he echoed, uncomprehending.

"Four," Judd explained, patiently. "One, two, three, four." He touched each of Stop's outstretched digits. "Plus," he added, turning Stop's right hand and tapping all of his fingers, "ten. Four plus ten is fourteen."

S.T. turned his hands, scratching his fingers on his thighs, and counted. "One, two, ten, eight," he said, "fourteen."

Judd turned his head toward the road, pulled into a break in the traffic from Plyder's afternoon shift change, and drove toward Watt's Hardware Store.

"How many boards do we need, Stop?" he asked, passing a gray sedan.

S.T. gazed at his fingers. "Fourteen boards," he said.

Judd smiled and pulled into Watt's parking lot. "Good for you, Stop. You can order for us today, all right?"

"Yeah."

"Fourteen boards, seven panels, a box of ten-penny nails," Judd reminded him.

"Fourteen boards," S.T. said. "Boards," he studied his fingers.

"I'll help you."

Compliant blue eyes turned toward him. "You'll help me," S.T. echoed.

S.T. grinned. He bent and straightened his knees, clapped his hands to the music. "Yeah."

"Do you mind if Billy drives you home tonight?"

S.T. shook his head, kept dancing. "Go home with Billy."

"Stop, quit dancing for a minute and look at me."

He stood still and fixed his attention on June's gray eyes and slender mouth.

"What do you do if the ceiling bell rings?"

"Go to Miss Felder's house."

"When?"

"Right away."

"Why?"

"Smoke."

"Will you answer the door if someone knocks?"

"Don't open the door."

"Is it locked?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Push the bolt."

"How far?"

"All the way."

"Are you going home with someone?"

S.T. frowned. "Billy. Going home with Billy."

June touched his cheek. "You're a good dancer, Stop." She smiled, as he began to rock and clap his hands again. "Have fun."

"He'll be all right." Judd put his arm around June's shoulder and steered her toward the door. "Thanks."

S.T. rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Waiting for you."

"You slept here?" Judd asked, eying the pile of muck and leaves.

"Yeah, slept here."

"You slept here all night?"

"Yeah."

"Billy didn't take you home?"

S.T. stood up. "Billy took me home."

"Then what?"

"Walked."

Judd stared, saw the mile or so between his house and June's, Stop crossing streets in the dark, in the middle of the night.

"No one offered you a ride?"

He glinted down, shook his head.

"You stayed against the bushes?"

S.T. nodded.

"Hid if car lights came?"

He concentrated on his feet.

"Yes?"

"Yeah."

Judd sighed. "Come on. You need to get dry clothes on." He put a guiding hand on Stop's shoulder. "Let's go home."

Judd shut off the power jigsaw and turned slowly toward her living room.

"All right," he exhaled, sitting on a chair opposite her and leaning forward, hands clasped together. "What is it?"

"I can't stay here any longer."

"What are you talking about? Why not?" Judd demanded.

"There's nothing here for me."

"You're crazy. You've got a good job. Friends."

"It's not what I want."

"You don't want friends and a good job," Judd asked stubbornly.

June laughed despite herself. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

"It's a good place."

"Not for me."

Judd glared into his fists, opening and closing them. "Where are you going?"

"Back to Houston."

"Move someplace closer."

"No." June paused. "Come with me."

Judd gazed thoughtfully into the street, watched cars passing by. "Stop," he said.

"That wouldn't work."

"No." Judd got up and walked to the kitchen sink, ran water into a small glass. "He wouldn't make it in the city anyway." Judd lifted the cup, kept his back to her.

"You could board him at Ruth's group home. They're good people. They'd take care of him." She knew the answer.

"No."

"He'll end up there, or someplace like it, eventually. Someday. At least, this way you'd choose. You could keep track of him. Check on him."

"No."

"Why not?" she asked, exasperated. "Have a life of your own."

"I do have a life of my own," Judd turned to her. "And Stop has a life of his own."

"You don't."

"I do."

"You're not free."

"No one's free."

"I am."

Judd looked at her hard. "Are you?"

"Yes." Light flared in her eyes.

"Okay." Judd swung around toward the porch and jigsaw. "We'll see."

S.T. studied them carefully. "Four," he said, questioning.

"Forty's too many to fit on a cake," Judd grinned. "Or to blow out."

"Yeah," S.T. reflected. "Too many to blow out. Wouldn't get my wish."

"No," Judd agreed, cutting a large slice and placing it on a plate. "You wouldn't get your wish."

"What did you wish for, Stop?"

"I wished you'd live with us."

"I can't." June laughed and reached up to run her fingers against the lay of his hair. "I have a home of my own."

"A home here of your own."

"No," June replied, shaking her head. "Not here."

S.T. frowned, dipped a forefinger into the icing. "Not here," he repeated and bent toward his birthday treat.