Muddy remained silent.
“Why would he lie?” Margaret asked.
“I believe Hank is afraid that all I truly want is to hold his hand.” Muddy kept a perfectly straight face even though Hank’s was red._
“Do you think he’s afraid?” Margaret asked with enough exaggeration that Muddy wanted to congratulate her. He winked at her instead.
“I’m standing here, dammit. And I’m not afraid of a chump in purple pants.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Margaret appeared to be biting back a laugh. “Then just pretend you’re giving a handshake.”
After a few minutes of grousing and swearing, Hank stepped in front of the genie and stuck out his hand.
Muddy grabbed it. The devil in him wanted to tickle Hank’s palm, but he was afraid he might get punched. Instead, he donned an appropriately serious look. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
Hank scowled at all of them but especially at him.
“You want to say your last good-byes?” Margaret laughed a little as she bounced Annabelle on her hip.
“Cute, Smitty.”
“No last words, huh?” She had a wicked glint in her eye.
“Yeah, I have something to say. Tie that damn goat up while I’m gone.”
She looked at him, then at his backside. “Did the goat butt you again?”
Hank’s silence gave them the answer.
“Oh! I thought of a name!” Lydia said, showing the first bit of excitement anyone had seen. They turned and stared at her. “For the goat! We can call her Rebuttal!”
Margaret smiled at the little girl. “That’s a wonderful name.”
Lydia gave them her first smile, bright and filled with pride. And Muddy saw a look that was part happiness and part relief cross Margaret’s face.
“Let’s get this the hell over with,’ Hank groused. Muddy glanced at Margaret, and she rolled her eyes. He looked at Hank, who cringed slightly, then eyed him the way Paris should have eyed that Trojan horse.
“We must face the east,” Muddy told him in a very serious and deep monotone.
“It’s a good thing you’re not going, Smitty. You’d have a helluva time figuring out which way to turn.”
“That’s the east,” Margaret said, pointing north. Hank snorted and turned.
“May Allah bless this flight,” Muddy prayed aloud with what he thought was just the right touch of melodrama. Then he added in a stage whisper, “And please don’t let that most horrid... gory... and bloody of all accidents happenagain.”
Hank looked sick. His jaw tightened until he had a tick in his cheek. He glanced down at the ground and rubbed his forehead with his free hand.
Muddy cast a quick glance at Margaret and winked, then turned to Hank. “Okay.” He paused for a full minute. “Get ready.” He paused again.
Hank looked up, his expression that of a man on his way to the executioner.
Muddy held Hank’s hand firmly and warned, “Hang on...”
Hank’s eyes narrowed.
“. . . chump!”
And up they flew. Straight up.
