A slowly spreading grin worked its way through the sun-parched wrinkles around Hawkins' face. "Don't worry, honey. We'll have plenty for you to do soon enough. Hey, you sure you don't want a drink? I know one special I bet you'd like."
"Well, maybe just one. But I can't drink anything real strong. You'll have to make it kinda' weak for me or I'll get sick."
Henry Hawkins guffawed, reminding Sarah of some grizzled miner she'd once seen in an old Bogart movie, but she couldn't remember the name. "You break me up, girl! You're kinda' refreshing, like a breath of spring air around this bunch of drunks and dee-gen-erates. Don't worry, I'll fix you a special…"
CHAPTER FOUR
Sarah knew even before that first mouthful had started a gentle glow in her belly that taking a drink at all was a terrible mistake. Jamie had told her once when they were going to a party that she should be doubly careful since she wasn't used to drinking and, unlike the more experienced, could not tell when she had had enough until it was too late.
This stuff tasted good enough – a "Cuba Libre" he called it, whatever that meant – in fact, it was hard to taste anything other than the Coke he made it with. She didn't know what else was in it, except for the slice of lemon she could see floating on top, because he had gone over to Gloria's trailer. "Don't have the mixin's here," he had explained.
"Well, how do you like it?" he asked, her, his head cocked sort of apprehensively.
"Okay… it's sort of like a Coca-Cola with something warm in it, but the Coke's all I can really taste."