Barry at first insisted that the whole business was too dangerous for Ellie but she said, "Look, Daddy, from what Faron's told me, it's going to be a whole lot more dangerous to just stay home and be a sitting duck. I'm your daughter and Faron's wife—how long do you think this bullshit, whatever it is, is going to leave me alone?" Faron looked down at the holes in his Nike Wannabes and said, "You know, El, it might not be a bad idea for you to stay here in case something happens to us. Then you could get word to other people—anybody who sings, anybody we know, just about. Tell them to lie low, be careful, don't gather together for a while." Ellie's dark eyes snapped and her chin, pointed as a cat's, jutted pugnaciously. "Mom and Dad can do that. I swear to God, if you're getting sexist on me after only two years of marriage, Faron Randolph, I'll . . ." "You'll need this," Molly said, unlocking the top drawer to her china hutch and taking out a small gun. "Thanks, Mama. At least somebody's practical around here." "You phone us if you find them, you hear, and if you don't, you phone to say you're okay anyhow." "Yes, Mama." "Wait just another ten minutes," Barry said.
