Big Cherry Holler - Adriana Trigiani [120]
After what seems like a much longer time than my reading took, Iva Lou emerges from the tent, fishing in her purse for a cigarette.
“So?”
“Oh, honey, I’ve never heard such good news. Sister Claire was chock-full of all kinds of information, I just hope I can remember it all so I can write it down.”
“What did she say?”
“That I’m an eagle.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Absolutely. I’m regal and self-possessed and all that. But of course, tell me something I didn’t already know for fifteen bucks. How about you?”
“Mama and Joe came to me.”
“What did they say?”
“They didn’t say anything. But it’s okay. They showed up; that’s all I needed.”
Iva Lou gives me a quick hug as we head back into the lights and the noise, but I don’t see them or hear it. My mind is in that house with many rooms.
I tuck Etta into bed. She wants to read one more chapter of Harriet the Spy, but I won’t let her. Etta is fascinated with the story of Harriet, an eleven-year-old girl who doesn’t play with dolls, but has a notebook and goes around the elegant Upper East Side of Manhattan spying on her neighbors and recording their activities. Etta is tired, with dark circles under her eyes. I think this is her third time reading about Harriet’s escapades.
“Mama, someday can we go to New York City?”
“Sure.”
“I think I’d like it.”
“Okay.” I kiss Etta and walk to the door. I turn out the light. I’m already in the hallway when I hear her voice softly call out to me.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“Am I pretty?”
“Yes, you are.”
“How do they decide who’s pretty?”
“Who?”
“People. You know, it’s like the group knows who’s pretty and then they treat that person like they’re the prettiest and that person always knows it.”
“I don’t know, Etta. I’ve never figured it out.”
“I mean, sometimes I can see it. But sometimes I don’t think the prettiest girl is the pretty one.”
“You’re pretty,” I tell her plainly and sincerely.
“Okay.” Etta says this in a tone that says You’ve got to be kidding.
I wait for Etta to say something else, but she doesn’t; she rolls over to sleep.
Jack is in the kitchen making coffee to have with the cherry pie we bought at the fair.
“That was weird.”
“What?”
“Etta asked me if I thought she was pretty. Doesn’t she know I think she’s pretty?”
“I guess not.”
“Don’t I tell her?”
“I don’t think you do. You tell her she’s smart and a good reader and capable and all that, but you don’t heap a lot of compliments on her in other ways.”
“God, isn’t it more important to be smart?”
“Sure. But she’s a girl, Ave. A girl.”
“I’ll tell her she’s pretty more often.” I hear my tone and realize I sound defensive.
“I don’t think it’s anything you’re doing wrong. I just think Etta’s entering a new phase. Misty Lassiter told her group about sex tonight.”
“What?”
“Yeah. She decided to drop the bomb.”
“Oh my God. Where did Misty get her information?”
“She’s two years ahead of Etta in school, and you know, she’s like her mother.”
Misty Lassiter is the daughter of Tayloe Slagle Lassiter, Big Stone Gap’s most beautiful homegrown girl. I see Misty when I pick up Etta at school. She’s The Willowy One, taller than her classmates, the leader, with blond hair in perfect yellow ropes tied with ribbons that don’t look cutesy, but sophisticated. Back when I directed the Outdoor Drama, I cast her mother, Tayloe, in the ingénue lead when she was just fifteen. She wasn’t a great actress, but it didn’t matter; you wanted to watch her, her delicate features, long limbs, and those eyes, so blue, heavy-lidded, and clear. She was so beautiful, you thought she knew the secret to