Big Cherry Holler - Adriana Trigiani [21]
“Sure.”
“I hate to ask, and I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”
“Ave, come on. What do you need?”
“I need to work more hours.”
Pearl looks at me oddly at first; it is still hard for her to be my employer. “No problem.”
“Are you sure? You’ve got the expense of this new venture back here, and I don’t want to strap you.”
“Are you kidding? I need you.”
“Great.” I turn to go back to my post.
“Ave Maria?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something I want to tell you. And it’s still real new, so I can’t say too much. I’m … I’m seeing someone.”
“A man?”
Pearl nods.
“Romantically?”
Pearl nods again, and this time she smiles.
“Good for you! Who is he?”
“I don’t want to say yet. In case it doesn’t work out.”
“Okay.”
“I like him a lot.”
“That’s great!”
“You know I’m sort of a late bloomer. So I’m a little nervous. You know.” Pearl looks at me. I spent fifteen years in this town without a boyfriend. I know all about late blooming. I was alone so long, there are still times when I forget I’m part of a couple.
“Take your time. And don’t agonize.”
Pearl laughs. “I’m having too much fun to agonize.”
“Good girl.”
“Ave Maria! Pat Bean needs her ’scription! She ain’t got all damn day!” Fleeta shouts from the register. (So much for the soothing shopping atmosphere at the Mutual Pharmacy.)
“I’m on my way,” I yell back to Fleeta.
“Hey, Ave. Thanks,” Pearl says, and her face flushes to a soft pink.
Pearl Grimes in love? Things around here are changing fast. I wonder if I can keep up.
The Halloween Carnival at Big Stone Gap Elementary is sold out. Nellie Goodloe thought it would be fun to host an all-county carnival to raise money for the John Fox, Jr., Foundation, which funds the Outdoor Drama. “Nellie has a flair,” I keep hearing over and over as I walk through the spectacular decorations. White ghosts with black button eyes line the rail of the balcony overhead; the basketball backboards are big black cauldrons; a family of black paper bats flies over the bleachers. Nellie banked the entire ceiling in a spiderweb made of thick rope. In the center, she attached a giant papier-mâché spider that dangles down like a creepy chandelier. How does she do it?
The admissions table is loaded with straw and jack-o’-lanterns of all sizes; the ladies of the June Tolliver Guild are dressed as witches. The Foxes, who hand out programs at the Outdoor Drama, are also dressed as witches, but instead of billowing black robes, they wear short skirts (to show off their fishnet stockings, I’m sure).
Nellie hauled the oil painting of Big Stone Gap’s most famous resident, John Fox, Jr., the author of The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, over here from the museum. Fleeta thinks Nellie has a crush on him, even though he’s been dead since 1940-something. “Whenever she throws a shindig, she drags his mug out,” Fleeta complains. Mr. Fox’s oil portrait is eerily perfect for Halloween: he sits in profile in a dark wood study; on his long, pointed nose sits a pair of granny glasses. Come to think of it, he looks like a male Whistler’s Mother. Nellie has draped fake white cobwebs on him. He fits right in.
Local merchants and the PTA provide the booths. Nellie is raffling off six free car washes (with wax) at Gilliam’s Car Wash and a month of free dry cleaning at the Magic Mart. The money raised will go toward new streetlights in town (Nellie wants the old-fashioned-lantern look). There’s a cakewalk and a costume pageant. Etta is not particular about her costume. Every year she goes as a skeleton, wearing a black jumpsuit with silver bones and a skull mask. She loves games of chance; she has spent the better part of the evening shooting at ducks on a spinning wheel.
Etta runs up to me with a glossy caramel apple covered in orange sprinkles. “Mama, will you put this in your purse for later? We need to cut it.”
“This is the biggest apple I’ve ever seen,” I tell my daughter. She hands me two pretty china saucers she won in the penny toss. When I ask her where the matching teacups are, she says, “I missed.”
Etta’s pals—Tammy Pleasant, a tiny, wiry blonde in constant