Big Cherry Holler - Adriana Trigiani [36]
“Musical.”
“Musical. Play. What’s the goddamned difference?”
“Why are you yelling at me?” I’m yelling at him.
“It’s all over town that Pearl made you her partner.”
“What?” For a moment, I forget time and place. I was so happy to come home, I forgot all about last Friday, all about the deal and the papers.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wait a second. I was going to tell you Friday night, but you had my trip planned. There wasn’t time.”
“You could’ve told me before you left. There is no excuse for this. None.”
“Jack. This is ridiculous.”
“You know, the things you think are ridiculous, I think are important. That, right there, is the problem with us.” Jack throws my duffel bag in the back of the truck. If I weren’t so angry, I’d be laughing. The word “problem”—that’s my word, he never used that before. Men don’t use that word about their relationships, they use it for cars that won’t start or appliances that break down.
“Don’t throw my things!” I holler, sounding about five years old.
“Get in the truck.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
“I’d like to find the person who tells you what to do and you do it. I’d like to meet him and shake his hand.”
“What’s the matter with you? I can’t do anything right. I only agreed to partner with Pearl so you could be free to go off and be a construction worker, own your own business. I thought if I could take some of the burden off of you financially, you would be free to pursue your dream.”
“You kill me.”
“What?”
“Since when do you care about my dreams?”
I don’t say a word. I get in the truck. He jumps into his seat and faces me. “You don’t think I can take care of us. You don’t believe I can make a go of the business, so you go behind my back and cut a deal so you’d feel secure.”
“That is not true! I am not thinking about me. I’m thinking of Etta. Okay? If that makes me a bad person, then I’m a bad person!”
“You don’t trust me. If you trusted me, you would have come home and discussed it with me. And we would have made a decision together. One that was best for our family. Instead, I hear about it all over town. Folks think it’s pretty funny that I need a woman to take care of me, so I can have a hobby as a fix-it man.” Jack leans back in the seat, defeated. I can’t bear to see him own this like it’s true.
“I never said you were a fix-it man. Who cares what people think anyway?”
Jack doesn’t answer me; he just starts the truck and drives fast, back up into the holler. He pulls up next to the house. I jump out of the truck and pull my duffel bag out of the bed. I don’t look back. I climb the steps, and Etta meets me at the door. She is happy and shows me the program from Fiddler on the Roof. I hear the gravel spit out under the tires as the truck bounces back down the mountain.
“Where’s Daddy going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he mad?”
“I think so.”
“Did I do something?” Etta’s brow wrinkles with worry.
“No, you didn’t. Daddy is under a lot of pressure. That’s all.”
I divert her attention with all the goodies from Uncle Theodore. Etta pulls apart the origami kit. We sit on the floor and make shapes with the delicate rice paper. I have to use both of my hands to hold the directions, I am shaking so. The rice paper is so thin, so delicate, I’m afraid I’ll tear it. “Here, Mommy, let me.” Etta takes the paper and lays them out on the floor in front of us.
I give Etta a snack and tuck her into bed. I check the clock; it’s almost nine, and Jack is still not home. I made up an excuse for Etta, but the kid is smart. She knows. I switch on the nightlight in the hallway and turn to go downstairs, but instead, I go into Joe’s old bedroom. We converted it into a playroom for Etta a couple of years ago. I turned his twin bed into a daybed, with a red corduroy cover; now it looks more like a couch. Etta has set up a blackboard and chairs. I go over to the daybed and lie down.
For the first few months after Joe died, I would go to bed with my husband, wait until he was asleep, and then get up. I’d wander through the house, then eventually I’d come up