Big Cherry Holler - Adriana Trigiani [58]
“Why?”
“Because he’s a good man. And he’s gonna try to do the right thing. Now, I ain’t sayin’ he’s a saint. But he’s gonna wrassle right good with it before he gives in.”
“You think so?”
“I know it.”
I know I should thank Iva Lou for helping me see what I should already know. But I’m not feeling much gratitude at this moment. I feel the gloom and despair of all women who have found themselves in my position, the terrible place of not knowing yet knowing all. The tricky thing is staying in the middle. I wonder if I can pull this off. I’m not going to hand over my husband like a covered dish at a church supper. If she’s going to take Jack, it will be only because I let her. I guess I will find out what sort of a fighter I am. I twist my wedding band around on my finger; it feels loose. “The world’s tiniest handcuff,” Lyle Makin called it once. I think he was right.
CHAPTER SIX
One thing is for sure in a small town: if you’re the toast of the town today, tomorrow you’re bread crumbs. And if there are rumors that your husband is having an affair, if you wait long enough, somebody will top it with a bigger story. I’d like to thank Tozz Ball for having a second wife and family down in Middlesboro, Kentucky, and coming clean to his first family here in the Gap during a Sunday Revival at the Methodist Church. Tozz is now the headliner; I am happy to be bird feed.
Jack Mac and I talked about the rumors, in our way. I never directly named anyone (Karen), and he never admitted to anything (Karen). He told me that kind of talk comes with the territory; he works with women now, and people will talk. I told him that I understood, but I didn’t want him to give anyone reason to talk, either.
I don’t know if I’m getting better at following Iva Lou’s instructions or if it’s plain old fear that’s helped me stick with my plan to be the perfect wife. I have been a joy to live with all spring: Upbeat, Warm and Tender, Uncomplicated, and Loving. I am no trouble at all. You could press me in dough and make sugar cookies out of me, I’ve been so sweet. I’m sure Etta wonders where my temper and occasional blue moods went this spring, but if she thinks about it much, she doesn’t mention it.
It’s the last week of April, which means that my wedding anniversary is coming up. April 29 will mark eight years of married life. On our first anniversary, Jack asked me what I wanted; of course, I wanted our baby to be healthy, and she was. But he wanted to buy me something. So I asked him for a book; not a book with a particular story, but one of those empty books with blank pages. He went over the mall and got me a pretty blue velvet journal and wrapped it up. When I opened it, I thanked him and then I gave it back to him. He looked confused and I told him that there was a second part to the gift. I wanted him to write me a letter every year on our anniversary, and I would write one to him, so that someday we could look back and see what we were. Now, Jack is not a writer, and neither am I, but I felt even a man of few words could come up with a page of something once a year. And he has. There are times during the year when I forget about the book, and right around our anniversary, Jack and I do this funny teasing dance with each other about writing in it; we pretend squabble and he acts like I’m asking him to yank a tooth, but we’ve written to each other every year, without fail.
The book has come in handy lately because I’ve needed reassurance. I wanted proof somehow that I didn’t dream all of this, my great fortune at falling in love with a good person and having two beautiful children with him. I am trying to hang on, so I need to know why I should. I’m a woman of instinct, and my instinct keeps telling me that there’s trouble ahead. I play out the scenarios in my mind: all the horrible ones, like the day he packs his clothes to go, the morning I get the divorce papers, and the day he remarries and I’m alone again. I know it’s crazy, but these are crazy times around here.
The last few years have been so hard, we’ve written very