edges like curls, and strong black veins in the trunks and branches of the mighty pine trees. I am so small here.
There’s a stump from an old weeping cherry tree in the back field that overlooks the side of Powell Mountain. When I sit on it, I’m nearly on the edge of our cliff, which gives way to a ravine and then the valley below. It’s a wild, dark tangle of shrubs and branches and overgrown footpaths. When I first lived here, it scared me to come out back alone. But as time passed, I became less afraid and began to explore the MacChesney woods. I’m not afraid of falling off mountains anymore (at least when I’m on foot). And something about these old hills reassures me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting; it must be a while, because my hands are freezing. I hear the hum of motors starting in the field out in front. Jack’s meeting must be over. I don’t know why, but the sound fills me with dread. I feel a big argument coming on with my husband, and I don’t have the energy to fight. I go inside and up to Etta’s room. She finishes the second chapter of
Heidi
, reaches upto turn out her light, and dutifully lays her head on her pillow. There is a catch to her breathing—her nose is stuffed up, probably from the first cold spell of the season. I have to remember to give her something for that tomorrow. I give her a kiss and tuck her in.
Instead of going to the living room to collect beer bottles (great), I go to the sun porch and fold a load of laundry. When I’m done, I straighten up the rest of the kitchen and look in the refrigerator, making a mental note that we’re low on lettuce. Enough procrastinating. The men left over half an hour ago, and the house is quiet. Time to go to bed. The light on the nightstand sends a warm glow up the walls of our room across from the kitchen. On the surface, everything seems safe, normal. I walk around the bed and see that the bathroom door is open, but I don’t see Jack.
Shoo the Cat is asleep on the bench in the hallway in an empty box Etta uses for Barbie school. I look out the window. Jack’s truck is there. Good. He didn’t go out with the boys. I go to lock the front door, and through the small pane, I see him sitting on the porch steps, leaning back on his elbows. His legs drape down the stairs and are crossed at the ankle.
“I’m locking up.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s chilly out there.”
“I like it.”
I almost turn to go to bed, but something tells me to go to Jack. So I go out onto the porch and sit down next to him. He doesn’t make any room for me on the stairs.
“I’m sorry about before. I’m just tired,” I tell him.
“That’s no excuse.”
“Yes, it is. When people are tired, they get a little testy.”
“You’re more than testy.”
“Not really.”
“I’m not going to fight with you,” Jack says plainly.
“I don’t want to fight either.” And I mean it. I hate fighting. “Jack.Please. What’s wrong?” My husband does not answer, but this is typical. I have to pull everything out of him, especially his feelings. “Just say it. Come on.”
“Why haven’t you talked to me about the mines closing?” Jack says quietly.
“We talked about it. Honey. We knew this was coming.”
“Yeah. We did, didn’t we.”
“What does that mean?”
“You act like it’s my fault. Like I wanted, after twenty-two years, to be out of a job, out of the only trade I’ve ever known.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Damn right it isn’t.”
“What good is that going to do? To be angry? It won’t make Westmoreland reconsider. We have to face this.”
“We? You’re the one who hasn’t faced this.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think that the solution to this problem is to take care of it yourself.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything. You don’t believe in me. I need your support.”
Oh my God, he thinks that I don’t support him? That I didn’t admire him every day for
There’s a stump from an old weeping cherry tree in the back field that overlooks the side of Powell Mountain. When I sit on it, I’m nearly on the edge of our cliff, which gives way to a ravine and then the valley below. It’s a wild, dark tangle of shrubs and branches and overgrown footpaths. When I first lived here, it scared me to come out back alone. But as time passed, I became less afraid and began to explore the MacChesney woods. I’m not afraid of falling off mountains anymore (at least when I’m on foot). And something about these old hills reassures me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting; it must be a while, because my hands are freezing. I hear the hum of motors starting in the field out in front. Jack’s meeting must be over. I don’t know why, but the sound fills me with dread. I feel a big argument coming on with my husband, and I don’t have the energy to fight. I go inside and up to Etta’s room. She finishes the second chapter of
Heidi
, reaches upto turn out her light, and dutifully lays her head on her pillow. There is a catch to her breathing—her nose is stuffed up, probably from the first cold spell of the season. I have to remember to give her something for that tomorrow. I give her a kiss and tuck her in.
Instead of going to the living room to collect beer bottles (great), I go to the sun porch and fold a load of laundry. When I’m done, I straighten up the rest of the kitchen and look in the refrigerator, making a mental note that we’re low on lettuce. Enough procrastinating. The men left over half an hour ago, and the house is quiet. Time to go to bed. The light on the nightstand sends a warm glow up the walls of our room across from the kitchen. On the surface, everything seems safe, normal. I walk around the bed and see that the bathroom door is open, but I don’t see Jack.
Shoo the Cat is asleep on the bench in the hallway in an empty box Etta uses for Barbie school. I look out the window. Jack’s truck is there. Good. He didn’t go out with the boys. I go to lock the front door, and through the small pane, I see him sitting on the porch steps, leaning back on his elbows. His legs drape down the stairs and are crossed at the ankle.
“I’m locking up.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s chilly out there.”
“I like it.”
I almost turn to go to bed, but something tells me to go to Jack. So I go out onto the porch and sit down next to him. He doesn’t make any room for me on the stairs.
“I’m sorry about before. I’m just tired,” I tell him.
“That’s no excuse.”
“Yes, it is. When people are tired, they get a little testy.”
“You’re more than testy.”
“Not really.”
“I’m not going to fight with you,” Jack says plainly.
“I don’t want to fight either.” And I mean it. I hate fighting. “Jack.Please. What’s wrong?” My husband does not answer, but this is typical. I have to pull everything out of him, especially his feelings. “Just say it. Come on.”
“Why haven’t you talked to me about the mines closing?” Jack says quietly.
“We talked about it. Honey. We knew this was coming.”
“Yeah. We did, didn’t we.”
“What does that mean?”
“You act like it’s my fault. Like I wanted, after twenty-two years, to be out of a job, out of the only trade I’ve ever known.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Damn right it isn’t.”
“What good is that going to do? To be angry? It won’t make Westmoreland reconsider. We have to face this.”
“We? You’re the one who hasn’t faced this.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think that the solution to this problem is to take care of it yourself.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything. You don’t believe in me. I need your support.”
Oh my God, he thinks that I don’t support him? That I didn’t admire him every day for
Similar Books
