Big Cherry Holler by Adriana Trigiani Page B

fold into each other naturally, but it isn’t like any time we’ve made love before. We laugh as we go for each other’s buttons, zippers, lips. He shushes me, tells me not to wake Etta, then kisses my laughter away. What wonderful thing is happening? How can it be so different this time? It’s romantic, yes, and a little daring (we’re outside, for Godsakes), but this feels like it used to, when we were first in love. Why did that go away, and why didn’t I know how to get it back? We talk too much or too little and show our love so rarely. We need to show each other more. Why do I forget this simple truth when I’m tired from work or caught up with Etta? This is the center of everything, this love right here. Without it,we’re nothing but an old boardinghouse in Cracker’s Neck Holler with Etta, the ghosts of those who are gone, and a box of problems. We’re more than our problems, aren’t we? As my husband kisses me, I am reminded of why he chose me, and how we must always come back to that, even when we’ve disappointed each other. Especially then. He holds me tenderly, and a night breeze settles over us. I shiver.
    “Let’s go inside, honey,” he whispers.
    “I love you, you know,” I tell him.
    “I know.” He kisses me again.
    In the warmth of our bed, Jack holds me closely as he hasn’t done in a long time. We’re united again under these old quilts, and I like the feeling.
    “Honey?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Spec asked me if I could come back on the Rescue Squad a few days a month. What do you think?”
    “I told him I thought it was fine.”
    I sit up in bed. “He asked
you
?”
    “Spec’s old-school. He does the right thing and checks with the husband before he goes to the wife.”
    Before I can object, Jack begins to laugh. I take my pillow and beat him with it. Jack grabs the pillow, and then me.
    “You got a problem? Take it up with Spec.” My husband smiles and kisses me.
    A square of homemade fudge topped with snowy mini-marshmallows and crunchy pecans is wrapped neatly in wax paper and waiting for me on my counter. I need the sugar this morning. (I forgot how much energy the love department requires; it’s like starting Jazzercise after a long hiatus.)
    “Hey, thanks for the surprise,” I tell Fleeta as she squirts a big blobof hand cream onto her forearm from the Estée Lauder display. (Never mind that the tube is not a sample.)
    “I’m just a big ole sweetheart, ain’t I?” Fleeta looks at me over her glasses and rubs her wrists together. “Nobody’ll miss it.” She puts the tube of hand cream back on the shelf. “What are you smilin’ about?” she asks suspiciously.
    “Nothin’,” I tell her and shrug.
    Pearl walks in carrying two big bags from the hardware store.
    “What’s that?” Fleeta asks Pearl.
    “Contact Paper for the shelves in the fountain.” Pearl goes to the back of the store.
    “I ain’t helping ye with nothin’ back ’ere,” Fleeta calls after her.
    “Not a problem, Fleets,” Pearl hollers back.
    I grab a pair of scissors and join Pearl in the Soda Fountain.
    “Pearl, I need a favor.”
    “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