Harvest of Holidays by Tracy Cooper-Posey Page A

one herself, but on her the dark green looked lush and enticing. On their neighbor, the fabric was stretched across enormous breasts and hips in a way that was gruesomely fascinating.
    “Hello, Mrs. Washinsky,” Carson said, keeping any hint of impatience out of his voice. “I’ve turned the music down.” The heat wasn’t doing his head any good at all. It felt like it was getting up around eighty degrees already. It was going to be a scorching day.
    “About time, too. It’s eight o’clock in the morning, Mr. Connors, and that rock and roll nonsense has been playing all night!”
    He stopped himself from pointing out the damned obvious, that it had been Mozart he had just halted mid-track. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you.” The words, the sociability, came automatically. People in his line of work needed to blend in, to look normal, even though normal was a long cry from the world they lived in. “We were celebrating. My wife got a promotion.” It wasn’t really a lie. If there had been a way to give Tally a promotion for bringing down Ingong, they would have slapped it on her, last night. “It might have got a bit out of hand…but it is the fourth, today.”
    Mrs. Washinsky huffed, her little brown eyes in the fat dough of her face squeezing almost closed with suspicion. “Are you celebrating Independence Day, too?”
    Carson held up his hand. “I promise, we’ll be nice and quiet for the rest of the day.”
    “Is my husband being a pain, Mrs. Washinsky?” Tally said from just behind him. Carson let out a mental sigh of relief. Mrs. Washinsky liked Tally. Everyone liked Tally. She drew admiration and affection like a magnet drew iron filings. It had always fascinated Carson the way she could walk into a room and without saying a word have people gravitate around her, but now he was just relieved because it took the burden of calming their neighbor away from him. He really wanted to go lie down again. For about a century. His head was splitting.
    Tally’s hand pressed on his shoulder and he made room for her on the step and glanced at her.
    She was wearing a long, flowing something or other that was made of some lightweight fly away material that looked like a million dollars on her. It was an icy green color that made the most of her eyes. Even after six years of marriage, just looking at her could make his heart slip a beat and give him that same socked-in-the-chest sensation he’d got the first time he saw her.
    Tally gave Mrs. Washinsky a big smile, her eyes glowing with warmth. “I’m afraid we’ve disturbed your morning. I’m so sorry. It was very inconsiderate of us.”
    Mrs. Washinsky tilted her head to look up at Tally. “Good morning, Mrs. Connors. I can see you most thoroughly celebrated your promotion last night.”
    Tally didn’t blink. “We did, indeed,” she said with a smile. “By the way, I have a basket of apples for you, straight off our crab apple tree. They’re the first of the season.”
    “And early, too,” Mrs. Washinsky agreed. “Really, that is very generous of you.”
    “I’ll bring them over as soon as I’m dressed,” Tally told her. “Perhaps you’ll excuse us? We need to eat breakfast. We’re both working today.”
    “You work too hard, dear,” Mrs. Washinsky said. “It’s not Christian to work on the Fourth of July.”
    “But who would serve you at the ice-cream parlor if we all got the day off? Besides, I’m glad of the extra money.” Tally was telling the truth. Money was always a concern and they were always scrambling to cover the bills.
    Mollified, Mrs. Washinsky stepped down off the bottom step. She glanced at Carson. “You really need to grow up, young man, and take care of your wife properly.” Then she waved goodbye and went back into her own little house, walking past the plastic wishing well in her front yard and a cement stork with its one wire leg buried in the earth next to the front step.
    Carson and Tally watched until she had