matter with you? Not that she needs to with that fine redheaded complexion she's got, but she always looks really pretty on Sundays when she brings Harley to church and when she goes down to see that artsy fella in the city and for the church socials and . . . well, for most special events."
They all looked at Rose. She could almost hear the gears in their heads grinding and screaming, metal against metal, as they tried to recall exactly what it was that was so special about that particular Wednesday. It was deafening.
"It's lipstick, for crying out loud!" she exclaimed, her hands palm up in front of her. "A little powdered blush. That's all." She pointed an accusing finger at Lu.
"She wears it all the time. And eye shadow too."
But you're not Lu was written all over their faces.
"It's nothing. A whim. Oh, you people are impossible. Think whatever you like," she said confidently, knowing that Gary wouldn't come until closing time and that her lipstick would be long gone by then. She took a clean red apron from the linen cupboard and snapped it smartly before tying it around her waist. Her arms akimbo, she addressed Lu in a businesslike fashion, "What's the dinner special?"
Strange. Fried chicken with potatoes and thick, sticky gravy, kernel corn, and biscuits seemed to appeal to almost everyone in town that night. Lucy left to close up the fabric shop and returned with Martin to have dinner at the diner. Danny O'Brian called his wife from the hardware store and said he'd treat her to a dinner out if she'd meet him at Lulu's about six-thirty. Some of the fishermen came straight from their boats at sundown, families in tow. Several lumberjacks, old buddies of Earl, moseyed in with their wives and children.
By eight Lu had called Harley and Earl on the phone and sent them after buckets of the Colonel's chicken in Arcata. And could they stop at Safeway for potato flakes and instant gravy? Maybe a few more cans of corn and those tubes of biscuits too? And be sure to come to the back door. . . .
Rose was too busy to be suspicious until she noticed that they were lingering over their desserts and she was pouring gallons of coffee by the cup. Why weren't they leaving? She looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. They closed at ten-thirty. Gary said he'd come late. If they didn't start leaving pretty soon, they'd all be there when he came and ...
Oh no. Instant headache.
She heard Lu chuckling in the-kitchen and looked up as she plopped a cherry atop a root beer float.
"What's so funny?" she asked, praying Gary wouldn't do anything stupid like . . . smile at her when he got there.
"I was just wondering if you were planning to wear lipstick again tomorrow. The special is liver and onions."
She gave her a torpid look.
"Why are they doing this to me?" she whispered miserably. "Don't they have televisions? Don't any of them collect stamps or go bowling or knit or have anything else more interesting to do than to watch me?"
"In a word, no,'' she said. The look on Rose's face tore at her heart, and she took mercy on her. "Look, honey, don't let it get to you. They love you."
"Right."
"They do. And you've been asking for this for . . . well, for at least the ten years I've known you."
"What are you talking about? Asking for what?"
She set the float on the counter and leaned into the window as for as she could. "I haven't done anything."
"My point exactly. Rosie, honey, you've been walking a very fine, very straight line for the past fifteen years. You've kept your nose too clean, your life too quiet. Too mistake-proof for too long. Gary's the first exciting thing that's happened to you since Harley was born. They just want to share it with you, is all."
"Is all?" She would have said more—something about the right to privacy and the unprincipled practices of small-town gossipmongers—but the bell over the front door jingled and she had a temporary heart attack.
Harley and Earl walked in, looking around the diner with great
They all looked at Rose. She could almost hear the gears in their heads grinding and screaming, metal against metal, as they tried to recall exactly what it was that was so special about that particular Wednesday. It was deafening.
"It's lipstick, for crying out loud!" she exclaimed, her hands palm up in front of her. "A little powdered blush. That's all." She pointed an accusing finger at Lu.
"She wears it all the time. And eye shadow too."
But you're not Lu was written all over their faces.
"It's nothing. A whim. Oh, you people are impossible. Think whatever you like," she said confidently, knowing that Gary wouldn't come until closing time and that her lipstick would be long gone by then. She took a clean red apron from the linen cupboard and snapped it smartly before tying it around her waist. Her arms akimbo, she addressed Lu in a businesslike fashion, "What's the dinner special?"
Strange. Fried chicken with potatoes and thick, sticky gravy, kernel corn, and biscuits seemed to appeal to almost everyone in town that night. Lucy left to close up the fabric shop and returned with Martin to have dinner at the diner. Danny O'Brian called his wife from the hardware store and said he'd treat her to a dinner out if she'd meet him at Lulu's about six-thirty. Some of the fishermen came straight from their boats at sundown, families in tow. Several lumberjacks, old buddies of Earl, moseyed in with their wives and children.
By eight Lu had called Harley and Earl on the phone and sent them after buckets of the Colonel's chicken in Arcata. And could they stop at Safeway for potato flakes and instant gravy? Maybe a few more cans of corn and those tubes of biscuits too? And be sure to come to the back door. . . .
Rose was too busy to be suspicious until she noticed that they were lingering over their desserts and she was pouring gallons of coffee by the cup. Why weren't they leaving? She looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. They closed at ten-thirty. Gary said he'd come late. If they didn't start leaving pretty soon, they'd all be there when he came and ...
Oh no. Instant headache.
She heard Lu chuckling in the-kitchen and looked up as she plopped a cherry atop a root beer float.
"What's so funny?" she asked, praying Gary wouldn't do anything stupid like . . . smile at her when he got there.
"I was just wondering if you were planning to wear lipstick again tomorrow. The special is liver and onions."
She gave her a torpid look.
"Why are they doing this to me?" she whispered miserably. "Don't they have televisions? Don't any of them collect stamps or go bowling or knit or have anything else more interesting to do than to watch me?"
"In a word, no,'' she said. The look on Rose's face tore at her heart, and she took mercy on her. "Look, honey, don't let it get to you. They love you."
"Right."
"They do. And you've been asking for this for . . . well, for at least the ten years I've known you."
"What are you talking about? Asking for what?"
She set the float on the counter and leaned into the window as for as she could. "I haven't done anything."
"My point exactly. Rosie, honey, you've been walking a very fine, very straight line for the past fifteen years. You've kept your nose too clean, your life too quiet. Too mistake-proof for too long. Gary's the first exciting thing that's happened to you since Harley was born. They just want to share it with you, is all."
"Is all?" She would have said more—something about the right to privacy and the unprincipled practices of small-town gossipmongers—but the bell over the front door jingled and she had a temporary heart attack.
Harley and Earl walked in, looking around the diner with great
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