Women on the Edge of a Nervous Breakthrough by Isabel Sharpe Page A
Authors: Isabel Sharpe
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her lap and looked at Vivian with a Jesus -clock expression. "Book of Peter, chapter three, verse sixteen."
For the first time since her not -guilty verdict was announced, Vivian found herself speechless.
"I might want one." Erin nodded too many times, gazing at Vivian. "I would want one."
"Be serious. You don't want one." Her mother-in-law snapped the words out and Erin deflated like a Whoopie cushion, though thankfully in silence.
Speech returned, and with it a strange protectiveness for weird little Erin. "I'm sorry, Joan, you've decided she doesn't want one?"
"What would be the point?"
"Ah, the point. Let's think about that one." Vivian gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Maybe . . . gee, I don't know, to look better? Feel better?"
Joan blew a short raspberry. "She'd have no use for it."
Vivian smiled sweetly. "And you know this because . . ."
"Joe wouldn't stand for it."
Erin's body jerked. Too much silence filled the room. Bad
silence. Choking silence. Vivian pictured this Joe person, ultra -conservative, smothering, preaching hellfire and brimstone, forbidding his wife to wear makeup or bright colors.
Then another picture supplanted it, like the next in a mental slide show. Joe. At the bar last night. The huge, creepy, lecherous guy. Was he married to this little rag doll? No wonder he was chatting Vivian up last night. Big animal guys always married wimps so they could stay boss, and then were dissatisfi ed with the lack of challenge.
Duh.
Fine. To hell with it. To hell with all of it. What had she been thinking? That she could take on a town like this and make even the barest dent? She could come up with the mother of all fund -raising ideas, and still no one would give her or her ideas credence.
She had better things to do than worry about Kettle's social life. Someday she might even fi gure out what they were.
"Well, I guess we're back to the original idea, then. Sarah?" She managed a conciliatory smile and gracious gesture at the now -victorious Queen. "Please tell us more about the pumpkins."
Eight
Excerpt from Sarah's diary
Sixth grade
Dear Diary,
I overheard Mom and Dad talking. This girl at school, Erin, her mother left. Erin came home from school and there was a note and her mom was gone. Can you believe that? Mom said Erin's father was violent. When I'm a mom I'll be good to my kids all the time. I bet Erin is sad. One time she showed up for school with a black eye. She said she fell, but maybe her father hit her. Maybe that's why she's so weird. I should be nicer to her.
Today Mrs. Jantzen asked what we wanted to accomplish in life. A lot of girls just wanted a husband and kids. Not me. I'm going to be famous for something important, like curing cancer or being the fi rst woman president or a prima ballerina. No way will I be a housewife like my mom or Erin's mom, and just fuss with furniture and gossip on the phone, or get hit so much I'd have to leave. Ugh.
Sarah
Sarah drove her 2001 Ford Windstar up their long, paved driveway. She'd chosen red for the car, since red was such a bright and cheery color, especially in winter when Wisconsin tended to fade to gray. Usually that didn't bother her, but for some reason this year the upcoming months of bare branches and cold loomed rather oppressively. Silly. Not like her to let things she couldn't control bother her. Generally she was one to roll with the seasons, and the punches.
And speaking of punches, what a dreadful meeting this morning. That Vivian person had done her best to ruin not only the meeting, but also the party they were planning, which was going to be terrific. This afternoon Sarah would call area hospitals to fi nd the child her pumpkins could help.
How Vivian thought she could raise so much money offering makeovers . . . Well, Sarah could only guess that Vivian had no idea people in Kettle didn't want to look like trash. Someone like
For the first time since her not -guilty verdict was announced, Vivian found herself speechless.
"I might want one." Erin nodded too many times, gazing at Vivian. "I would want one."
"Be serious. You don't want one." Her mother-in-law snapped the words out and Erin deflated like a Whoopie cushion, though thankfully in silence.
Speech returned, and with it a strange protectiveness for weird little Erin. "I'm sorry, Joan, you've decided she doesn't want one?"
"What would be the point?"
"Ah, the point. Let's think about that one." Vivian gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Maybe . . . gee, I don't know, to look better? Feel better?"
Joan blew a short raspberry. "She'd have no use for it."
Vivian smiled sweetly. "And you know this because . . ."
"Joe wouldn't stand for it."
Erin's body jerked. Too much silence filled the room. Bad
silence. Choking silence. Vivian pictured this Joe person, ultra -conservative, smothering, preaching hellfire and brimstone, forbidding his wife to wear makeup or bright colors.
Then another picture supplanted it, like the next in a mental slide show. Joe. At the bar last night. The huge, creepy, lecherous guy. Was he married to this little rag doll? No wonder he was chatting Vivian up last night. Big animal guys always married wimps so they could stay boss, and then were dissatisfi ed with the lack of challenge.
Duh.
Fine. To hell with it. To hell with all of it. What had she been thinking? That she could take on a town like this and make even the barest dent? She could come up with the mother of all fund -raising ideas, and still no one would give her or her ideas credence.
She had better things to do than worry about Kettle's social life. Someday she might even fi gure out what they were.
"Well, I guess we're back to the original idea, then. Sarah?" She managed a conciliatory smile and gracious gesture at the now -victorious Queen. "Please tell us more about the pumpkins."
Eight
Excerpt from Sarah's diary
Sixth grade
Dear Diary,
I overheard Mom and Dad talking. This girl at school, Erin, her mother left. Erin came home from school and there was a note and her mom was gone. Can you believe that? Mom said Erin's father was violent. When I'm a mom I'll be good to my kids all the time. I bet Erin is sad. One time she showed up for school with a black eye. She said she fell, but maybe her father hit her. Maybe that's why she's so weird. I should be nicer to her.
Today Mrs. Jantzen asked what we wanted to accomplish in life. A lot of girls just wanted a husband and kids. Not me. I'm going to be famous for something important, like curing cancer or being the fi rst woman president or a prima ballerina. No way will I be a housewife like my mom or Erin's mom, and just fuss with furniture and gossip on the phone, or get hit so much I'd have to leave. Ugh.
Sarah
Sarah drove her 2001 Ford Windstar up their long, paved driveway. She'd chosen red for the car, since red was such a bright and cheery color, especially in winter when Wisconsin tended to fade to gray. Usually that didn't bother her, but for some reason this year the upcoming months of bare branches and cold loomed rather oppressively. Silly. Not like her to let things she couldn't control bother her. Generally she was one to roll with the seasons, and the punches.
And speaking of punches, what a dreadful meeting this morning. That Vivian person had done her best to ruin not only the meeting, but also the party they were planning, which was going to be terrific. This afternoon Sarah would call area hospitals to fi nd the child her pumpkins could help.
How Vivian thought she could raise so much money offering makeovers . . . Well, Sarah could only guess that Vivian had no idea people in Kettle didn't want to look like trash. Someone like
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