Whoever said "Never make any major decisions when you're tired" was a very smart person. I let January and February of 1979 pa.s.s without doing much of anything beyond the basics. Everyone in town is asking me about my Deep Sleep, as it has come to be known, but I can't tell them much. I still don't remember a thing. Doc Daugherty is checking me on a weekly basis, and he sees no lasting damage to my physical person; he is pretty certain my mind is fine, too. Pearl and Fleeta manned the store for me while I was under, and Clayton Phipps, a licensed pharmacist up in Norton, came down every Monday and Tuesday and filled prescriptions. Folks appreciated the pinch hitting.

When I do finally start back to work in March, Pearl uses my rejuvenated face as an example of the importance of sleep as a beauty must to all women. There is nothing like slumber to give the face a youthful glow. I believe this is somewhat false advertising. I believe I look so good because I didn't die. I came through something, and relief perked up my face. Either way, Pearl has been selling Queen Helene hand over fist, telling the ladies that she used it on my face twice a day, every day, during the Deep Sleep.

Pearl kept a list of all the folks who dropped by. She got the idea from Nellie, who explained that all fine families keep a guest book for visitors who pa.s.s through. I finally get a chance to look at it. Folks signed in with funny messages: Iva Lou with smiley faces; the Tuckett twins with Bible verses; Doc Daugherty with Latin phrases; the book is full and it makes me laugh. It's thick, too. Nan MacChesney came twice. I look for Jack Mac's name. He never made it over.

Otto and Worley took it upon themselves to clean out the roof gutters at the Pharmacy and my house during the Deep Sleep. Pearl tells me they were so worried that I might bite the dust, Otto cried. I give them each a bonus for their initiative and loyalty.

I learned three things about myself after the Deep Sleep. I learned who my true friends are; I learned that I bury my problems until they overcome me in a full-blown crisis; and the biggest thing of all, I learned that I wasn't happy. It's a terrifying thing to admit. It puts everyone around you in a state of paralysis, because they think that they are somehow responsible for your sadness and can fix it. Of course, they cannot. I know happiness exists somewhere; and if I knew where, I would go to it and claim it. I realize I have spent my life reacting to things and not initiating them. I let myself go somewhere along the way. And I didn't miss myself. (Does that sound crazy?) Some days I wonder if something grew inside my heart during the Deep Sleep. I want a change.

March brings the most beautiful spring I have ever seen in Big Stone Gap. Purple and yellow crocuses spring up everywhere, honeysuckle blooms and fills the air, and the mountains turn green, after being gray and brittle for all of winter.

I am finally feeling like myself again. Iva Lou is shocked when I board the Bookmobile. It has been a long time, and it feels like home.

"Hey, girl!" She hugs me, so happy to see me back on the third snap stool.

"I never did thank you for all your visits when I was under."

"Don't mention it. You had the whole town rattled." Then Iva Lou's face fills with joy. "I was gonna drop by and see you later. I had something I wanted to ask you. Lyle Makin done asked me to marry him, and I said yes!"

Iva Lou and I shriek like soph.o.m.ores.

"We're gonna get married over to the United Methodist church. Reverend Manning said he'd be happy to do the service. And I was wondering if you would honor me by standing up for me. Would you please be my maid of honor?"

"Absolutely! I'd be honored, of course. But we can't call me a maid of honor. Call me an old maid of disrepute."

"That's my t.i.tle. Course I'll be happy to pa.s.s it on to you when I'm a fat and sa.s.sy wife!"

Iva Lou and Lyle don't want to wait long, so the date is set for March 11. I bought a new pink dress and a matching picture hat with illusion netting and a tiny b.u.mblebee nestled in the crown. Iva Lou asked me to wear something colorful, since Lyle likes bright colors.

March 11 turns out to be a perfect day for a wedding. The weather is warm, about seventy-five degrees and sunny. I'm glad my dress has a stole that I can take off, in case it gets hot later on in the fellowship hall.

The mail comes and I'm dressed early, so I start sorting through it. It's a lot of junk. One of the flyers from the Dollar General Store seems thick, so I shake it out. An envelope falls out and hits the floor. I can see that it's from Italy. Zia Meoli owes me a letter from a month ago, but the handwriting on this is not familiar. There is no return address. I remove one of my hat pins and slowly rip open the envelope.

The letter begins, "My dear daughter." I sit down in the chair, a little stunned. I hadn't made it official to myself, but I had given up on hearing from my father. Maybe that had something to do with the Deep Sleep-I needed to give up hope to move on. But I am so happy to see this letter.

The letter is short but well written, in very simple English. He tells me that Meoli's husband came to Schilpario to visit him. My uncle told my father all about me, or at least what he knew from letters. He tells me that he has no other children and no wife. He lives with his mother in the center of town. (His mother? I do have a grandmother! I can't believe my good luck.) Mario has been mayor of Schilpario since 1958. He would like me to write to him and has written his address on the back of the letter. I stuff it into my purse. It's a nice, friendly letter. No revelations. Why didn't my father ever try to contact my mother after he broke off their relationship? Did she mean so little to him that he could forget her so quickly and forever?

A horn honks out front. Theodore jumps out of the car and comes around to open my door. He whistles at me. "You look beautiful."

"Say h.e.l.lo to the Strawberry Daiquiri of Big Stone Gap."

Theodore laughs and I climb in. "What's new?" he asks innocently.

"I got a letter from Mario da Schilpario."

He practically stops the car.

I open my beaded clutch (my maid-of-honor gift from Iva Lou) and take out the letter. "It's okay." As Theodore drives us to the church, I read it to him.

There's a big crowd outside the church. Iva Lou didn't send out personal invitations, but she did run her engagement photo in the Post, announcing the time and date and other particulars. This is called an open-church wedding, which means everyone in town is welcome. Everyone likes Iva Lou, so she has a full house.

I haven't been in the Methodist church since Fred Mulligan's funeral. I've pretty much stuck to my Catholic church. But I know every room inside this building, including the sacristy, where brides wait before going down the aisle.

Iva Lou looks stunning in a peac.o.c.k-blue gown. She decided not to wear white because it makes her look too washed-out. She, too, wears a picture hat. She is sipping vodka from a small airline-size bottle. She offers me some. I swig it-not because I'm nervous about going down the aisle but because Mario's letter has put me on edge-and I give it back to Iva Lou. She finishes it off and throws the empty bottle into her makeup case.

"You are so beautiful, Iva Lou."

"You think?" She squints into the mirror.

"You're a little piece of blue heaven."

"Thanks, honey-o."

"How's Lyle holding up?"

"He got drunk last night up in Esserville. Thank G.o.d his buddies got him home so he could sleep it off."

"Nerves."

"Uh-huh," Iva Lou agrees, as she applies a little more powder blush. Her hand is shaking, so she steadies herself.

"Don't be scared. You're doing the right thing."

"I know that. I just hate crowds. And ministers give me the creeps."

"Reverend Manning is really nice."

"I know. I just have to focus on something besides the gravity of all this. It's too overwhelming for a girl like me."

A girl like Iva Lou. What a girl she is. Always made up her own rules. Here she is, forty-plus, getting married for the first time, having tasted all the goodies in the county. Good for her. She understood what she needed and went after it. She drove the Bookmobile even though they said a woman couldn't handle it. She sells costume jewelry, for profit and to give women something small and sparkly that will make them feel good about themselves. She always paid her own way, and she owns her own home. She is very strong and also very feminine. Iva Lou must love Lyle very much, because of all the women I know, she has the most to lose.

Through the crack in the sacristy door I can hear the bellows of the pipe organ. Fred Mulligan bought that organ, and it sounds like it's been kept up to snuff.

"Iva Lou, I think it's time."

"Jesus Christ Almighty on a mountain! I forgot your bouquet. It's over there in the box."

I go to the box and remove a beautiful arrangement of tea roses in shades of pink. Iva Lou picks up her bouquet of white roses.

"Nellie. She's got the touch." Iva Lou models her bouquet. "Someday, when you get murried, you'll have to get her to do the flowers."

"Let's go."

Iva Lou and I hover in the vestibule of the church. Nellie is directing the wedding, so she'll send us down the aisle. I have to remember how these things go in the movies; we didn't rehea.r.s.e. Lyle said you would only find his a.s.s in church three times in his life: for his baptism, his wedding, and his funeral. Iva Lou dispensed with the rehearsal.

I take off with the bridal one-step, two-step down the aisle to an eight-track version of "Say Forever You'll Be Mine" from Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner. The pews are full, and I get lots of approving glances and winks from both sides of the aisle. Joella Reasor even cranes out of her pew to whisper "Welcome back" to me. Now I know how holler folks feel when they finally make it down to town after the long winter.

As I reach the altar, I smile at Lyle, who looks very happy and extremely nervous. He pivots out ever so slightly to see Iva Lou start her trek down the great white (blue) way. I stop short when I see his best man: Jack MacChesney, polished up like mamaw's silver, gives me a wink.

I'm going to let Iva Lou have it later. Why didn't she tell me Jack Mac was the other half of this wedding party? Maybe she noticed that he didn't come to see me when I was sick. Maybe she thought I'd bow out if I knew he was involved. It's funny. I don't hate him when I look at him. I'm just glad I look good in this dress.

The Methodists like their ceremonies short and sweet. This one is practically over before it begins. I'm sure it was the longest eight minutes of Lyle's life; his face is the color of a cherry tomato. When Reverend Manning introduces Mr. and Mrs. Lyle Makin for the first time, Iva Lou weeps. Her parents are gone, too, and I know she wishes they were here to see how happy she is.

The music begins again, and though we haven't practiced the recessional, I know the proper thing to do is take Jack Mac's arm and follow the bride and groom out. I face the congregation and wait for Jack Mac to join me. He does.

"Nice hat," he says and smiles. Then he extends his arm, I take it, and we go.

Nellie has decorated the fellowship hall in a Victorian theme. There are decorative, hand-painted fans on the walls; the ceiling is festooned with a lace canopy. The tables are covered in white linen. The cake has stacked circle tiers with a bride and groom in an antique carriage on top. Silver trays lined with crisp white doilies are filled with Nellie's homemade candy wedding bells dusted in blue and pink sugar.

Lyle is relaxed now. Iva Lou is herself again, laughing and talking and making everyone feel at home. Theodore is chatting with a couple of teachers from up at the high school. I dip my cup into the bowl of champagne punch.

"Pink is your color," Jack MacChesney says.

"Thank you. Lyle's favorite color is peac.o.c.k blue, so I'm the contrast."

"How have you been?"

"I'm coming back strong. Thank you for asking. How are you?"

"I'm fine myself." Jack Mac looks off. I turn to see what he's looking at. It's Sweet Sue Tinsley, escorted by her ex-husband, Mike.

"Are they back together?" I ask bluntly.

"Yes, ma'am," Jack Mac says quietly.

"You know something, Jack? I'll buy you a new hunting rifle if you promise never to call me ma'am again."

"I'm sorry. It's a habit from my upbringing."

Theodore joins us at the punch bowl. "Everybody's meeting for a potluck at Iva Lou's trailer later. Hope you can make it, Jack," Theodore offers.

"I'll be there."

"I'll get the car," Theodore tells me as he places his punch cup on the out trolley.

Theodore goes. I finish my punch and nibble on a wedding bell.

"You'll be at Iva Lou's later, right?"

I nod.

"You're gonna wear the pink dress, aren't you?"

I look at Jack Mac with a half smile that says, Yeah, right. I am going to stay in this cinched silk c.u.mmerbund and panty girdle the rest of the day. Little does he know I can't wait to get out of here and peel it off.

"See you at Iva's." I grab my hat off the bookshelf and go to meet Theodore.

I've never been to Iva Lou's trailer in Danberry Heights, but it's a beauty. The outside is sleek, ecru wood panels set off by crisp black shutters. Iva attached a redwood deckette at the entrance. An old-fashioned light fixture on an antique pole at the curve of the entrance casts a pretty golden glow as you enter. I arrive alone. Theodore is coming in his own car; he has a school-board meeting in the morning and might have to cut out early.

The interior decor is beige and modern-the perfect backdrop for a cool blonde like Iva Lou. The s.h.a.g carpeting is a thick salt-and-pepper mix, very cozy. Iva Lou's inner circle is packed into the trailer. She has made macaroni and cheese, salad, and slaw. There are leftover mints and lots of cake-plenty to eat. She bought wedding paper plates and napkins with a bride and groom on them. Lyle is toasting pals with a bottle of beer. He looks like the lord of the manor now; he definitely fits in. Iva Lou feeds him a biscuit, then kisses the crumbs away. I'm starving, so I dig into the hot macaroni and cheese. Mama never made this dish, but I've always loved it. The soft elbow noodles nestled in b.u.t.ter and cheddar cheese melt in my mouth. The crushed potato chips on top give it a delicious salty crunch. I may have seconds. Sweet Sue comes up behind me with a plate of cake.

"How's it going, A-vuh Maria?"

"Great. How are you?"

"I got back with Mike." Mike Tinsley is laughing heartily at one of Lyle's jokes. He seems happy to be part of the Gap social scene again. "Yeah, the kids missed him." The s.p.a.ce between Sweet Sue's eyebrows is knit into a little square. "I did too, of course." I smile and chew; as long as I'm chewing, I don't have to talk. I look at Sweet Sue's face. She really is very pretty. Her eyes are a clear ocean-blue. There are little crinkles around them now, but they give her a look of knowing and experience, which she wears well. I wonder if Jack Mac ever told her he proposed to me. I don't think he did, because she doesn't seem uncomfortable with me. I am most definitely not a rival.

"Well, I'll see you later." Sweet Sue smiles and wedges through the crowd to get to Mike.

"What happened to the pink dress?" I hear from the entrance to the den. Now I see why Sweet Sue scooted off like a possum: It's Jack Mac. He stands in the kitchen doorway with his arms folded.

"It was cutting off circulation. I couldn't take it another minute."

"What about the hat?"

He smiles at me and moves close, and I must say, everything this guy says sounds like a come-on to me. There's something in that slow delivery and those gluttonous pauses that makes you feel buck naked. I pull my cardigan closed and b.u.t.ton it.

"Are you cold?"

"Ever since I had the Deep Sleep, I get shivers." I hope he buys the lie, but I don't think he does.

"Do I scare you?"

I laugh right out loud. "No, sir, you don't."

"I don't know. You get jumpy when I'm around."

"I do?" I don't notice that I do, but even if I do, I don't want this man pointing out my insecurities to me.

"What did you dream about during the Deep Sleep?" he wonders out loud.

Okay, now I get it. He's drunk. He's drunk and he's making a pa.s.s at me. He probably had the Tuckett sisters in the den and flirted with them and got nowhere, so he moved to the kitchenette, and it's my turn on the way to the living room, where he'll hit on Iva Lou's cousins in from Knoxville, and then he'll go right up to Mike Tinsley and punch him in the mouth and Sweet Sue will scream, and the guys will pull them apart, and Mike will be bleeding and he'll tell Jack Mac to stay the h.e.l.l away from his woman, and Jack will tell Mike he was a no-good husband, and Sweet Sue will have to choose and we'll all watch and be horrified and hope n.o.body's got a gun.

"Did you dream during your Deep Sleep, Ave Maria?" Jack Mac asks me again.

I shrug as though I don't remember, and I keep eating the macaroni and cheese.

"Where do you go when you look off like that?" He totally caught me. Now what am I going to say? You know what? I'm going to tell him the truth.

"I imagined you flirting with every woman at this party and then working your way over to Sweet Sue and trying to reclaim her, and you and Mike Tinsley getting in a b.l.o.o.d.y brawl and turning the trailer over." Jack throws his head back and laughs.

"Now you know never to ask me what I'm thinking." I turn to walk away, but he grabs my arm.

"I have something in the truck for you."

"I'll bet you do." Sometimes the mountain girl in me comes out. I try to gracefully remove my arm from his grasp, but he grips it more tightly.