The Curl Up and Dye by Sharon Sala Page A

the porch just as her husband followed LilyAnn inside her house. She waited. A few moments later, the lights began coming on in the house, and as they did, her husband exited, then started across the yard. When he saw her, he lengthened his stride, and when he got to the porch, he took her in his arms.
    “Don! What’s wrong?” Carol asked.
    “I’ll tell you in a minute. Right now I want to hold you.”
    Carol was a woman wise in the ways of men. Don Dalton wasn’t a man for drama, so she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugged him back, and led him inside.
    “Talk to me,” she said.
    Don sat down on the sofa, then grasped her hands.
    “Remember Mr. Gerty?”
    “Oh, yes… the retired postmaster. What about him?”
    “LilyAnn found him on a bench at the cemetery. She thought he’d gone to sleep, but he was dead. She’s pretty broken up about it.”
    “Oh dear Lord!” Carol gasped. “That poor girl, and poor Mr. Gerty, too.”
    “Where’s Mike?”
    “Laying down in his room.”
    “Well, he can get his ass up and go talk to LilyAnn,” Don muttered. “I’ve had just about enough of this cold war between them.”
    Carol frowned. “I don’t think we should meddle in—”
    “I’m not meddling. I’m telling him a fact of life,” Don said. “And set another place at the table. She’ll be having supper with us tonight, and I don’t give a damn how uncomfortable they both are. We’re family and I want this crap over with.”
    He stomped out of the room.
    Carol rolled her eyes, then got up and headed to the kitchen.
    Don opened Mike’s door without knocking. Mike was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
    “Get up,” Don said sharply.
    “Why?”
    “I said, get up. Get your ass across the yard to LilyAnn’s and tell her to come eat supper with us.”
    “I don’t want—”
    “This isn’t about what you want,” Don said. “She doesn’t need to be alone tonight. She found Mr. Gerty on a bench at the cemetery. He was dead. She’s pretty broken up about it.”
    Mike swung his legs off the bed. “Oh shit,” he muttered, and began looking for his shoes.
    Don kicked them toward him with the toe of his boot.
    “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you’re pouting and she’s sad, and whatever the hell it is, fix it. We’re having Thanksgiving dinner together next week, and I don’t intend to eat across the table from you two with those hangdog looks on your faces. Understand?”
    Mike stood up and fired back at his dad in the same angry tone.
    “What’s wrong between us is that I’ve been in love with her since the tenth grade and she has never known it. After all these years, she still doesn’t see it, no matter how much time we spend together. Now she’s on a big kick to restart her life because there’s a new man in it, and once again, it’s not me.”
    Don sighed. “I’m sorry. That’s got to be the worst feeling in the world. But I have one question for you. I know you spend time with her, but have you ever once told her how you feel?”
    Mike’s face flushed. “No. I don’t want to see the disgust and rejection.”
    “Then you have nothing to be pissed about. She’s in the dark, son, and you’re the only one with answers. Either put up or shut up, and quit making everyone else miserable with you. Now hurry up and get over there. Your mom’s making a place for her at the table as we speak.”
    He walked out as abruptly as he’d entered.
    Mike shoved a hand through his hair in frustration and headed for LilyAnn’s.
    ***
    LilyAnn had made it all the way to the kitchen before she broke down in sobs. She kept remembering all the years she’d seen Mr. Gerty kneeling at his wife’s grave, talking to her as if she was still alive. She’d done the same thing at Randy Joe’s until she’d run out of things to say, mainly because their relationship was barely a year old before he passed, while Mr. and Mrs. Gerty had been married forty years before she