True Colors

“No,” she said. “That may be who you were. You’re different now. Get rid of it. Promise me.”

He released his breath; she knew then he’d been holding it, waiting. Leaning past the car seat, he reached out and closed the glove box. “You’ll never see that gun again.”

Chapter Thirteen

In the two years since Noah’s birth, the gossip about Vivi Ann and Dallas died down. Not away, of course; it was simply too entertaining to release altogether, but other transgressions by other lovers had come along to replace it. The only people who seemed determined to hang on to the old animosities were Winona and Dad, and Vivi Ann understood their concerns. In time, though, she knew it would be forgotten completely.

Tonight, beneath a twilight sky the color of a bruised plum, she stood at the paddock fence, watching kids chase after a greased piglet at the annual Water’s Edge Halloween party. Noah was in her arms, dressed for the party in an orange pumpkin outfit. Aurora stood on her left side; Winona was on her right. A pirate and a witch, respectively.

“Remember the first time you and I went after a greased pig, Winona?” Aurora said. “All the rest of the kids were behind us by a mile.”

“I’m sure people said to one another in awe: ‘Wow, that fat girl sure can hang on to a pig,’ ” Winona said.

“Ooh,” Aurora said. “Someone is feeling sorry for herself tonight. I thought it was my turn.”

“You always think it’s your turn,” Winona said, sipping her beer.

“Have you spent any time with Rick and Jane lately? They’re the Children of the Corn. And Richard is losing his hair so fast I need to bring a vacuum to the dinner table. Top that, Miss Town’s Best Attorney.”

Winona turned to her. “You actually think it’s better to be fat, childless, and single?”

“Uh. Duh. Again, I point to my offspring and husband. It’s not like I’m married to that hot tattoo guy.”

Vivi Ann laughed. “He is hot. And you’re not fat, Win. You’re big-boned.”

“Lies and pretense,” Winona muttered. “The new family motto.”

Vivi Ann recognized the irritation in her sister’s voice and knew Winona was having one of her bad days, when nothing made her happy.

“On that note,” Vivi Ann said, “I’m going to go find my husband. This mermaid costume is itching like crazy, and it’s time for my little man to go to bed.”

Saying goodbye, she carried Noah through the crowded parking lot, weaving in and out of people who were standing around talking. She heard snippets of conversations; they were the same words she always heard at a gathering like this. A mixture of local gossip; who was screwing whom, who was late on their mortgage, whose kid had gone off the deep end. All she really cared about was that she and Dallas were no longer on the top of the rumor menu.

As she neared the barn, she found kids and dogs running around in the dark, squealing and barking. The salty tang of the sea air was sharpened by the smell of wood smoke and barbecuing hamburgers.

The arena was dark except for dozens of strategically placed Chinese lanterns that hung from the rafters. A portable dance floor had been placed over the dirt and every step taken on it sounded like thunder. Over in the corner, a local band was playing a popular mix of seventies and eighties music. People danced, while teenagers bobbed for apples and dug through bowls of cooked spaghetti, looking for grape eyeballs.

“Do you see Daddy?” she asked Noah, who sleepily babbled something that ended with, “Go Dada.”

“Uh, Vivi Ann?”

Turning, she saw Myrtle Michaelian dressed in a pink polyester princess outfit. Her plump features were outlined in bright color: blue eye shadow, rosy pink blush, red glittery lipstick. A cheap tin tiara sat on her head amid a pile of graying curls.

“Hey, Myrtle,” Vivi Ann said. “Great costume.”

“Where’s your husband?”

“I was just looking for him. Why?”

“Well . . . I don’t usually trade in gossip . . .”

Vivi Ann kept from gritting her teeth by sheer force of will. While it was true that the gossip about their affair had faded, Dallas was still a man to be watched in Oyster Shores. Especially by the older, more conservative people like Myrtle. They didn’t like the way he drank too much, fidgeted in church, played poker for money, and (perhaps most of all) that he didn’t seem to care about their opinion of him. “I’m sure I already know whatever you’re going to say.”

“Really?” She leaned forward, whispered loudly, “Last Saturday I was closing up late and I saw Dallas and that Morgan woman walking across the street. They got into that beater car of hers and drove away.”

Vivi Ann nodded. She’d heard this story in one form or another for two years; Dallas and Cat had been seen together at the minimart, at the gas station, at King’s Market buying beer. “They’re just friends, Myrtle.”

“I’m only saying this, Vivi Ann, because your mama can’t. She was a good friend, and if she were here, she’d tell you that no good can come of giving a man that kind of freedom.”