Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Not specifically celebrating it. I don’t go to church, if that’s what you’re asking. But the mess hall always had a nice spread. And even when we were overseas, someone brought us a fuckin’ ham.”
“Well, hmmm. It appears that thinking about missing Easter dinner is making you cranky, so I will rectify this. Don’t you worry, Collin. You will eat good tonight. Does that make you feel a little better? Can you face the day now?”
He’s noncommittal. Just gives me a shrug. “I guess.” Then he points at my basket. “What’s in there, anyway?”
“I don’t know.” I heft the large basket up onto the kitchen counter and walk around the other side of it so when Collin comes over, we’re facing each other. He looks tired. “Are you hungover?”
“What?” He was studying the basket, but he looks up at me. “No. I mean… I do have a headache. And…” He pauses. “About last night…”
I raise an eyebrow. “What about last night?”
He lets out a breath. Like he’s unsure where to go from here. It takes him another five whole seconds to even get the first word out. “When I…” He cranes his head back, massaging his neck with his hand.
“Are you worried what I think about you after the dirty sex, Collin?”
Finally, this man smiles. And it’s weird seeing him so uncomfortable, especially about sex. “Maybe a little.” He winces. “I might’ve been a little bit buzzed?”
“Is that your excuse?”
“Do I need an excuse?”
I slowly shake my head. “I’m a grownup, Collin. If I didn’t want your face between my legs last night, your face would not have been there.”
He nods, looking me straight in the eye. “OK.”
“Should we unpack this basket?”
“No. We should probably burn that thing.”
“Come on now. It’s not gonna be that bad. And it’s all so pretty, isn’t it?” I reach for the top package. It’s a hat box, I already know that. But it’s not just any hat box. It’s pale yellow with lavender flowers all over it. And the handle is a braided satin cord the color of green apples.
There are at least a dozen packages in this basket and they are all held in place with yellow and white baker’s twine, so I get the scissors and cut them all free. Collin takes them out of the basket and places them on the counter.
He’s moody about the Revival, and the costumes, and countless other things that come with being a part of this town. But he’s caught up in the spell this morning. Not because he wants to be, but because he can’t help it.
None of us can.
I know the people over in Bishop probably think their town is pretty special. I mean, really, how charming are those big horses lugging things around town? It’s like a twenty-four-seven Heritage Day parade. And I know that the people of Revenant probably think their town is remarkable as well. It’s exciting over there. It feels like… life. I don’t know how to describe it. Not a constant party. That’s too vague. But… more like a Fourth of July picnic that never ends.
But here in Disciple it’s all about… the look. And the mood. And a sense that you’re part of something bigger. It’s just an old-timey feeling. Like you’re living in the long-ago ‘better days.’ But not in the same way as Bishop, because no one in Disciple has to wake up at five a.m. to milk cows. And not in the same way as Revenant, either, with their marina festival, and their bikers whooping, and hollering, and drinking.
Because we’re not crass here. We’re kinda classy here. The women are mostly… well, women. Monday through Friday they are raising kids, and doing book club, and cooking dinners. But then every single weekend for nine months out of the year they wear tea dresses and white gloves. Cloche hats with satin ribbons and felt flowers on them. They play cards, and gossip, and prop up the script doing fun things like fainting and fanning themselves.
And the men are mostly just men. Hard workers during the week, doing jobs like everyone else, some more important than others. But on the weekends, they are doing something extraordinary that’s not only fun, most of the time, but earns them enough to dream bigger and make plans for a better future at the end of every year. They wear their fancy suits and bowler hats. And their kids dress up like papergirls and boys, and sing in the choir, and practice good manners as they learn their place in our community.
If Revenant is a Fourth of July picnic and Bishop is a Heritage Day parade—then Disciple is a garden party. A lovely, pastel-perfect garden party.
And never is there a time, all through the year, when this feeling is more tangible than on Easter Sunday.