Adriana Trigiani - Big Stone Gap

Table of Contents

For Tim

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am filled with gratitude to Suzanne Gluck, my longtime friend and now agent, who encouraged me to write this book in the first place. My thanks to Suzannes right arm, Karen Gerwin, and to her left, Caroline Sparrow; to Laura Davies, ICMs answer to international coffee; and to Lorie Stoopack, my answer to domestic caffeine.

I have been graced with a great editor in fellow Virginian Lee Boudreaux; also at mighty Random House: Ann Godoff, Pamela Cannon, Beth Pearson, Andy Carpenter, Todd Doughty, Amanda Maher, and Sherry Huber. At Ballantine, my thanks to Gina Centrello, simpatico Italian girl and paperback whiz.

My undying gratitude to my fellow writers whose advice, criticism, and encouragement were invaluable: Tom Dyja (whose faith in me was ever true), Michael Patrick King (everyone needs such a champion), Ruth Goetz, Rosanne Cash, Susan Fales-Hill, Richard Kirshenbaum, Lorenzo Carcaterra, Charles Randolph Wright, Kare Jackowski, and Mary Trigiani.

I owe a great debt to all my teachers in the Wise County public school system whose love of books and reading opened up the world to me.

I am grateful to Brownie Polly III and Brad Cavedo for sharing their memories of the Gap; June Lawton, who introduced me to the art of Chinese face-reading; and Gina Casella for her Italian flavor and flair.

My thanks and love to: Ruth Pomerance, Caroline Rhea, Bob Kelty, Greg Cantrell, Mary Testa, Sharon Watroba Burns, Nancy Ringham, Dana Geier, Jake and Jean Morrisey, Beata and Steven Baker, E. J. Jones, Joanne Curley Kerner, Sharon Hall, Todd Kessler, Chris Sarandon, Wendy Luck, Dee Emmerson, Cynthia Olson, Constance Marks, Susan Toepfer, Adina and Michael Pitt, Rosemarie and Anthony Casciole, Marisa Acocella, Nancy Josephson, Jill Holwager, Danny Greenberg, Jeanne Newman, John Farrell, Craig Jacobson, and Lou Pitt and the Pitt Group.

I am very lucky to have been influenced and mentored by Monsignor Don Andrea Spada, Mario Mai, Lucia Spada Bonicelli, and Michael A. and Yolanda P. Trigiania. Their impact on my life in incalculable.

In movieland, endless thanks to my magnificent men of the Shooting Gallery: Larry Meistrich, Jim Powers, Todd Steiner, and Mark V. Lord.

My eternal thanks and love to my father, Anthony, who found Big Stone Gap, and my beautiful mother, Ida Bonicelli, who made our home there; also to my partners in crime on Poplar Hill, and my brothers and sisters: Mary Yolanda, Lucia Anna, Antonia, Michael (and wife Lisa), Carlo (and wife Tina), and Francesca (and husband Tom). Many thanks, too, to the Stephensonssometimes you get lucky and marry a good bunch.

CHAPTER ONE

This will be a good weekend for reading. I picked up a dozen of Vernie Crabtrees killer chocolate chip cookies at the French Club bake sale yesterday. (I dont know what she puts in them, but theyre chewy and crispy at the same time.) Those, a pot of coffee, and a good book are all I will need for the rainy weekend rolling in. Its early September in our mountains, so its warm during the day, but tonight will bring a cool mist to remind us that fall is right around the corner.

The Wise County Bookmobile is one of the most beautiful sights in the world to me. When I see it lumbering down the mountain road like a tank, then turning wide and easing onto Shawnee Avenue, I flag it down like an old friend. Ive waited on this corner every Friday since I can remember. The Bookmobile is just a government truck, but to me its a glittering royal coach delivering stories and knowledge and life itself. I even love the smell of books. People have often told me that one of their strongest childhood memories is the scent of their grandmothers house. I never knew my grandmothers, but I could always count on the Bookmobile.

The most important thing I ever learned, I learned from books. Books have taught me how to size people up. The most useful book I ever read taught me how to read faces, an ancient Chinese art called siang mien, in which the size of the eyes, curve of the lip, and height of the forehead are important clues to a persons character. The placement of ears indicates intelligence. Chins that stick out reflect stubbornness. Deep-set eyes suggest a secretive nature. Eyebrows that grow together may answer the question Could that man kill me with his bare hands? (He could.) Even dimples have meaning. I have them, and according to face-reading, something wonderful is supposed to happen to me when I turn thirty-five. (Its been four months since my birthday, and Im still waiting.)

If you were to read my face, you would find me a comfortable person with brown eyes, good teeth, nice lips, and a nose that folks, when they are being kind, refer to as noble. Its a large nose, but at least its straight. My eyebrows are thick, which indicates a practical nature. (Im a pharmacisthow much more practical can you get?) I have a womanly shape, known around here as a mountain girls body, strong legs, and a flat behind. Jackets cover it quite nicely.

This morning the idea of living in Big Stone Gap for the rest of my life gives me a nervous feeling. I stop breathing, as I do whenever I think too hard. Not breathing is very bad for you, so I inhale slowly and deeply. I taste coal dust. I dont mind; it assures me that we still have an economy. Our town was supposed to become the Pittsburgh of the South and the Coal Mining Capital of Virginia. That never happened, so we are forever at the whims of the big coal companies. When they tell us the coal is running out in these mountains, who are we to doubt them?

Its pretty here. Around six oclock at night everything turns a rich Crayola midnight blue. You will never smell greenery so pungent. The Gap definitely has its romantic qualities. Even the train whistles are musical, sweet oboes in the dark. The place can fill you with longing.

The Bookmobile is at the stoplight. The librarian and driver is a good-time gal named Iva Lou Wade. Shes in her forties, but shes yet to place the flag on her sexual peak. Shes got being a woman down. If you painted her, shed be sitting on a pink cloud with gold-leaf edges, showing a lot of leg. Her perfume is so loud that when I visit the Bookmobile, I wind up smelling like her for the bulk of the day. (Its a good thing I like Cotys Emeraude.) My father used to say that thats how a woman ought to be. A man should know when theres a woman in the room. When Iva Lou comes in, there aint no doubt. Id just say nothing and roll my eyes.

Iva Lous having a tough time parking. A mail truck has parked funny in front of the post office, taking up her usual spot, so she motions to me that shes pulling into the gas station. Thats fine with the owner, Kent Vanhook. He likes Iva Lou a lot. What man doesnt? She pays real nice attention to each and every one. She examines men like eggs, perfect specimens created by God to nourish. And she hasnt met a man yet who doesnt appreciate it. Luring a man is a true talent, like playing the piano by ear. Not all of us are born prodigies, but women like Iva Lou have made it an art form.

The Bookmobile doors open with a whoosh. I cant believe what Iva Lous wearing: Her ice-blue turtleneck is so tight it looks like shes wearing her bra on the outside. Her Mondrian-patterned pants, with squares of pale blue, yellow, and green, cling to her thighs like crisscross ribbons. Even sitting, Iva Lou has an unbelievable shape. But I wonder how much of it has to do with all the cinching. Could it be that her parts are so well-hoisted and suspended, she has transformed her real figure into a soft hourglass? Her face is childlike, with a small chin, big blue eyes, and a rosebud mouth. Her eyeteeth snaggle out over her front teeth, but on her theyre demure. Her blond hair is like yellow Easter straw, arranged in an upsweep you can see through the set curls. She wears lots of Sarah Coventry jewelry, because she sells it on the side.