Love in a Small Town Read Free Page A

and dust pan and began to clean the slivers off the floor. She cried silently, feeling totally lost and confused and alone.
    Tommy Lee came in as Molly got to cleaning the bigger pieces out of the sink. She heard the familiar thump of his Wolverines cross the back porch and enter the laundry room behind the kitchen. Quickly she sniffed back her tears and tried to gulp down her shaky sobs.
    She knew before he said a word that he was going to ask her where something was, and sure enough, he said, “Molly, have you seen my box knife?”
    “In by your chair.”
    She heard him go through to the living room and then come back again and stop on the far side of the breakfast bar. She felt him looking at her, but she didn’t look at him. She didn’t want him to see her face. Very carefully, she kept picking the big pieces out of the sink and putting them into the plastic trash basket.
    “What happened?” Tommy Lee asked.
    She thought for a moment, then said, “I broke some plates.”
    Quite possibly she should have offered him some explanation, but she refused to do so. A piece of the china bit into her finger. She pressed harder against it.
    “Is it because of what I said about lettin’ the cat eat out of the glass? Are you mad about that?”
    Molly said, “I’m not mad about that. You have a right not to like the animals eating out of your dishes if you want . . . even if it is a stupid opinion.”
    She didn’t look at him, but she could feel him looking at her, could feel his anger hitting like darts. And then he had to go and ask a really dumb question.
    “What’s the matter with you?”
    It was the tone of his voice, not the question that sent smoke coming out Molly’s ears. Tommy Lee could ask the silliest questions. So many times, when Molly got up in the night to go to the bathroom, he asked, “Where you goin’?”
    For the first ten years or so, Molly had actually answered, “To the bathroom,” and then one time she finally said, “Dancing.” He still asked sometimes, and she went to saying things like “To the dentist” or “To the movies."
    Then there were the times when she would be lying in bed, under the covers, with the pillow over her head, and he would come over and lean down close, lift up the pillow, and say, “Are you asleep?”
    Lord, men could be so stupid. Molly had a private theory that the reason many women like her stayed married was that they were convinced their man needed them—like Tammy Wynette sang in “Stand by Your Man.”
    Molly at last lifted her eyes to meet his. His eyes were cool as a winter sky and slapped her the same as if he’d reached out with his hand.
    She said, “We haven’t made love in over three months, and you’re askin’ me what’s wrong?” She threw a shard of china into the trash. “I guess you askin’ that question pretty much shows just how wrong things are.”
    He did that rolling his eyes thing, and Molly wanted to smack his face. Then he said acidly, “So you’re gonna break all our dishes? Is that gonna explain things to me?”
    Tommy Lee always managed to make her feel stupid. Well, what she thought right then was You can take your f—— ridicule and stuff it.
    She pulled up straight and tall and said quietly, “It made me feel better. And I guess I can break half the dishes in this cabinet if I want. Half of them are mine."
    Pure shock crossed his face, and the next instant his pale blue eyes shot fire, and he came flying around the breakfast bar, saying, “By God . . ."
    Molly stepped backward and bumped against the counter, automatically putting her hands up in front of her. Tommy Lee had never laid a hand on her—he never physically fought with anyone—but he sure looked like he was going to kill her at that moment.
    Then he stopped and pain crossed his features, pain so strong it went right across and sliced Molly’s heart.
    “I don’t want us to fight, Molly.” He looked away, and his shoulders slumped.
    It made her ache