Free Why Sarah Ran Away with the Veterinarian by Liz; Newall Page B

Thank God. The twins were beginning to wonder why Aunt Kate had so many men and no husband. I told her what they said. She said to tell them she hadn’t found one with a long enough plot. She didn’t crack a smile, as though it were the normal way to behave and she wondered why I asked.
    She’s not shedding a tear this morning, but she looks hungover. I suppose she tied one on last night. It’s her grief release mechanism—superior, if you ask me, to stuffing one’s face. She’s not wearing black either, thank God. Donna is. I’ve never seen her in black up close to her face like that. Something about women in black that sets me on edge. Like boards on an old house, burned tree stumps, coal. I don’t like Donna in black. Not even black underwear. She belongs in soft blues and yellows and pinks.
    Donna was wearing a pink evening gown the first time I saw her. Every summer the town organizers have some kind of festival. My first year here, it was a peach festival to increase sales for the fruit growers and local merchants. These people can’t have a festival without a beauty pageant, whether it’s Miss Peanut, Miss Pork, Little Miss Water Fall or whatever they’re celebrating. This is where I came in. My being from Massachusetts and a psychology professor and a bachelor at the time evidently made me a likely candidate for judge. I’d never even been to a beauty pageant before, but I’d helped judge a science fair and a few declamation contests, so I supposed there wouldn’t be too much to it.
    The pageant started at 6:00 which I thought was a little early until I found out we had to select Miss Wee Blossom and Little Miss Nectarine before the main event, Miss Peach Queen, even started. By 8:30 I was sick of crinolines, whining children, and weeping mothers. If I had thought it wouldn’t affect my chance for tenure, I’d have walked out. But then they brought out the older girls, ones who’d undergone puberty. I relaxed a little and started enjoying the view. The first eleven contestants ranged from mildly cute to quite pretty. But the twelfth one looked like a P.E. coach with a wig. That’s who I thought it was at first, a clown of sorts to ease the tension. I laughed out loud. Alone. No one else was laughing. I couldn’t believe it. I asked the judge next to me who number twelve was. He said it was Crystabelle Dean. We weren’t supposed to know their names so I asked him how he knew. He said everybody in town knew her, her four brothers, her father, and her uncle in prison. All wrestlers, professional, including Crystabelle.
    Now I didn’t know if he was kidding or not but I didn’t laugh anymore when she came out on stage, not even when she modeled her Jantzen swimsuit and the little diving girl insignia was stretched horizontally instead of vertically, not even when Crystabelle played “Old Black Joe” on a handsaw. Nobody did. We all clapped and looked straight ahead.
    The one bright spot that got me through the night was watching Donna on stage. She was beautiful. She had a perfect little coed figure back then. Every outfit was pink, even her swimsuit and she had a little gait in that swimsuit that made me want to jump up and chase her behind the curtain. She played “Exodus” for her talent, mostly one-handed, but with such passion I almost had goose-bumps. I didn’t know her then but I knew I would very soon. She won Miss Peach Queen. The decision was unanimous and every judge except me had Crystabelle as first runner-up. I held out for second runner-up as a matter of principle.
    That’s the way I met Donna. Love at first sight. Strange thing for a doctor of psychology to admit, but it’s true. If I could have gotten over her after I met the rest of the family, believe me, I would have. But she was so sweet and soft and sexy in a prissy kind of way that I had to marry her. I took her for better and the