Cherry Land Chapters

Illustration by Nik Garvoille

Brittany smears lip gloss over her pursed lips. She thinks of Mrs. Goldstein’s white pants and the delicate way she poured pinot noir in a clear crystal wine glass while Brittany reported on the children’s good behavior.

“The kids adore you, Brittany,” Mrs. Goldstein had said. “Have you given any more consideration to coming back to the city with us? Your own room and bathroom, we would show you the sites, and Joe works with many young people we could introduce to you.”

Brittany smacks her glossed lips, runs her fingers through her long brown hair and thinks of Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City, high heels and yellow taxicabs, Spiderman swinging from the Empire State Building, and the homeless begging along the sidewalk.

A pile of firewood rattles in the bed of Casey’s black Dodge Ram as he pulls into her driveway. The horn blares.

“They have free food, right?” Casey smiles. “Is this okay, what I’m wearing?” He points to the Nike logo across his red t-shirt and adjusts his Green Bay Packers cap.

“I think so. How have we lived in Door County practically our whole lives and never been to an art opening?” Brittany calculates: four years at the University of Eau Claire, a few weeks in Orlando, and five days in Colorado. And Casey: four years in the Army, a few weeks in Orlando, and five days in Colorado. Alicia Key’s soulful voice sings in Brittany’s head. These streets will make you feel brand new, the lights will inspire you, let’s here it for New York, New York, New York.

“Well, Amber’s all about it and says there is free food,” says Casey.

Brittany turns up the radio. The lead singer of Rascal Flatts whines about lost love.

The screen door of Amber’s cottage slams behind Brittany and Casey. Amber blows on her newly painted purple nails. “Casey, I swear there are at least two or three spiders in this place.”

“On it,” Casey rolls an issue of Newsweek. He paces around the pea green couch and long coffee table with a 13” television, fake flowers in a smudged glass vase, and Amber’s waitress apron.

“Like your footwear,” Amber says as Brittany tightens her gold sandals.

“Thanks, I like your skirt,” Brittany says.

“Thanks,” Amber sways her hips; the indigo fabric dances around her bare knees. “It’s flouncy.”

Casey moves to the bedroom, perches on Amber’s quilt.

“Have you heard from Martin at all?” Brittany asks.

“No,” Amber’s face reddens. “Just the ‘Portland is amazing. I miss ya’ text.”

“I think he’s afraid of intimacy.”

“That’s what my mom said too.”

A loud slap reverberates off the walls. “Got it!”

Brittany examines the glossy stoneware, the abstract paintings. Casey texts at his hip.

“I wonder, like, if I took a picture of that could I just paint it at home?” whispers Amber, gesturing towards a canvas splayed with fuchsia.

“$2,000,” Casey closes his phone then bites into a crispy egg roll. “Man.”

“Is that supposed to be an ear…or a garlic clove?” laughs Amber.

Brittany walks ahead and sips merlot, wondering what words she would use to describe the harsh liquid: ‘robust,’ ‘nutty,’ maybe ‘full-bodied.’ Her arms feel weak. A lady wafting floral perfume drinks her wine with ease. What words would she use, Brittany wonders, glancing to the woman’s companion, an elderly man with a gnarled cane, unkempt beard, and thick-framed glasses. She imagines they have walls lined with art, cupboards filled with handmade stoneware dishes. She imagines they frequent New York City.

“Dustin is coming,” says Casey. “I told him about the egg rolls. Those egg rolls are amazing.”

Brittany moves across the room, to a row of canvases devoted to Door County themes: Wilson’s Ice Cream Parlor, sailboats in Eagle Harbor, Anderson Dock, and sunsets.

“Oh look, another lighthouse,” a young man with knit cap and wrist wrapped with various bracelets points to a painting and smiles.

“People love it,” Brittany smiles back.

“I’ve met you before or seen you around,” he says. “I’m Sam.”

“I’m Brittany.”

“What do you do?”

“I am a server…and do some babysitting. You?”

“Barista.”

“Oh, I love coffee,” Brittany is aware of how over excited she sounds by his occupation, and by his attention. “What brings you to the art opening?”

“Art major.”

“Good for you. Perfect – Door County is full of artists. You paint?”

“Uh – I do. But I primarily work with multi–”

“Brittany!” Casey shouts. “Get –”

Brittany cuts him off by raising a single finger – a gesture she often employs with three-year-old Grace Goldstein and five-year-old Lucas Goldstein.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?” Brittany shakes her head.

“Multi-media. I collect any garbage or objects I find in nature and try to make something out of it. It’s like recycling while showing how wasteful we are.”

“Wow.” She’s certain he has visited New York City.

“So, what brings you?”

“The free food and wine,” she laughs, holding up her glass.

“Pinching pennies?”

“No, I don’t really – I come for the…culture.”

“Brittany,” Casey stands a few feet away and points to the wine table, “You want another one?”

“No,” she shakes her head.

“I do!” Amber says, twirling her blonde hair with her pointer finger.

“Those your friends?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, well – they’re good for killing spiders,” Brittany chuckles and takes another sip of wine. “So you – ”

“I don’t get it. They go stomping around, killing spiders?”

“No, not in the wild,” Brittany coughs, the merlot itching her throat, “just at my friend’s house.”

Sam’s eyebrows launch to his knit cap – an expression of disapproval.

“See,” Brittany swallows. “My friend Amber lives in this crappy cottage and gets these crazy fast, black spiders. They are seriously fast. So when my boy-…when boys come over they are obligated to check for her.”

“Why doesn’t she just take a glass and trap them and let them outside?”

Brittany coughs.

“It’s just,” Sam exhales, “the spiders aren’t hurting her.”

“Okay, really,” Casey puts his hand on Brittany’s lower back. “$950 for a painting of Cana Island?”

Casey smiles at Brittany, who smiles at Sam, who looks Casey up and down.

“Dude, have you tried the egg rolls?”

Brittany coughs. “I need some water,” she grabs Amber’s hand and tugs her towards the ‘Restroom’ sign.

To read previous chapters visit http://www.cherrylandchapters.com.