Pearl

Claire was engaged to Ernest Whitaker. He was a big man with blond hair and blue eyes. He and Claire looked perfect together. Beautiful and young and ready to live what Momma called the "dream."

Ernest came by the house quite often during this period. He would sit at the dinner table, playing cards with Jane and Sarah. My father certainly admired him. He was the banker's son. His family was respectable. But most importantly, he came from money.

The wedding was in September and my family was preparing. Claire and Momma were so excited, they could hardly contain themselves. It seemed that all we ever talked about was dresses and table cloths. We fawned over her gold wedding band every night over supper. It was an all consuming task that my father and I avoided.

Owen Weaver began to come around too. He moved into a house two streets away from the gym, an old white house with a red door and a picket fence. Father invited him over every night after hours of training. He was always placed in front of me, next to Ernest. While Claire made silly loving faces at Ernest, I would glower at Owen. He was bigger than Ernest, bigger than anyone I had ever seen. It just seemed to make my hatred for him bigger too.

_____

"Hello, Pearl," he said as he walked into the house.

The sweltering July heat was just beginning to fade away, making room for the humid August air. Owen always greeted me like this. Polite, apologetic (though he had no clue why he needed to be), and with a little bow of his dark head.

"Hello there, Owen," I said through gritted teeth. He rolled his eyes a little bit at my angry demeanor. I could tell I was tiring him out with all of my unexplained spite, but I didn't care enough to stop. My father repeatedly threatened to kick me out of working at the gym if my attitude didn't improve, so I kept my resentful remarks reserved for when Owen and I were alone.

Everyone was in the dining room, fussing about the pot roast and the table settings. Owen hovered at the entryway for a second. "Is your daddy around?" he asked me.

"He's upstairs in the study. I'll tell him to come down, if you want," I said spikily.

"No, you don't have to do that," he stated in his soft Tennessee drawl, "I just wanted to make sure we were alone so I could ask you why exactly you hate me so much."

I was taken aback. The thought of him actually mentioning my behavior had never crossed my mind.

"I don't hate you," I said, but my eyes gave me away. They were narrowed into slits.

Owen loomed over me and laughed, a great booming sound. "Oh, Perfect Pearl, you are a silly girl. You hate me for no reason."

"Shush! Don't laugh at me!" I snarled.

The expression of mirth on his face became quite sober. "Now Pearl, if you're gonna hang around the gym while I train, you're gonna have to wipe that sourpuss look off your little face. It bothers me and I have enough to worry about before going into the ring. You have to stop it, alright?"

His stern words hurt me. He could very easily tell my father he didn't want me at the Old Hitter Pit and I would be gone. I bit my lip and blinked back raging tears. "Fine. I'll stop."

Owen's ivory face broke into a smile, "Good. No more dirty looks, Pearl? No more angry greetings? You promise?"

I hated the way he was talking to me, but he scared me. I trembled as he bent down to reach my height. "See, you're so much prettier without a scowl on your face," he said softly. I pulled myself away from him. I couldn't help the look of revulsion that crossed my features.

He laughed as he stepped around me, heading towards the dining room.

"Oh, Perfect Pearl," he chuckled.