If the Fates Allow

by Annie Harper

  “Oh! So it went well? Well, praise God.” Priscilla pulled a handkerchief from her oversized black purse and began to wipe the table in front of her. “You know I really appreciate you taking this on. You’re earning stars in your heavenly crown with this dinner. I wish I could still do it at the fellowship hall, but after the reverend had his stroke, we just couldn’t get the church members motivated to take it on anymore.” She pressed harder on the tissue as she scrubbed at a spot on the table. “Plus, you have much better space and equipment for—”

  “Priss,” Francine interrupted her, “I have asked you to not mention it. Trust me. I’m thrilled to do it. It’s become one of my favorite days of the year.”

  “Was it a good crowd?” Inez snatched the tissue out of Priscilla’s hand. “Would you stop that?”

  “A record crowd I think,” Francine replied. “We served at least a hundred and fifty people.”

  “Oh, come on.” Helen screwed up her lips. “There can’t be that many people in this town that don’t have the means to make their own Thanksgiving dinner.” Helen sat at the remaining empty chair at the table. “Francine, people are just taking advantage of your generosity for a free meal. Delores Richards has more money than she knows what to do with.”

  “I'll make you a deal, Helen.” Francine frowned and shook her finger at Helen. “You come next year and stand at the door and determine who gets in and who doesn’t. Remember, not all needs are about money. Some people, like Delores Richards, are just lonely. You really want to turn someone away? You want to be the neediness judge?”

  “Well, I just meant… never mind.” Helen lowered her head. A deafening silence fell as the jukebox paused between songs and the women all stared at their hands.

  To break the awkward silence, Marcus said, “It did feel good to do something that helps the community. I was telling Francine before y’all got here that I never really did the whole, big family thing for Thanksgiving, and today it felt like half the people in town were my guests.”

  “Aw,” Inez said, “that’s sweet, Sugar. And I think you deserve a big old reward for helping out. Girls, let’s take Marcus out shopping tomorrow for Black Friday!”

  “Lord, no,” Francine drawled and turned away from the table. “I had enough of crowds today. Plus, you girls agreed to help me clean this diner tonight so Marcus could get on out of here. And we’ve got a lot of dishes to wash.”

  “I’m going to pass too, Inez,” Helen demurred. “I don’t see the point in going shopping tomorrow. It’s not like they’re going to have anything on sale over at the Chic Petite that I could get my big-boned daughter-in-law into anyway. Also, you promised to help me start making the Christmas luminaries to put around the streets in the subdivision. I’ve been saving those milk jugs all year, and they aren’t going to fill themselves with sand.”

  “Priss?” Inez begged. “Here’s your chance. Save me from that hell and go shopping?”

  “No can do.” Priscilla shook her head. “I’ve got to help the women of the church put the Nativity out on the church lawn, and we’re starting on the costumes for the children’s pageant after that.”

  “Costumes?” Inez scoffed. “All you need is some old bathrobes, some pillowcases for headdresses, and some tinsel haloes.” She turned to Francine and stuck out her bottom lip. “Francine, you’ll come spend money with me, won’t you?”

  “You know I have to put my Christmas decorations up before December first,” Francine said over her shoulder as she walked to the jukebox and pulled the plug out of the wall. “It’s bad luck to put stuff up after the first.” She walked to the swinging door behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the diner. “Now you women quit stalling and get back here and help me wash these pots and pans.” Francine bumped the swinging door open with her backside and disappeared into the room beyond.

  “No, it’s bad luck to leave it up past New Year’s Day,” Helen called after her. “She gets all those rules wrong. But I plan on starting my decorating tomorrow, too. It takes me at least a week to get the house ready. Plus I have to decorate the law office for the Rotary Club’s Tour of Homes. Gracious Living Magazine had some really wonderful ideas this year, and I’ve been planning since it came out in September.”

  “Well, fine.” Inez slumped back in her chair with her arms crossed. “I guess I’ll just start putting up the lights on the house tomorrow since someone insisted it was tacky just to leave them up all year.” Inez cut her eyes at Priscilla and smirked. “You want to help me do that, Marcus? Elbert can’t climb a ladder too good anymore.”

  “Sorry, Miss Inez,” Marcus said. “I’ve got plans for tomorrow, too.”

  “You and Hank going to spend a lazy, romantic morning in bed? I want all the details tomorrow!” Inez wiggled her eyebrows at Marcus.

  “No. Hank’s working tomorrow. And I’m going to do some decorating at my grandmother’s… I mean my house. Make it feel more like home, you know?” Marcus turned to Helen. “And please remind Skeet he promised to help me paint the windows at the garage with Christmas scenes. With Skeet’s artistic skills, Hank says he’ll for sure win the town decorating contest this year. We’re painting a—”

  “Oh, Francine will never stand for that,” Priscilla interrupted him. “You know she’s won that competition for the last eight years. Of course, her daughter Georgette is a regular plate-glass Picasso. One year she painted a baby Jesus on the windows that was so pretty it made several dyed-in-the-wool atheists come back to church.”

  “Well, Hank and I have a secret weapon.” Marcus cast a furtive glance toward the kitchen to make sure Francine couldn’t hear him. “We got a little fake tree, and I had Hank save old car parts to hang as ornaments: spark plugs and springs and stuff. I cleaned them and spray-painted them silver and gold. And I’ve got a big old gear to put on the top for a star.”

  “Ain’t that crafty!” Inez clapped her hands.

  “It makes sense,” Helen added. “You know your grandmother was a very crafty woman. She made almost all her own Christmas ornaments.” Helen snapped her fingers. “As a matter of fact, I have a whole box of ornaments she made. When we were clearing out her house after she died, I found it stuck in a closet. I thought the ornaments were too pretty to donate to charity. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time that her grandson was a homosexual who might appreciate the handiwork. I’ll bring it over to you tomorrow.”

  “Girls!” Francine’s head poked through the pass-through window between the kitchen and the dining room. “Quit flapping your gums and get back here and help me so I can get home before midnight. Y'all are keeping Marcus from his fella.”

  “Yeah, I’d better get going.” Marcus stood and slid his chair back under the table. “I’ve got a tree to decorate. And I’ve got to make something for me and Hank for dinner. Even if I am wore slap out. And starving. Though after today, I don’t ever want to see another turkey.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. Hank’s got that turkey in the—”

  “Inez,” Helen hissed, “that’s supposed to be a surprise.”

  “Hell, I forgot.” Inez scowled.

  Marcus slapped his palms on the table and said, “All right, old ladies. That’s it. Spill it.”

  “Fine, but don’t tell him we told you.” Inez raised her hands in surrender. “I know a certain mechanic has spent most of the day holed up above that garage of his making a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Green bean casserole. Fried squash. The works. And even cornbread dressing.”

  “And it isn’t dressing from a box,” Helen interjected. “Hank wanted to surprise you with a whole, big shebang. And he asked us to help. We each made something for him to heat up and serve you.”

  “The sweet potatoes are mine,” Priscilla said, her face aglow. “And tell him I need that casserole dish back.”

  Marcus watched the women sitting around the table with the joy
of their loving mischief beaming from their faces. He was too tired to chastise them for meddling, but wouldn’t have bothered anyway. They wouldn’t stop, and he wasn’t sure he wanted them to. Even though he would never fully understand why, the Do-Nothings had made it clear in his short time in town that helping their beloved, departed friend’s only grandchild be happy delighted them. As the women giggled and chattered amongst themselves, Marcus cocked his head and whispered, “Give thanks.”

  “Oh, Marcus,” Inez said in a sing-song voice, “the green bean casserole is Helen’s, so, you know, skip that one.”

  “Inez, shut up about my cooking.” Helen punched the other woman lightly on the shoulder. “But, Sweetie, don’t ruin the surprise, okay?”

  “Girls!” Francine yelled again from the kitchen.

  Marcus laughed and worked his way around the table to hug each woman. “Your secret’s safe with me. And thank you. Now, y’all better get back there and help Francine before she has a conniption.” Marcus ambled to the door and paused with his hand on the handle. He turned back to the women and said, “And Happy Thanksgiving!”

  Chapter Two

  “It’s about time,” Hank Hudson said as he opened the plate glass door and let Marcus slip into the darkened lobby of Murphy’s garage. The reddish glow from a soda machine in the corner of the room gave Marcus just enough light to see the happy twinkle in Hank’s brown eyes and the smirk of a sarcastic grin on his face. “I was beginning to think you’d been killed in some horrible, cornbread-dressing accident.”

  “What in the hell would be a cornbread-dressing accident?” Marcus asked and laughed.

  “Fiat, with your accident-prone self, it could’ve been anything.” Though Marcus no longer drove the yellow Fiat that had led to their meeting six months ago when he’d wrecked it, Hank still used the nickname often. He claimed he remembered people’s cars better than their names. Marcus had initially found the moniker irritating, but now the baritone sound of it rolling across Hank’s lips made his knees wobble and his tummy flip. He was far too tired and hungry to be frisky, but Hank’s broad chest and strong arms in the tight, blue T-shirt he wore made Marcus want to hurry their progress up the stairs at the back of the lobby into the apartment above.

  “Nope,” Marcus replied as he put his hands on Hank’s hips. As he stepped forward and nuzzled into his neck, the other man’s soft, dark beard tickled his cheek. “No near-death encounters with a turkey, either.”

  “Well, let’s give thanks for that.” Hank ran his hands down Marcus’s back and tucked them into Marcus’s back pockets. He pulled Marcus tight against his body. “So how was it today?”

  “It was a good day, Baby.” The warmth of his boyfriend’s body soothed Marcus’s tired muscles, and he relaxed into the embrace. Marcus breathed in deeply at Hank’s collar bone. The smells of the home-cooked food reheating upstairs that lingered in Hank’s cotton shirt mixed with his cologne and filled Marcus with two types of hunger. He satisfied one by turning his face and placing his lips on Hank’s. The other man let out a low hum of pleasure as they kissed. Marcus pulled away slightly and looked into Hank’s eyes. “I’m going to want seconds of that later, but right now I’m starving.”

  “Let’s get upstairs and get to rectifying that.” Hank stepped toward the stairs and pulled Marcus along behind him, only letting go of his hand when they reached the narrow stairway and had to ascend single file. “You can tell me all about how the dinner went. Was it a big crowd?”

  “Big doesn’t even begin to describe it. I can’t count how many plates I fixed today.” Marcus concentrated on Hank’s backside, which was accented by worn spots on his tight blue jeans, as it bounced up the stairs ahead of him. The sight of Hank’s firm body inches away and the scents of food wafting from the apartment set Marcus’s two hungers warring inside him. As he clomped upward, a loud rumble from his stomach signaled which desire would win this time.

  “Was that your stomach?” Hank paused on the stairs and turned to shoot Marcus a concerned look.

  “Yeah,” Marcus’s answered as he pushed Hank up the stairs into the apartment, “we need to get some food into me.” Remembering the Do-Nothings admonition not to ruin Hank’s surprise, he added, “I’m so tired I can barely climb these stairs. I don’t think I can cook another thing today. Maybe we should just make a frozen pizza.”

  Hank spun around and grabbed Marcus by both wrists. Excitement danced in his eyes, and he shook his shoulders. “I’ve got a surprise for you! I made us a whole Thanksgiving dinner. Turkey and everything!” He pulled Marcus into the apartment and gestured toward the folding table beside the kitchenette along the wall of the large, open loft. “You don’t have to cook any more today!”

  The table was covered with a russet tablecloth and had orange tapers burning in the center of a spray of autumn leaves and berries. Two plates sat on brown placemats embroidered with yellow leaves that Marcus recognized from Helen’s kitchen table. He was sure the tablecloth, napkins, and centerpiece belonged to the Do-Nothings as well.

  “Oh, Hank. It’s beautiful. You shouldn’t have.” Marcus turned and kissed Hank on the cheek. His stomach interrupted the kiss with a loud grumble. “But, clearly, I’m so glad you did.”

  “I wanted to make our first Thanksgiving together a special night.” Hank beamed as he stepped over to the counter and pointed out bowls of food arrayed there. “And I made all your favorites. Cathead biscuits. Creamed corn. And look!” Hank picked one bowl and thrust it toward Marcus. “Real mashed potatoes. Not from a box!”

  Marcus laughed as he walked over and took the bowl from Hank. He set the mashed potatoes on the counter before placing his hands on either side of Hank’s hips. He backed Hank against the counter and moved closer to his face. “And it all looks nearly as delicious as you.” He playfully nipped his teeth at Hank’s nose.

  “Easy, Fiat,” Hank said with a laugh, “we’ve got time for that later.”

  “If I can stay awake. Told you I was tired.”

  “Look, I still need to put the finishing touches on some things, so why don’t you go get cleaned up, and then we’ll eat? Maybe that’ll wake you up.”

  “Fine. I do feel pretty gross.” Marcus stepped away from Hank and started for the bathroom in the corner of the loft. “But you don’t need to reheat the green bean casserole. You know I won’t eat anything that Helen Warner…” Marcus stopped suddenly and scrunched his face in regret at his babbling. He swiveled back around to Hank’s crestfallen expression.

  “They told you.” Hank pouted. He tossed the dish towel he was holding onto the counter. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “Oh, Honey,” Marcus said in his most soothing voice. “You know those old biddies can’t keep a secret.” He walked back to Hank and placed his hands on the sides of his face. “And I don’t care who made the food. You’re the one who thought of having this dinner for me.” He kissed Hank before adding, “That’s all that matters.”

  “I guess so,” Hank mumbled. “But I just wanted… I thought… um… I did mash the potatoes.”

  “And I’m sure they will be the best part of the meal.” Marcus turned back toward the bathroom. “Though you know I’d never believe you made all of this. You can barely make a bowl of cereal.”

  “Yeah. Okay. You’re right.” Bowls rattled behind him as Hank moved them around on the counter. “Now scoot. I’m pretty hungry too.”

  “I should’ve gone home first and changed clothes,” Marcus said, as he pulled his sleeve to his nose and sniffed it. “I smell like that greasy grill at the diner.”

  “You can get some of my clothes out of the dresser and wear those if you want. I mean they’ll swallow your bony butt, but they won’t smell like an omelette.”

  “You sure?” Marcus stopped at the dresser. Scattered across the top were Hank’s car keys and wallet and random bolts and screws. Tucked in the corner o
f the mirror was a picture clipped from the newspaper of Marcus and Hank dancing together in front of the gazebo in the town square. Marcus had the same picture stuck to his refrigerator with a magnet. He had been a little mortified when the picture showed up in the town paper, but he had to admit they both looked ridiculously happy. And his suit that night had made his normally wiry body look amazing.

  “Yeah,” Hank answered. “You know, maybe it’s time you leave some clothes over here. Stop having to do the walk of shame when you spend the night. You know how small-town tongues can waggle.” Hank concentrated on pouring lumpy gravy from a plastic container into a white ceramic gravy boat. “I can empty out a drawer for you.”

  “Really?” Marcus asked. “You want to do that?”

  “Yeah,” Hank said, not looking away from his task, “and maybe I can leave some at your place. Just make life easier. And a toothbrush. Definitely a toothbrush.”

  “That makes sense.” Marcus smiled as he pulled the top drawer of the dresser open and rummaged for a T-shirt that might not be too large. He pulled out a red one and held it up to inspect. On the front was a simple line drawing of a rooster with the word cock written underneath. “Where did you get this?”

  Hank glanced at the shirt and frowned. “Ugh. Skeet gave it to me. He thought it was funny. Of course, I can’t wear it out of the house. Can you imagine Myrtle Hawkins seeing that shirt? She’d have me arrested.”

  “Well, it’s not a turkey, so I don’t think it is appropriate for tonight, either.” Marcus folded the shirt and placed it back in the drawer. As he pulled out another T-shirt, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Marcus bent to retrieve it.