“Yeah,” Hank said as he slid his chair back and removed the dirty plates from the table. “Couldn’t pronounce all of it, but it was good, I guess.” He walked toward the stairs.
“You guess?” Marcus asked as he took the empty glasses and followed Hank.
“Fiat, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
Hank lifted the empty plates and showed them to Marcus. “Is this the stuff you really want to cook?”
Marcus shrugged. “It’s what I wanted to go to school to learn how to do, but those cooking schools are really expensive.”
“Well, once you sell the house and with the money from your grandmother you could—”
“If I ever sell it.”
Hank tilted his head to one side and smiled. “You’re thinking of not selling?”
“No. I’m selling it. I just meant I haven’t had one person come look at it. Maybe I’m asking too much?”
Hank’s smile faded as he turned and clomped down the stairs. “But you’re getting some money otherwise, right? You could use that.”
“Yeah.” Marcus followed Hank into the apartment. “I guess. Maybe once I find a new town and settle in there I will… wait…” Marcus stopped walking. “You hated the food, didn’t you?”
“No.” Hank shook his head and dropped the dishes into the sink. “It was good. It’s… well…”
“What?” Marcus pulled Hank’s elbow to turn him away from the sink and look him in the eye. “What was wrong with it?”
“The food you made me at the diner? The home cooking food last night? That was so good. I mean, I could tell you really had your heart into cooking it. I could tell you had fun making it. This chateau-alfredo-pizicato-whatever fancy-pants stuff just seemed, I don’t know, like a chore?”
“Ouch.” Marcus slumped against the counter.
“Don’t be mad. I don’t mean it like that. Not a chore to eat. For you to make. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Well, I’m still learning some of this stuff and I had to teach myself, so maybe I didn’t get it right.”
“Look, don’t get upset. I told you I’m not really into that highfaluting stuff. That was my parent’s world, not mine.”
Marcus frowned as he pushed off the counter and crossed the room to the entertainment center. He scanned the rows of books, surprised at the multiple languages on the spines. He could tell a few were French or Italian, but some he couldn’t guess. Most of the books appeared to be about music and theater with the occasional manual on car repair shoved in between. He glanced at the opera posters on the wall and said, “Hold on. That dog don’t hunt. You don’t like fancy stuff? It doesn’t get much fancier than opera.”
“That’s the exception. It makes me feel close to my dad.” Hank walked up behind Marcus and reached over his shoulder to point out a picture on the shelf of a man and woman in evening clothes. “Dad taught music at the college. He loved opera, and I grew up listening to it with him. Every fall, we would drive all the way up to Atlanta to see an opera, just the two of us. After it was over, we would drive all night to get back home. He kept himself awake on the highway by telling me all about the different operas. That’s him and my mom at the big party the fine arts department had every spring.”
Marcus studied the faces of the couple in the picture. The woman had jet-black hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun. She wore a forced smile and cut her eyes to the side toward the man, who pulled her into his side with an arm around her shoulders. The man had his mouth open in a boisterous laugh and held a glass of champagne toward the camera in a perpetual toast. He had the same crinkles beside his eyes as Hank and the same dimples in his cheeks. “You look like him.”
“Yeah. We were a lot alike.”
“Were?”
“Yeah, he died not long before my mom threw me out. Drunk driver.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You know, my father got hit by a drunk driver too.”
“No. Mine was the drunk driver. My daddy loved to drink.” Hank wrapped his arms around Marcus’s chest from behind and rested his chin on his shoulder. “I didn’t realize how much he drank until we started cleaning out his drawers and closets after he died. We found bottles stashed all over the place, but especially in the backs of drawers behind his clothes.” Hank dropped his arms and stepped away from Marcus to sit on the couch.
Marcus sat beside Hank. As he stared at the other man, his phone vibrated again. He ignored it and placed his hand on Hank’s leg. Unsure of what to say, he rubbed Hank’s knee and waited for him to speak.
“Remember me saying my grandmother died from diabetes?” Hank placed his hand on top of Marcus’s to stop him from rubbing. “Well, when she died, evidently they found all kinds of candy hidden in the back of her drawers, too. I only know this because one day I came home from school and my mother was standing in the kitchen with this blue notebook in her hands. As soon as I saw it I knew exactly what it was—my journal. I had written all kinds of things in there about boys at school that I had crushes on and some of my sexual fantasies and it was just gay, gay, gay. I had hidden it in the back of my sock drawer, which was a stupid place to hide it since she put my laundry away.”
Hank dropped his head onto the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
“So my mother starts ranting about the candy in Nana’s dresser drawers and the alcohol in Dad’s and then she slammed the book onto the kitchen table and glared at me. I had never seen her so angry in my life. And then she yelled at me. God, I can still hear her voice. She said, ‘You Hudsons and the things you hide in your drawers. They will be the death of all of you.’”
Hank looked at Marcus with his lips pursed, clearly trying his best to hold back his sorrow. Marcus shifted forward and rested his head against Hank’s temple. Hank said, “I don’t know why in the hell I’m telling you all of this. This was supposed to be a romantic night.”
“No,” Marcus whispered. “I want to hear it.”
“Anyway. Mother kicked me out and I never looked back. I guess I could’ve tried to argue with her, but I don’t like drama, Marcus. I’m going to prove her wrong with my life. Just because she was miserable in life didn’t mean I had to… I mean, her idea of family made both of us miserable, so I figured I’d just find my own family. I mean, that’s what we do, right? When you don’t fit in with the family god gave you, you go make your own. Don’t you think?”
“You know what I think?” Marcus asked as he pulled away from Hank. “Your mother is a total bitch.”
He looked at Hank to see if he had crossed a line. Hank just stared at him blankly until Marcus could see the beginnings of a grin at the corners of Hank’s mouth. His smile grew broader and his shoulders began to shake as a laugh built in his chest. He threw his head back and roared with laughter.
“Fiat, I think you are right,” Hank wheezed as he continued to laugh. “I think she was a bitch.”
“Trust me. I know crazy mothers.” Marcus began to laugh as well. “Hell, my mama left me on the side of the road, and yours shoved you out the door. We both really hit the jackpot when it came to mothers, huh?”
“Oh, my god.” Hank groaned as he wiped tears from his eyes. “This is not funny at all.” He dropped his hands into his lap and began to giggle again. “Oh, my sides hurt.”
“Me too,” Marcus said as he continued to laugh.
“Whooo.” Hank exhaled deeply. He stood from the couch and added, “I better go get those dishes started. You want to put on some music?”
“Hang on.” Marcus pulled him back to the sofa. He pushed Hank onto his back and crawled up his legs onto his chest until he was lying on top of him, face to face. “I think your mother threw away the best thing in her life.” He kissed Hank. Marcus could feel Hank’s heartbeat quicken through his shirt as his lips parted to accept Marcus’s kiss. Hank’s a
rms crossed over Marcus’s lower back and pulled him tight against his body as he moaned. Marcus pulled back from the kiss and looked into Hank’s eyes. “Don’t you think?”
Hank blinked slowly and whispered, “And your mother abandoned the best thing in hers.” He tightened his grip on Marcus’s body and lifted his face for another kiss. He stopped short and added, “Why do people do that? Throw away the good things in their life?”
“Shh.” Marcus shook his head and then moved in for another kiss. As their lips touched, the phone in his shirt pocket begin to vibrate again. Ignoring it, he placed light kisses on Hank’s cheek and the tip of his nose.
“Fiat…”
“Shh.”
“Your phone.”
“Ignore it.”
Marcus pressed another kiss to Hank’s lips. The phone began vibrating again between their chests.
“It’s not stopping.”
“Not important,” Marcus mumbled out of the side of his mouth as he pressed his lips harder against Hank’s.
Hank pulled his arms from around Marcus’s waist and pushed his hands against Marcus’s shoulders to move him away from the kiss. “I can’t concentrate with that thing buzzing between us.”
“Fine,” Marcus said with a huff, leaned over on one elbow, and yanked the phone out of his pocket without looking at the screen, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Now, more kissing.” He rolled back on to Hank’s chest for another kiss. The phone began to rattle and skitter around the table as it vibrated again.
“Maybe you better get that.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Marcus struggled his way off Hank’s body and flung his feet onto the floor. He picked up the phone and looked at the flashing screen. “It’s just Helen Warner. She’s probably having last-minute jitters about the dance tomorrow night. I’m sorry. This won’t take but a second.”
“No. Go ahead.”
Marcus swiped his finger across the phone and lifted it to his ear with an irritated groan. “Hello?”
“Marcus, darling? Oh, thank heavens you finally answered.”
“Helen, I’m kind of busy.” He glanced over at Hank and forced a half-hearted smile. “What is it?”
“Sweetheart, there was a strange man trying to get into your house.”
“What?” Marcus said as the smile faded from his face. “Like a burglar?”
“He was banging on the door and yelling for you to open up. Oh, the language he was using. The whole neighborhood could hear him.”
Marcus stood from the couch. “Helen, what does he look like?”
“Marcus, he said his name is Robert.”
Muffled voices on the other end of the line raised in volume; people were clearly arguing in the background. “Helen, hang up and call the police.”
“Marcus, I think you should come home.” Helen’s voice faded as she spoke to someone on the other end of the line. “You stay right there, mister. Yes, I’ve got him on the phone. Yes, I’m telling him to come home. Inez! Don’t you dare—”
“Helen, I said to call the police. I’m on my way.”
“Marcus, please hurry. Inez, stop pointing that gun at the man. Marcus, I don’t think I can keep Inez from—”
Marcus pushed the disconnect button. Hank sat forward on the edge of the couch and met Marcus’ gaze with a worried look.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” Not waiting for a response, Marcus hurried across the room, down the stairs into the garage, and out into the street.
Chapter Twelve
“Marcus, please slow down.” Hank braced himself against the dashboard as Marcus zipped through an intersection without bothering to slow down or look for oncoming cars.
“She’s going to shoot him. She’s going to shoot him.” Marcus gripped the steering wheel tight and hunched his shoulders toward the windshield with his eyes focused on the road ahead.
“She’s not going to shoot anyone. And Helen already called the sheriff. Just slow down, please, before you get us both killed.”
“I can’t believe he showed up here. And I told you to stay at your apartment. Oh, jeez, she’s going to shoot—”
“Marcus! Red light! Oh shit.” Hank covered his eyes and curled into himself on the seat beside Marcus.
“No one was coming, and I know more than a stupid light bulb,” Marcus spat back without taking his eyes from the road.
He barely slowed down as he neared the entrance to Crepe Myrtle Manor. Without flipping his signal and only slightly tapping the brakes, he cut the wheel sharply to the right. The heavy bulk of the LTD groaned and the tires squealed on the pavement as he careened into the subdivision, just missing the curb of the median island.
At the entrance to his cul-de-sac, Marcus yanked the steering wheel again and slid into his neighborhood. Mere feet before the entrance to his driveway, Marcus stomped on the brake pedal and slid to a screeching halt in front of the house, inches behind a familiar black sedan that sat halfway in the street and halfway over the curb in his front yard. Katie Nell’s For Sale sign was mangled on the ground behind the flat back tire of the car. His mailbox lay on the hood of the car; its post was wrapped around the front bumper.
Marcus shoved the gearshift to put the car in park and flung the car door open. As he slid out of the car, he looked at Hank and said, “Stay in the car. I will handle this.”
“The hell I will,” Hank said as he whipped off his seat belt and opened the passenger side door.
Marcus scurried around the front of his car and past the rear end of the black car. He skidded to a stop in a pool of light from the street lamp when he saw the scene in front of him. Helen stood halfway up his driveway with her cell phone to her ear, gesticulating wildly toward his house with her free hand as she paced back and forth. Inez stood a few steps closer to the house with her eyes trained toward the front door. She rested one hand on her hip and the other sat on the butt of a shotgun that she had slung over her shoulder. She wriggled her fingers on the butt of the gun and patted her foot. Both women wore robes and slippers.
Marcus followed Inez’s gaze to the front stoop of the house. Robert sat there with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. The porch light over Robert’s head cast shadows around his feet and showed the bald spot on top of his head in the middle of his silvery hair. He wore his standard navy blue dress pants and white dress shirt, though they were wrinkled and crumpled. Guess you haven’t found a new boy to do your ironing. Robert’s shoulders shook and his head bobbed as he bounced his leg on the pavement.
Robert threw his head back, stared into the porch light, and yelled, “Marcus!” Robert’s sudden movement made Inez shift the gun from her shoulder to her side. The dogs in Priscilla’s backyard began barking and howling. Oh, for god’s sake, Robert.
Hank stepped beside Marcus and touched his arm. “See, I told you she wouldn’t shoot him. Who is this guy?”
Marcus jerked his arm away from Hank. “I asked you to stay in the car.”
Marcus stalked away from Hank up the driveway toward Helen and Inez but kept his eyes focused on the huddled lump of Robert on the stoop. As he neared Helen, he could hear her arguing with someone on the phone.
“Jeanette, are Spud and Randall on their way or not?” Helen asked into the phone. “You already said ‘five minutes’ over ten minutes ago. No, he isn’t hurting anyone one but he is definitely…” Helen glanced up, and her face brightened as she saw Marcus making his way up the driveway. “Marcus! Oh, thank heavens you’re here. Jeanette, just tell Sheriff Stewart to please hurry up.” Helen tapped the screen of her phone and shoved it into the pocket of her robe. “Nothing like that crack Marathon police force. If I go two miles over the speed limit there are ten of them on the scene, but when some screaming maniac is in my neighborhood—”
“Helen, how long has he been here?” Marcus interrupted her. “Ha
s he said anything to either of you?”
“No. He just keeps demanding to see you. And he smells like a brewery.” Helen grabbed Marcus by the upper arm and pulled him along the driveway toward Inez. “I was watching my shows and minding my own business when all of the sudden Priscilla’s dogs started barking all crazy. I figured some stray cat must’ve wandered into her yard, but they wouldn’t shut up. I got up to call her and tell her to control those mutts. That’s when I heard the tires squealing and the crash when he ran into your mailbox. I looked out the window and saw the car sitting here in your front yard.” Helen stopped walking when they reached Inez. “When I saw this man stagger out of the car and wander toward your door, I figured maybe he was going to ask to use the phone to call the police. So I got my cell phone, threw on my robe, and headed out here.”
“I heard the crash and looked out my window, too. I saw Helen coming out of her house. Elbert didn’t wake up. That man will sleep through the rapture.”
“Marcus!” Robert yelled from the porch again.
“Good lord, could you please shut that man up? Or I am going to have to shoot him?” Inez raised the shotgun a bit.
Marcus pushed the barrel of the gun back toward the ground.
“When I got outside, he started pounding on your door and screaming your name at the top of his lungs. That’s when I realized he wasn’t just some random drunk.” Helen pointed at Robert. “He hasn’t stopped no matter how much we asked him to.”
“When I heard that bellowing start, I knew this wasn’t just an accident. So I pulled old Ethel here off the wall.” Inez nodded her head at the shotgun. “By the time I got out here, half the neighborhood was awake and staring out of their doors. Helen was standing at the end of her driveway calling Sheriff Stewart. That moron was yelling like a maniac, so nobody else would come out, but I ain’t scared of nobody when I got old Ethel. So I just walked my ass over here and asked him what the hell he wanted.”
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 16
