“Francine, it’s not that I’m embarrassed,” Marcus shot back at her and leaned back against the prep table. He blew out a long breath in frustration as he shoved his bangs away from his face. “I’ve got to get away from Robert.”
Francine stood looking at the onions before saying, “Well, I won’t stand in your way. But you’re going to need some money to get on the road. Why don’t you finish out your shift here today, and I can pay you for that? After we close, we can work on the food for the party tonight.” She picked up the knife and pushed the onion pieces around on the cutting board.
Marcus smacked his hand against his forehead. “Crap, I forgot all about that party.”
“The girls are really counting on you, and I can’t make that stuff you planned all by myself.” Francine pointed with the knife toward Marcus’s hand-written menu for the party that was stuck to one of the freezers with a magnet.
“You don’t need me. It’s all easy to make.”
“Not by myself while I’m still cooking for customers. And the girls will pay you tonight. One more night in town won’t make much difference. You can hit the road tomorrow with some gas money in your pocket at least.”
“I guess.” Marcus flipped his apron off a hook and slipped it over his neck. He tied it around his waist and slid beside Francine at the prep table.
“Trust Francine, sweetie.” She shifted his head back and forth by the chin as she inspected his skin. “Did he hit you again?”
“No. Didn’t give him the chance. That’s the one good thing my mama taught me. She used to tell me, ‘A man gets the chance to hit you once and never again. Cause you don’t stick around for that. If you stay, he’ll do it again.’ God, how sad is it that it happened so often she had to have a rule about it. You know, when I met Robert, I thought he would be so different from all those losers my mother would date just because he had money.”
“Assholes come in all shapes, sizes, and income brackets.” She banged the knife against the cutting board to knock some lingering chunks of onion off the blade. “Grab those peppers and start cutting them for the crudités platters.”
Marcus opened the refrigerator and took the bag of bell peppers from a shelf. He dumped some out on the table and pulled a knife from the rack over the sink. He began slicing the peppers into petite slivers. As he finished the last pepper, he realized Francine was watching him work.
“You’ve got wonderful knife skills. You ever think about trying to cook something fancier than this hash?”
“I like cooking this hash.” Marcus shrugged and turned around to look at his menu to decide what to work on next. He opened the fridge and chose three heads of broccoli. “Being a fancy chef was Robert’s idea. Fancy is important to him.”
“Wash that broccoli first,” Francine suggested. “So he wanted you to be a chef? Didn’t he know you were a fry cook when he met you?”
“Yeah. He used to come into the Waffle Barn I was working at almost every morning. He was such a distinguished-looking man with his gray temples and his business suits. I learned his order and would have it started the minute he walked in the door.” Marcus tossed the broccoli into a colander and shoved it into the sink. “The first time I did that, he called me over and we started talking. I was used to customers flirting with me all the time, but he had something that... there was an authority or a, I don’t know; he just made me feel as if he was really interested in what I said. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew I was agreeing to a date.”
“I’m going to start the potatoes for the hash browns.” Francine slipped past Marcus and pulled a bag of potatoes out of a drawer. “Keep talking. I can listen and work.”
“He took me all kinds of fancy places. Opera. Ballet. Art museums. We went to all these fancy-schmancy fundraisers where I met all of his rich friends. He never told anyone that I was just some short-order cook at a greasy spoon. And he didn’t want me telling people that either. He didn’t let me talk much to people at all, really. Told me it was better if I just listened and learned. He kept telling people I was studying to be a chef, which, I guess I wanted to do but I couldn’t really afford it. When I told him that, he suggested I move in with him, and he would help pay for school.” Marcus pulled the colander out of the sink and moved back to the cutting board.
“How much does that cost?”
“For the school? A lot. For living with him? More.” Marcus began chopping florets off the broccoli, grunting with each push of the knife. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but the price was… well… me. I lost me. It was wonderful to start with. A beautiful house. Clothes and shoes and a car. He would throw these big parties and invite people over, and I would cook the food for them. The whole time he kept telling them how one day I will be a world-class chef with my own restaurant. I kept working at the diner, but I really didn’t need the money. Robert handled everything.” Marcus looked from his work to Francine. “Can you hand me that big bowl?”
“Here.” She handed him the silver bowl and returned to her task.
“Anyway,” Marcus continued, “one night, a guy came to one of our parties and he would not stop hitting on me. Practically chased me around the kitchen. Telling me he’d like to butter my waffle and junk like that.”
“Ew.”
“Right? He was some jerk we met at a cancer fundraiser. Robert was so jealous, he caused a bit of a scene. Called the other guy out on it right there in front of everyone. Well, the other guy fired back that he didn’t know why Robert was being so snooty about a guy who worked at a Waffle Barn.”
“What an asshole.”
“After everyone left, Robert suggested I stop working at the diner and just take care of the house. So I did, and things were almost fine again. But I think a seed was planted. Robert was terrified someone would steal me or recognize me from the Waffle Barn. Before I knew it, the opera stopped. And the ballet. And the parties. Soon we were just staying home all of the time.” Marcus dumped the vegetables he had cut into the bowl.
“I got bored, so I went back to work. But I didn’t tell Robert. I knew he wouldn’t like it or understand. I would just take shifts while he was at work. And it felt so good to be back there cooking and talking to people. I didn’t have to pretend that I understood what people were talking about. I could just be me.” Marcus covered the top of the bowl with plastic wrap and tossed it into the refrigerator. When he closed the door, he ran his finger along the menu to decide what task to work on next. “Except I screwed up one day and got home late. Robert could smell the diner on me. And he hit me.” Marcus turned back around to find Francine standing with a potato in one hand and the peeler in the other and listening to him intently.
“And that is when you left?”
“Well, sort of. I couldn’t very well go to work the next day with the black eye. So I stayed home, and I was there when the mail came. You know, it never struck me as odd that I never got any mail. I didn’t have any bills, and who was going to be writing me? Robert always went through the mail. But that day I was home, so I had to sign for the letter from Raffield. I opened it and found out about my grandmother. Suddenly, it was all clear. I packed the car and, well, here I am.”
“Oh, sweetie, that was the smartest thing you ever did.”
“I’m not so sure. Look at the mess it’s made.”
“Can I be honest? I’m proud of you for leaving.” Francine took a potato and began forcefully rubbing it against a metal grater. “My second husband, Paul, liked to hit, too. I knew the first day that I saw you what was going on. That’s why I hired you. I mean your cooking is fine and all, but I could see it. And I wanted you to give you the chance I never had.”
“Chance?” Marcus asked.
“A chance to get away.” She picked another potato and sighed. “I never left Paul. He died of a heart attack. It still pisses me off that the sorry sonofabitch died before I final
ly got the nerve to leave him.” She began grating again, punctuating her words with a harsh push against the potato. “I mean, I was glad he was gone, but I’m a strong woman. I honestly don’t know why I put up with it. And I let my girls be around it. That messed me up for the longest time. I didn’t think I could ever be with a man again. How could I trust myself? How could I ever be sure I wasn’t picking another one that would just go bad?”
Francine stopped and looked at the kitchen door as it swung open. Georgette and Paulette walked in giggling with each other, but stopped abruptly at the glare from their mother.
“Mama?”
“Get out of here and let us work.”
“Sorry.” The girls scurried back out into the dining room.
“I could’ve holed away in my house and just waited to die.” She gestured toward the kitchen door, still swinging behind the girls. “I had two little mouths to feed. Paul never could keep a job, and my first husband, George… Let’s just say waiting on child support from him was like waiting for a donkey to shit diamonds. So I came up here to this diner and got me a job. And I met Frank. And he was a good man.”
“Well, that’s you. Tomorrow morning, I’m out of here. You know, I think I’m just built to be on the road. It’s all I ever knew growing up.”
“But, honey, that’s no kind of life. You need family. You need roots. You need a home.”
“The road can be home, and it’s a beautiful place. When I was little and we’d be driving in the middle of the night so the landlord wouldn’t catch us sneaking out, Mama would point out the white headlights and the red taillights on the highway. ‘Who needs gold, baby? Look at the riches all around us. Diamonds going one way. Rubies going the other.’ And I need to get back out there and try again. Find someplace new. Follow those rubies and diamonds until I find…” Marcus trailed off and shrugged. “I need to get busy on this chili.”
Ten minutes passed in silence as Marcus and Francine continued preparing the food for the diner and the party. Marcus let her words roll around his mind as he filled pots, measured ingredients, and listened to the girls working in the main room. Francine finally interrupted the sounds of chopping and stirring and asked, “What about Hank?”
“He won’t answer my calls. And now that he knows about Robert, he probably won’t give me the time of day. And who could blame him? He thinks I’m a liar and a thief. I don’t deserve someone as good as Hank.”
“Foot. That type of thinking almost screwed up my life. I resisted Frank for the longest time. I just assumed that because of my past…” She crossed the kitchen and stood facing Marcus. “Then I remembered what my mama always told me. Just because you burn your biscuits once don’t mean you never eat them again.” Francine stroked Marcus’s arm. “You didn’t ask to get hit. You didn’t try to find an asshole. Shit happens. And a good man will understand that.”
“I don’t know. There’s still Robert to—”
“Stop it.” Francine took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “When you first came in here, that man had given you a black eye. What is a black eye? A bruise. It’s not a scar. Bruises fade. Scars don’t. If you let that man steal the rest of your life away, you’re letting him be a scar, not a bruise.” She patted his cheek and turned to leave the kitchen. “Don’t let him scar you, Shoe Button. Don’t.
Chapter Fourteen
“Marc? You here?” Marcus heard Skeet’s voice call through the screen followed by the bang of the screen door slamming behind him. “I come bearing gifts!”
Marcus stepped out of the bathroom wearing only his boxer shorts and rubbed a towel over his damp hair. “Hey, Skeet. Come on in. I’ll be ready in a little bit.”
Skeet stood in the doorway holding a garment bag over his shoulder. He wore snug black leather pants and a form-fitting black dress shirt. His floral-patterned necktie hung untied around his neck. His usual upward swoop of hair had been gelled into a severe part. Skeet eyed Marcus up and down and let out a wolf whistle. “Marcus, you have a wonderful body, but I’d suggest something a little less revealing for the dance. There are standards to be met and you might give some poor old woman a heart attack.”
“What kind of girl do you think I am?” Marcus laughed and flung the wet towel toward Skeet. “No, I’m just running a little behind. The Tammy was a madhouse today and I spent all afternoon with Francine getting the food ready for tonight. I really wanted a nap, but that didn’t happen.”
“Yeah, I heard you had a late night.” Skeet stepped to Marcus and inspected his face. “Ooh, you shouldn’t have skipped the nap. Those bags under your eyes practically say Samsonite. Got any cucumbers? Or put a spoon in the freezer and stick it on your eyes. No, wait, that’s to get rid of a hickey, I think. At least he didn’t give you another black eye this time. I heard Hank walloped the other guy real good, though.”
“Jesus, can’t those women keep anything to themselves?” Marcus bent and picked up the discarded towel.
“Why should they start now?”
“Yeah, but still.”
“Anyway, it was Frankie that told me, not one of the Do-Nothings. Georgette heard about it from the Spud and told Frankie. Evidently, Spud had to cut out on his date with her to come out here and handle it. Deputy Randall isn’t very good at handling calls by himself. He’s got a cute ass in that uniform, but that’s about all he has going for him. At least you saved Georgette from having to turn down Spud’s marriage proposal again.”
“God, it’s so embarrassing.” Marcus closed his eyes. At Skeet’s touch on his bare shoulder, he raised his head and looked at the other boy.
Skeet shook his head and patted Marcus on the shoulder. “I guess, but how dashing of Hank to step in and protect you.” Skeet tossed the garment bag onto the back of the sofa. “Your own white knight! You must’ve been all over him after such a heroic move.”
“No.” Marcus turned to look in the mirror over the piano and rubbed the towel on his damp hair. “Hank won’t answer my calls. I just want to talk to him to explain, but every time I call it goes straight to voicemail.”
“Did you try going by the garage?”
“I didn’t have time and I don’t think I could’ve done it face to face. I still don’t know if he’s in trouble for hitting Robert.”
“He’s not. Frankie said the sheriff didn’t keep him. Apparently, my daddy convinced that ex of yours to drop the assault charges.”
Marcus looked at Skeet’s reflection in the mirror and frowned. “Well, then that means he really is ignoring my calls. He told me he hated drama and, boy, did I deliver the drama last night. I shouldn’t have kept the truth from everyone.” Marcus studied Skeet’s face for any reaction. The other boy broke eye contact and shrugged.
“Look, I don’t care about some dumb-ass you used to date. Especially one who was stupid enough to show up drunk and think that would make you want him back. Ugh.”
“Skeet, when you make it to New York, you be careful who you get mixed up with, okay?”
“You don’t have to worry about me.” Skeet jabbed at the air with his right hand. “I’ve got a mean right hook.”
Marcus spun around and placed his hands on Skeet’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length and locking him in an earnest stare. “Skeet, I’m serious.”
Skeet broke the stare before shaking Marcus’s hands off his shoulders. “Anyway, Mama asked me to put a new sign out front since that asshole ran over the other one.”
“Thanks. Did she say if she’s had anyone interested in looking at the house? I really need to sell this thing as soon as I can.”
Skeet shrugged and looked away. “Something in here smells dee-lish.”
“I took the food over to the town square hours ago, but that chili smell lingers. Robert used to get so mad when I would…” Marcus stopped and grunted. “You know what? Screw Robert.”
“Isn’t that
what got you into this mess?”
Marcus shot a disgusted look at Skeet. “Well, not exactly.” Marcus shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I’m sick of thinking about him anyway. So, what you got there?”
“This?” Skeet lifted the garment bag off the sofa and wiggled his eyebrows. “This is a little gift from the dear old dames of the Do-Nothing club.” Skeet carefully laid the bag on the back of the sofa and slid the zipper down. With a flourish, he pulled a dark suit out of the bag. “The girls said they knew you wouldn’t have anything to wear to the dance tonight. So…” He motioned his hand up and down in front of the suit. “Voila! Well, nothing lifts a fella’s spirits like a new outfit, right?”
“Um, most fellas don’t think that way.” Marcus walked over and ran his hand over the lapel of the suit. “Holy cow, that is beautiful. But I can’t take it.”
Skeet laughed. “I’d like to see you try showing up in something else.”
Marcus read the price on the tag on the sleeve of the jacket. “But it’s too expensive.”
“Oh, please. If there is one thing Nonnie and Miss Inez enjoy more than being busybodies, it’s shopping.”
“But how could they know what size to—”
Skeet grinned. “You really should lock your doors. Miss Annie isn’t the only one who can just wander in.”
Marcus looked over at the front door standing wide open. “But who?”
“Obviously someone snuck in here and wrote down your sizes while you were at work.” Skeet pursed his lips and batted his eyelashes in what Marcus could only assume was an attempt to look as innocent as possible.
“You sneaky little—”
“If Cinderella taught us anything, it’s that fairy godmothers need a little mouse to help them sometimes.”
“Or a mosquito.”
Skeet smirked and handed the suit to Marcus. “Guilty. Now, quit being stupid and put it on. We need to get to the square before people start arriving. Nonnie will murder us if we’re late.”
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 18
