Mr. Sumter: We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance…
Helen tapping on his shoulder pulled Marcus’s attention away from the letter.
“What you got there, honey?” she asked. “You just went white as a sheet.”
Marcus dropped the letter onto the counter and shrugged. “It’s nothing. Looks like this all my mail from Atlanta. Guess Robert left it here.”
“Oh. Let’s not talk about that asshole,” Inez said and made a sour face. “I still want to know about the Hudson fellow.”
“Yeah,” Skeet said, “I was wondering where you disappeared to last night. Frankie and I were looking for you to show you our dance routine, and you were gone.”
“Girls—” Priscilla said, her head hung down as she stared at the counter.
“Come on, Shoe Button,” Francine pleaded, “give some old women a few vicarious thrills.”
“Girls—” Priscilla tried to interrupt again.
“Honey,” Helen said as she rubbed Marcus on his upper arm, “you just ignore these busybody old hens and keep your business to—”
“Girls!” Priscilla said, her voice shrill. Marcus looked over to see her pointing at the piles of clothes on the kitchen counter. She looked at him with a bemused smile. “That right there is the suit I loaned Hank last night. It’s the Reverend’s. I’d recognize it anywhere.”
“Oh, yeah,” Marcus stammered as he hurried over and began to gather the clothes off the counter into his arms. “He asked me if I would return—”
“Return hell,” Inez spat out and jumped off the barstool, “that boy is still here! Hank Hudson!” She yelled into the hallway toward the bedroom, “You get that sexy butt out here!”
“Inez!” Priscilla said and gasped.
“Ladies,” Marcus said as he began to back down the hallway toward the bedroom, trying hard not to drop all of the clothes he had bunched in his arms, “Maybe y’all come back a little later and…” He stopped walking as he heard the bedroom door creak open behind him.
“Well, good lord in heaven!” Priscilla said as she peered over Marcus’s shoulder.
Inez let out a wolf whistle and slapped her hand on the counter in delight.
“You know, Hank, I really don’t think that pink is your color,” Francine drawled and fell into a fit of giggles.
Marcus turned to see Hank standing in the hall wearing a sheepish grin, his black dress socks, and an ill-fitting pink chenille robe with butterflies appliqued on the front. Hank held one arm modestly across his chest, though the sleeve of the robe barely reached his elbow, and tried to cover the broad swath of his chest that the tight-fitting robe could not stretch across. The hem of the robe fell just above the hem of his boxer shorts and his thick legs looked twice as large poking out from the bottom of the tiny pink robe. He shifted from foot to foot and tugged at the belt as he said, “It was all I could find in there.”
As the women’s laughter faded, Helen said, “I think if Eloise had known a gentleman caller would wear that bathrobe, she might have put a little more fabric into it when she made it.”
“And chose a different color,” Francine added as she wiped tears from her eyes. “And maybe something other than butterflies. Hank, would you prefer tractors or maybe sparkplugs?”
‘No, no!” Inez said and threw her head back to howl with laughter, “He needs those god-awful silver nudie girls you see on the big rig mud flaps!”
“If you must know, I happen to appreciate the butterflies,” Hank said and sniffed. “And I think I look perfectly lovely in pink.” He dropped his arm from his chest and pulled the hem away from his thighs as he gave a quick curtsy. “Now if you ladies are finished with the fashion critique, I think I’ll get dressed.” Hank took the wadded clothes from Marcus’s arms and tucked them under his arm. As he turned to go back into the bedroom, he called out over his shoulder, “Oh, ladies?” Then he reached back and lifted the hem of the robe, flashing the seat of his boxer briefs at Marcus, Skeet, and the women.
“Oh, my lord.” Priscilla groaned and ducked her eyes behind her hands. As the other women hooted and hollered, Annie began to play a bawdy bump and grind tune.
“Miss Annie,” Skeet said as he sat beside her on the piano bench and swatted her shoulder, “cut that out. Don’t encourage them.”
Annie’s shoulders shook as she giggled and pounded away on the keys.
Hank turned around in the hallway to face the women. “So that’s what you old perverts want?” He shot an evil grin at Marcus and wiggled his eyebrows. He dropped the clothes, grabbed the ends of the robe’s belt, and twirled them. He began walking back into the kitchen, bumping his hips in time with the tune Annie played. When he reached the women, he began to shimmy his shoulders and seductively untie the robe.
“Hank, cut that out,” Marcus said through his laughter.
“Like what you see, ladies?” Hank asked as he slid one shoulder of the robe down to flash a bit of his skin at the women. “Well, there’s more where that came from!” He turned his back to the women and swiveled his hips.
The women continued hooting and clapping. “Take it off, baby! Take it off!” Francine yelled as Inez whistled loudly. Helen leaned against the counter with tears rolling down her cheeks as she laughed. Priscilla slid her fingers apart just enough to peek through and watch Hank dance.
Marcus’s sides began to ache from his laughter and he braced himself on the counter. He took in the scene before him.
Inez clapped along to the bawdy rhythm of the song.
You make fabulous wherever you are.
Francine pulled a dollar out of her bra and shook it at Hank.
Because you burn the biscuits once, that doesn’t mean you don’t eat them again.
Priscilla finally dropped her hands and joined in with the other women’s laughter.
The greatest of these is love.
Helen opened her purse and fumbled around in the pockets until she pulled out her phone, quickly snapping pictures of Inez dancing beside the nearly naked Hank.
That boy needs love. He needs a home.
Marcus looked at the letter from the cooking school on the counter. He grabbed it and folded it back into thirds.
Is that what you want to cook? The diner food has more of your heart in it.
Marcus looked from the letter to Hank dancing across the room with the Do-Nothings gathered around him clapping, laughing, and dancing to the tune Annie cranked out of the piano. Skeet hopped up from the bench, took his grandmother in his arms and twirled her around as he roared with laughter.
When you don’t fit in with the family God gave you, you go make your own.
Hank caught Marcus’s attention as he spun around in the middle of the group of women. With a quick bump of his hips in Marcus’s direction, he winked and smiled broadly. He motioned for Marcus to come join the dance and then blew him a kiss across the room. Marcus pretended to catch the kiss but shook his head to refuse the invitation to dance.
I’m just a guy who wants to dance with you.
Marcus’s smile faded and he turned to slip out of the front door. He wandered into the yard and listened to the sounds of music and laughter pouring out of the house. He raised his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and let the morning sun warm his face. The trees behind the house rustled as a summery breeze drifted through them. Marcus could hear his mother’s voice in their whispers.
Read the signs, baby. Read the signs.
Marcus lowered his head and opened his eyes. In front of him was the For Sale sign Skeet had stuck into the ground the previous day; the golden garland around its edges sparkled in the warm breeze and sunshine. Marcus walked to the sign and read it again. “If you lived here, you’d be home!”
Marcus glanced at the letter from the cooking school before crumbling it and shoving it into the pocket of his sweat pants. H
e grabbed the edges of the sign and pulled it out of the ground. As he walked back to the house, he tossed the sign into the azalea bushes by the front door. He paused with his hand on the handle of the screen door to listen to the group singing along to a song Annie played.
Marcus took a deep breath and pulled the screen door open.
Baby, it’s time to settle down.
The End
Acknowledgments
This book is about finding family and would not exist without the members of my many families.
To them I give my eternal love and thanks.
My IP family: Candy, Annie, Choi, Nicki. Thanks for letting me do this a second time and guiding me all the way.
My IP Dames: Stoney, Heidi, and Knits. Thanks for listening to me talk and talk and talk about this book until it made sense and had an ending.
My IP sister: Carrie. Thanks for being my bestest reader, cheerleader and Nutter Butter eater. You never fail to remind me how to giggle.
My Brewer family: Daddy and Mama. Thanks for teaching me the joys of telling a story and the importance of home. My sister, my brother, and their families. Thanks for encouraging and supporting my dreams and for telling me so many stories.
My Georgia boys: Scott, Nalo, Scott. Thanks for keeping me grounded and getting me out of the damn house.
And most of all, my home and heart, Fabrice. Thank you for teaching me that a very happy family can be just two old farts and a dog. I love you.
About the Author
Killian B. Brewer lives in his life-long home of Georgia with his partner and their dog. He has written poetry and short fiction since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Brewer earned a BA in English and does not use this degree in his job in the banking industry. He has a love of greasy diner food that borders on obsessive. Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette is his second novel. His first novel, The Rules of Ever After, is available from Duet Books, an imprint of Interlude Press.
One story
can change everything.
@interludepress
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For a reader’s guide to Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette and book club prompts, please visit interludepress.com.
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Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 22
