Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “I think Bobby here would like to say a little grace,” Big John said.

  “My name’s Robert.”

  He bowed his head and before saying anything out loud prayed that he’d be able to keep down Missy’s cooking.

  Why did Robert have to sit next to Gary? That’s where she’d wanted to sit.

  Missy slid her hands into Daddy’s and Robert’s. As she bowed her head, a mottled memory surfaced of Mama wearing a white ruffled apron, head bowed at this very same table.

  “Our dear heavenly Father, thank you for the Stuarts’ hospitality.” Robert’s voice was surprisingly strong. “Thank you for this meal and for summer, this fine season of harvest. Bless the food before us. May it nourish and strengthen our bodies. In your Son Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”

  “Amen,” Martha said.

  “I agree with Martha; that was a fine prayer. Mighty fine,” Daddy said. Reaching a long arm across the table, he grabbed the serving spoon from the rice and mounded a large scoop on his plate before handing the spoon to Gary.

  “What happened to the rice, Missy?” Douglas asked.

  “Nothing.” Usually she could handle Douglas’ jesting, but not tonight—not in front of Gary. She already felt a bit off, a tad vulnerable.

  “Supposed to look all fluffy.”

  “It’s Minute Rice, Douglas. I make it all the time,” Gary said. “I watched her make it. She read the box and followed the directions.”

  “You know, I like twenty-minute rice,” Daddy said. “Or were you just using up the rest of that box?”

  Missy nodded. She wasn’t about to admit that the minute she’d heard Gary’s El Camino, she forgot about getting the rice on the stove and raced to her room to change.

  “Their ma got bit by a bee and died before Missy learned to cook proper,” Daddy said, looking at Robert.

  In one simple sentence, Daddy stated what had changed their family forever. Missy looked down the length of the table at Douglas. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. So she was allergic?”

  “Yes. So do you like fishing, Robert?”

  Daddy never could stay on the subject of Mama for too long.

  “I know enough to get by, and I enjoy being outdoors.”

  “Why do you have a fish on your bumper sticker, if you don’t really fish?” Missy asked, scooping the stir-fry onto her plate. The fellow didn’t make sense.

  Robert gazed at her with a blank look on his face. “You mean the Fish?” he asked. “It’s a universal symbol for Christ. An acronym in Greek. It means Jesus Christ God's Son Savior.”

  “Oh.” She passed the serving spoon for the stir-fry skillet to him.

  “What’s an acro-nym?” Douglas asked with a dumb look on his tanned face.

  “It’s an abbreviation for the first letters of a string of words like...” Missy said, looking at the yellow and orange floral wallpaper behind Daddy. “Like 4WD.”

  “Huh?”

  “Four Wheel Drive.”

  “Oh.” Douglas nodded and lifted his brows. “I get it.”

  For some reason, Robert stared at the stir-fry. It was mainly cabbage with chunks of venison, yellow squash and onion all tossed together. The yellow squash had a burnt look to it. She probably should have thrown it in near the end.

  “Nothing’s gonna kill you. Everything’s edible and fresh. Except for the venison, that is. Daddy shot the deer in ’72.”

  “Oh, that’s the year your dad and I went hunting in eastern Oregon,” Daddy said, looking at Gary.

  “How’d do you know it’s from ’72?” Robert asked, holding the serving spoon for the stir-fry.

  “Whoever wrapped the meat wrote venison burger ’72 on it,” Missy said.

  “And it’s not too old to eat?”

  “No; it’s only five, six-years-old. This is some of the fresher stuff.”

  Robert took one medium-sized scoop of stir-fry.

  “Whenever she uses the word edible,” Douglas said, buttering a piece of Wonder bread, “means that she knows it takes like... crab.”

  Robert managed a weak smile.

  “Hey, aren’t you fond of seafood?” Gary elbowed him.

  Daddy chuckled.

  Everyone watched as Robert downed his first bite. Lifting his chin, he managed to swallow it. He took a drink of water, and peered at the pile on his plate. He meticulously scooted pieces of cabbage into their own little pile. Maybe he was saving them for dessert. Or maybe at the end of the meal he was going to cover it up with his paper napkin.

  “This meal isn’t all that bad.” Gary scooped a forkful. “You should see some of the awful meals that get thrown together at the Bore’s Nest.”

  “Bore’s Nest?” Robert said.

  “Yeah. Four guys and I room together in an old duplex in Salmon Creek. Fridays, when it’s Jim’s turn to cook, we all pretty much know to order pizza. He’s going through a divorce, has a toddler, no money. He gets a little too creative with leftovers.”

  “Hey, tonight’s Friday,” Douglas said.

  “I lucked out.” Gary shrugged.

  “So that’s why you’re here.” Douglas grinned.

  Everyone at the table had finished eating except for Robert. Missy was curious about the pile of cabbage on his plate. Even Douglas hadn’t hurried from the table.

  “You ever call Baker?” Douglas asked, looking at her.

  “According to Gary, he’s in Mexico working on some big account,” Daddy said.

  “Must be working awful hard.” Douglas set an elbow on the table.

  “I wouldn’t call it work,” Gary said.

  Robert downed a large forkful of cabbage. Everyone turned to watch.

  “Remember this advice, Robert . . .” Daddy leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him. “When you finally get a good base like my friend Rick Baker has, don’t go forgetting the little ma and pa companies that got you there.”

  Robert nodded and downed a second large forkful of cabbage. Missy couldn’t discern if he was savoring it as dessert, or being a polite guest. Then she distinctly saw him close his eyes and grimace uncomfortably. She stifled a giggle.

  Jerry Boy did not like cabbage, and he was so bent on being polite, it was almost Jerry Lewis funny. After he finally cleaned his plate like a good boy, Missy carried a pile of dirty dishes to the counter.

  “You got plans tonight?” Douglas asked Gary.

  “No. I’m helping with a hot tar job tomorrow morning before it gets too hot.”

  “Are you the mop man, kettle man, or cut man?” Douglas asked.

  “Mop man.”

  “Lucky you.”

  As Missy rinsed dishes at the sink, the kitchen window reflected the scene behind her. For some reason, Gary looked her direction. His gaze started low and rose. Robert leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. Had he purposefully blocked Gary’s view?

  “You looking at something, Gary?” Daddy asked, his chest expanding with air.

  Missy quietly rinsed plates and set them in a pile on the counter above the dishwasher.

  “No.”

  “You’ve been looking at my daughter all evening. She’s looking more and more like her mother. Isn’t she, Douglas?” Daddy’s voice sounded heavy with emotion.

  “Yes, Dad. I see it, too.”

  Hot tears threatened Missy’s eyes. You’re going to be okay, she told herself. A tear escaped and slid down the left side of her face while she continued rinsing.

  A heavy silence filled her mother’s outdated kitchen. This room had once been filled with delicious smells and a slim blonde woman wearing an apron, who had given Missy a hug each morning as she left for the school bus. There were memories; clothes, pictures, and boxes in the attic that Daddy had packed away when he’d been too emotional to remember.

  She wasn’t going to be okay. The awkward silence suffocated her as she hurried through the entry and down the narrow hallway to her room.

 
CHAPTER 12

  “What’s got into her?” Gary whispered.

  Robert looked at John. When Missy had fled the room, she’d been crying. Hmm... maybe she’d been crying the last time he’d stayed for dinner, too.

  “Gary, don’t think I’ll just sit by and watch you eyeball my daughter. As long as your El Camino has the bumper sticker “Roofers like it hot,” my daughter’s off limits. You’re not allowed to even look at her.”

  “Dad.” Douglas leaned forward and nudged his father’s elbow. “Sure, Gary likes the girls, but he doesn’t like Missy. She’s like his little sis. Tell him, Gary.”

  Gary sat up a bit, looking at John. “She’s like my little sis. Always has been.”

  “Somebody ought to go see if she’s okay,” Douglas said, running a hand through his mop of blond hair.

  “It ain’t gonna be Gary,” John said.

  Robert lowered his gaze to the chrome-edged Formica tabletop, and avoided looking John’s direction. He couldn’t possibly be the one to go. Missy was likely to throw a bowling trophy or something at him.

  “Maybe it should be you.” Gary looked at Douglas.

  “It should be you. Just the other day, Miss said she used to think you were cute, but she got tired of hearing about Trudy Tibbits.”

  Gary leaned back in his chair until his bare thighs wedged beneath the table. “I went to Spudder’s the other night and saw Trudy. Believe it or not... she’s married. Her and her new college beau got hitched last month in Vegas.”

  “You’re kidding! That’s why you’ve been so quiet.”

  Tonight’s dinner at the Stuarts’ put Robert in the middle of a hornet’s nest and hornets weren’t honey makers. Poor Missy. Nothing like a woman’s tears to soften everything he’d once thought about her. Hopefully she was okay.

  “Best way to get rid of a bad bumper sticker, Gary, is to put a new one right over the top of it,” John said. “Or if you’re ambitious, get some WD40 and peel it off.”

  “Dad, the bumper sticker’s just a joke.” Douglas chuckled.

  “It’s the kind of joke...” John’s eyes grew wide while his voice stayed even keel, “that makes me want to grab my shotgun.”

  What did Gary expect? He’d made two mistakes. He’d ogled Missy and he’d ogled her right in front of her father.

  There was too much heated emotion. Someone needed to get them working in a positive direction.

  “If we all help out a little,” Robert nodded toward the counter, “Missy won’t have to return to this mess.” He rose from the table, grabbed a faded pink sponge, and started on the silverware. When his older siblings were still living at home, everyone had pitched in together until the kitchen was clean. Not at the Stuarts’. No wonder the girl was such a crab.

  Gary was the first to help. He opened the dishwasher, and slid the plates that Missy had rinsed between the upright spokes.

  “Missy will finish up later.” Douglas remained seated.

  With Robert and Gary working together, it didn’t take long before they were down to the kettles.

  There was enough tension in the room that Robert avoided sitting down again at the table. He searched a few cupboards, and in a lower cabinet found an avocado green Tupperware container large enough to host the leftover rice and stir-fry.

  Gary filled a glass with water and sat back down. “I was on a roof in ninety degree heat for most of the afternoon.”

  “And it scorched your brain, and that’s why you were looking at my daughter’s hind side right in front of me.”

  “Must be the heat.” Gary nodded.

  “That’s crab. The last time you were here, the day was overcast and rainy. You looked at Missy’s hind end when you sat in that chair too. What was your excuse then?”

  Robert glanced at his watch. It was eight forty-five. By the time he got home, it would probably be too late to return Pauline’s call. As soon as the conversation calmed, he’d say thanks and be on his way.

  “Are you asking me to apologize for looking?” Gary slung an arm over the side of the chair, lowered his chin, and locked eyes with Big John across the table.

  “What were you looking at?” Douglas rocked his front chair legs to the floor.

  “She’s got nice legs and a nice tush. When she finally takes off the uniform, a fellow can finally take a gander.”

  Only the faint hum of the fridge could be heard as Robert waited for John to explode. Robert broke the silence by opening the fridge and setting the container of leftovers inside.

  Behind him, he heard John inhale deeply. Maybe he’d been to anger management courses, and he was counting to one-hundred in his head.

  “It’s time for you to leave, Gary,” John said in guttural tones.

  “Hey . . .” Douglas patted the table. “We’re talking about Missy.”

  “Just because she’s your little sister, Doug,” Gary said, “doesn’t mean she hasn’t grown up.”

  “Tell your friend to leave, Doug, before I get my gun.”

  “I think my dad’s serious, Gary.”

  John set his massive hands on the table and hoisted his frame from the padded chrome chair.

  “I have a hot tar job early tomorrow morning. I best be heading out.” Gary yawned, stretched, and rose from the table. “Tell Missy thanks for dinner.”

  “I’m going to Gloria’s. Won’t be home ‘til late.” Douglas followed Gary to the door.

  Robert folded the dishrag in half and set it over the top of the faucet. The screen door bounced twice before a pensive silence followed.

  “Well, we have an early day tomorrow,” Robert said, gripping his hands in front of him.

  John pointed across the table at the chair Robert had earlier occupied. Maybe he needed someone to vent to. Robert sat down.

  “How do you like that?” John shook his head. His jowls hung softly past his jaw line. “I knew this day was bound to happen... a fellow being interested in her. Never thought it would be Gary.” His nostrils flared and his shoulders shifted down. “Never hoped it would be Gary.

  “There was one fellow, when she was in high school. For some reason, he drove in our driveway. Doug and me were packing for deer hunting, and I walked out of the house carrying my shotgun. Skinny, red-haired boy in an old rusted-out Pinto took one look at me and shifted his tin can in reverse.” John managed to chuckle. “And this isn’t an easy driveway to back out of either.” He paused to regard Robert. “Maybe it’s on account of hunting season that Gary ended up taking Missy to her senior prom.”

  Someone turned on the TV in the other room, probably Missy. The recliner creaked as she plopped down.

  “Is that you, doll?” John asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  John leaned across the table and whispered, “Dinner wasn’t so bad.”

  Robert nodded. He’d taken such a small scoop that he was still hungry.

  “Next Tuesday when Missy goes grocery shopping, I’ll tell her to pick up a fryer. Her mama used to make the best fried chicken.” John peered toward the living room. Through the doorway, Missy’s tennis shoes were visible as she lounged in the recliner.

  “I should probably head out,” Robert said.

  “Do you think I was too harsh?” John whispered, and pointed a thumb toward the drive. “I’ve always told Missy that a bumper sticker tells a lot about a person. What they’re passionate about. Politics, religion . . .”

  Robert shook his head. “I think you have every right to be upset. You’re her father. And he was... ogling her.”

  “Right in front of me, too.”

  They both nodded.

  “I should take off. Have to get up early for fishing.” Robert yawned.

  John yawned also. “I still can’t believe your water pumps have a five year warranty.”

  “I can’t believe you bought what you did from Rick Baker.”

  “Baker’s good about dropping off stuff I don’t need. It’s like
I’m warehousing for him.”

  Robert rose from the table, ready to leave.

  “Get us both a glass of milk while you’re up,” John said.

  For some reason, John didn’t want him to leave. Another ten minutes passed in which John talked a lot about fishing and the weather.

  “I should head home.” Robert yawned and rolled a kink out of his neck.

  John glanced toward the living room. They couldn’t see much of Missy from where they sat, except for her tennis shoes which were now pointed in opposite directions.

  “I think your daughter’s asleep.”

  “She falls asleep there every night.”

  Robert stood, opened the fridge, and returned the gallon jug of milk to the top shelf, and then out of curiosity he stepped into the living room. The TV was still blaring and Missy was indeed asleep. Her head was tilted back and her mouth was open wide enough to pop a piece of toast inside.

  John’s frame filled the doorway as he stretched.

  “Why do you think she was crying?” Robert whispered.

  “It’s because of what I said about her mom. We don’t talk much about her. It’s been easier not to.”

  Maybe it was because he was tired, but Robert found himself staring at Missy. Her tears had surprised him.

  “Why don’t you carry her to her room tonight?” John said. “I’ll supervise.”

  Suppressing a laugh, he looked up at John. “What... what do you mean?”

  “I’ll oversee.”

  Why in the world would John want him to carry Missy to her room? Adrenaline surged through Robert’s limbs.

  “Make sure you use your legs. If you pull your back and she asks how, well, you’d have to lie to her.”

  “I’m not a liar, so it’s probably best that I head home.” Robert pointed toward the driveway. “Thank you again for dinner, Big John.”

  “You are a scrawny fellow. I told her that just because you’re wiry, doesn’t mean you’re not strong.”

  Did John like him enough that he wanted him to like his daughter? Was carrying her to her room some rite of passage? Some test of manhood? He didn’t like Missy. She was . . . a handful, and far from his ideal. And the next woman he dated and fell in love with, God willing, was going to be a Christian.