Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  The latter was the most talked about. But Daddy was a Christian now; maybe he’d act a little more conservatively.

  In the second bay, Daddy did the final check on a saffron-colored Chevy Impala.

  “Betty’s son is here to see you. Has a bone to pick about bait and switch.”

  “Hell’s bells!” Daddy moaned, turning off the Trouble light.

  “Daddy, my ears are burning.”

  He sighed heavily and lumbered toward the office. In his skinny, expensive suit, standing in front of Daddy’s desk, Chuck Heiner looked more like he sold toothpicks than furniture.

  “What can I do for you today?” Daddy held out a grease-stained hand.

  After shaking hands, Chuck frowned at the oil imparted on his hand. Missy held out a shop rag, which he took and used.

  “I’m, uh, here on behalf of my mother, Betty Heiner. Seems she came in with a leaky tire and left with a new radiator.”

  “Wasn’t new. We did our best to save her money. Found her a used radiator in our salvage yard, cost her ten dollars instead of forty.”

  “I’d like to see the old one.”

  “Threw it away in last week’s trash. Long gone.” Daddy’s voice was surprisingly calm. “Betty’s been a long-time customer of mine, and I’d hate to think there are hard feelings in the family.”

  “Now listen here, I know a scam when I see one.”

  Missy shook her head. Chuck Heiner didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Even before Daddy became a Christian, he’d been honest and reputable.

  Daddy glanced at the shop broom tucked between the two filing cabinets. Missy knew what he was thinking. A few years back, there’d been one irate customer that he’d literally swept out of the office.

  “Have you had your ’58 Roadster serviced lately?” Daddy nodded toward the driveway. Thanks to the car magazines in the bathroom, he knew makes and models like some people knew birds or fine wine.

  “Don’t start on me.” Chuck managed a crooked smile.

  “You know '58 was the first year Chevrolet seat belts came standard for this car.” Like the Pied Piper, Daddy led the way out of his office. Missy followed the two to the office doorway.

  “I didn’t know that,” Chuck said.

  While Chuck started the engine of his red and white Corvette, Daddy tapped on his window until he rolled it down.

  “You’ve got some kind of hose leak. Can hear it from here.”

  “Nice try.”

  “You better fix it quick. Usually it’s water.”

  “I’ll get a second opinion.”

  Daddy sighed, and returning to the office, brushed past Missy.

  “That went smooth enough,” she said, following him inside.

  “He’s got a hose leaking.”

  “I heard.”

  “I doubt he’ll be back.”

  “I’m proud of you, Daddy. At one point I thought you were going to—”

  “I prayed. Between the Impala and the office, I prayed.” He plopped down into his swivel chair, and propped his boots on top of the desk.

  While Missy lingered in the office, she found herself marveling at what had just taken place. Funny how a little prayer could help a 320 pound man behave. It was simply beyond her scope of comprehension.

  “What’s for dinner tonight?” Daddy asked.

  “Leftovers.”

  Like a loud inboard motor at the dock, Gary’s muffler announced his entry into their drive.

  Daddy swung his boots to the concrete and stood up. Missy’s heart pounded as she thought about her hair. Because of all the lacquer that Charlene had sprayed, it looked almost exactly the same as last night.

  “What if he’s taken the bumper sticker off?” she asked, watching the doorway for Gary’s El Camino.

  “He probably hasn’t.”

  “Yeah, but what if he has?”

  “Go in the house while I handle this,” Daddy said, and then changing his mind, pointed to the concrete floor. “No, wait right here. I need you to do me a favor when you see Gary. Pretend you’re me.”

  “Daddy, that doesn’t make sense.”

  “If you were me, is Gary someone you’d want for your little girl?”

  “Daddy, you told him that if he got rid of the bumper sticker—”

  “Now don’t be telling me how to be a father. Stay here.”

  Missy plopped down in his swivel chair and spun around to face the wall. If he didn’t want her thinking about Gary, they should have had this talk five years ago. She was mighty tooting tired of Daddy telling her how to think and feel.

  Gary backed his El Camino in front of the first bay. Super Glue could not have kept her in the chair. Missy strode through the shop doorway. In the first bay, she paused near the driver’s side door of the bright green Challenger.

  Sunlight glistened on Gary’s auburn hair as he stood talking with Douglas. He must have just got off the roof, as he was still in his work clothes—high-top tennis shoes, shorts, and a ripped-up, filthy T-shirt. Gary’s gaze shifted from Douglas to Missy and her big hair. His chest visibly inflated.

  Ever so subtly, Missy glanced toward the bumper of his primer gray El Camino.

  The Roofers like it hot sticker had been replaced. Gary’s new bumper sticker read Las Vegas.

  The thud of Daddy dropping the hood of the Impala echoed through the garage.

  Gary had finally acknowledged that Missy was a woman worth pursuing. Instead of being able to linger in the moment, a tight constriction centered in the middle of her rib cage.

  Robert probably had a girlfriend. She probably had a radiant complexion, angelic eyes, and sang in the church choir. Her hair was probably naturally wavy and long. Except Robert hadn’t sat by Miss Lovely the last couple Sundays; he’d sat by her.

  Missy wondered why.

  Robert Schoening would not lie. He was a gentleman. For one heart-stopping moment, she’d looked beautiful in his eyes.

  She remembered Gary’s response in the kitchen to her big hair. “Wow!” People said “Wow!” all the time. Daddy had said, “Wow!” when watching Bill Walton make a three-point play in the NBA world championships on television. When Douglas saw deer tracks in the backyard, he’d said, “Wow! That deer was big.”

  “Wow,” usually referred to big, not beautiful. Gary’s “Wow” might simply have been in reference to her big hair, not her. Trudy Tibbits had big hair. Any woman with hot rollers could have big hair.

  Gary’s new bumper sticker read Las Vegas.

  People eloped in Las Vegas, gambled in Las Vegas, and got married without their parents’ permission in Las Vegas. Hundreds of bumper stickers lined the walls of the local Five and Dime; why had Gary picked Las Vegas?

  Daddy wiped his hands on a shop rag as he ambled toward Douglas and Gary.

  “What am I supposed to think about this one?” He kicked a foot at Gary’s faded Make Love not War bumper sticker.

  “I was going to ask you about that.” Gary crossed his burly forearms.

  “What were you going to ask me?”

  Gary nodded from the bumper sticker to Daddy. “Most people . . .” Gary rolled his wrist. “Think it has to do with peace and—”

  “But that’s not the case with you, is it Gary? You’ve only got one message on your bumper!” Daddy bellowed.

  In the hot sun, using a can of WD-40 and a Sears Roebuck credit card, Gary scraped adhesive gum off his rear bumper. Missy handed him a cold bottle of orange soda.

  “Thanks. What’s for dinner?” Gary ran his arm over his sun-baked forehead.

  “Leftovers.” While Missy sat on the bumper of Gary’s El Camino, she tried to remember Robert’s response that first day when she’d handed him a bottle of soda. Robert had smiled and said, Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. For some reason, there was a tight constriction in her rib cage again—like she wasn’t getting quite enough air.

  “Who all’s going to be here for dinner?” Gary asked.

  “Just us.”


  “Not the auto parts salesman?”

  She glanced toward the second bay. Holding a wrench like a prop, Daddy peered around the side of the hood of the Impala. Hadn’t he just closed it? Daddy was acting like she still needed chaperoning.

  She waved her hand at him and frowned.

  Daddy dropped the hood of the Impala and headed toward the office.

  “I don’t think Robert’s coming.”

  “After dinner, I thought we’d go for a drive.”

  Her heart raced as she recalled Robert’s words: Is he the type of man your Daddy would want you to be alone with?

  “Where do you want to drive to?” Her left hand almost touched the edge of Gary’s new bumper sticker. Las Vegas.

  “Thought we could go to the wildlife refuge and park.”

  The Ridgefield Wildlife Refuge was an expansive bird habitat. The gates were locked after ten o’clock.

  “I’ll ask Daddy.” She pushed herself away from the bumper and started for the office.

  “Tell him I’d like to take you for a drive; don’t tell him the rest.”

  Over her shoulder, she glanced back at Gary. Crouched on his knees, he was working for the privilege of going out with her. He liked her. He really liked her. She wondered if he’d take a shower and change out of his filthy work clothes before he took her for a spin.

  In the office, Daddy was on the phone. Missy sat down in the customer chair and waited while he toyed with the black phone cord and avoided looking at her.

  “Uh-huh. Yeah. Gary’s here now. The reason I’m calling is, he’s shown some interest in Missy lately, and I told him he couldn’t go out with her unless he got rid of his roofers like it hot bumper sticker.”

  “It’s Jean.” Daddy briefly cupped his hand over the receiver and informed Missy. “You’re his step mom. What do you think he’s implying by Las Vegas? Uh-huh. She’s twenty-years-old and I’ve never had to go through this before. I know.” He glanced at Missy. “Come over for dinner. Any night of the week except Thursdays. Okay, you do that. Bye, Jean.”

  Daddy hung up the receiver and inhaled deeply.

  “What’d she say?” Missy set both elbows on top of the desk.

  “They have no sentimental ties to Las Vegas. She thinks . . .” Daddy cleared his throat. “That he’s a bit rebellious right now. He’s still mad at Rick about the divorce. The girl he’s been in love with for years got married last month. And she said it may just be timing, but you’ve definitely caught his eye. She wants you to be careful.”

  Missy openly stared. Daddy was going to let her go out with him.

  “He wants to know if it’s all right if we go for a drive after dinner.”

  “If that’s what you want, Missy.”

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the shop doorway. Neither Douglas nor Gary was standing there.

  “He mentioned going to the wildlife refuge and parking.”

  “Usually when a guy wants to go for a drive, it involves parking somewhere. That’s how it was when your mother and I were dating, also.”

  “So it’s okay with you if I go?” She met Daddy’s unblinking gaze.

  “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

  Why all of a sudden was it her decision? Daddy had always taken the reins before.

  Missy wandered through the first bay to the gravel drive. In the bright sunlight, she leaned against the El Camino’s bumper and watched Gary. He’d finished scraping off not War and had just started on Make love.

  “What’d your old man say?”

  She shrugged.

  “Did you tell him about the refuge?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He said it’s up to me.” She avoided Gary’s gaze.

  “Wow.” The side dimple in his cheek became more pronounced as he continued scraping.

  “I’ve decided I’m not going for a drive with you until you get your muffler fixed.” Feeling short of breath, she gripped the curve of the bumper.

  Gary set the credit card and the can of WD-40 on top of the bumper, took a swig of orange soda, and returned the bottle to the gravel. He glanced over his shoulder toward Daddy's office, took a step toward her, and set his hands on top of the trunk, one on each side of her. Up close little specks of gold flickered in his eyes.

  “You wanna be my girl?”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded.

  “Good. What kind of deal can you make me for the muffler?” He chuckled.

  She should have expected it from Gary.

  “You’re going to have to talk to Douglas or Daddy. I haven’t done much welding.” He missed her shrug as he crouched down, credit card in hand.

  “Why’d you pick Las Vegas? There’s lots of great bumper stickers out there.” She could name several off the top of her head: Peace, Disco, I love bingo, and her personal favorite, Have a nice day with the yellow smiley face on it.

  “I’ve been there once. You ever been?”

  “No.”

  “Full of lights, show girls, dice, and . . .”

  Her brows lifted as she waited.

  “And you’ve always liked me; I know it.” He grinned up at her. “Sometimes you turn red at just the sight of me.”

  She couldn’t deny it.

  “And...” Gary whispered, “you and I don’t have the kind of parents who are going to put on a big wedding now, do we?”

  Wedding? Missy’s heart stopped. What about flowers, poetry and . . . asking for Daddy’s permission? He’d skipped right to the church part. Or did Las Vegas even have churches?

  CHAPTER 28

  Missy found herself staring at the saffron-colored Impala. For some reason, Daddy had returned to the car and lifted the hood. He’d installed a new carburetor yesterday. Wonder what else he was finding to work on.

  Quarter-inch strips at a time, Gary peeled away the bumper sticker. Gary wanted her to be his girl. Gary wanted to go for a drive. Gary was talking Las Vegas.

  It was all on account of her big hair.

  Who could she talk to? Who was unbiased enough to give her good advice? For a moment she thought about Robert, but he’d tell Daddy. She needed to speak with someone who wouldn’t tell Daddy.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” She started for the house.

  “Don’t be gone long,” Gary said.

  In the back of the Felida Community Church Cookbook, Bertha Carlton had written her phone number in case anyone had questions. Bertha had been so sweet the day of the corn feed. She’d taken time with her to explain so many things.

  Missy stood near the oscillating fan, and dialed the elderly woman’s number.

  “Hello,” Bertha said.

  “Bertha, this is Missy Stuart . . .” She paused, wondering if that was enough information for the elderly woman to remember her.

  “Hello, Missy. I forgot to tell you... when you’re going through your new cookbook, don’t make anything that Edith Waverly contributed. She’s in heaven now. A sweet, dear woman, and friend, but a horrible cook.”

  “Edith Waverly.” Missy wrote the woman’s name down inside the front cover of the book, circled it, and then drew a line through it. “We tried the salmon cakes, the oven fries, and the cabbage rolls this week, and they were all good.”

  “My goodness, you’re an industrious girl.”

  “And I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I cleaned out the pantry, and even alphabetized everything. Bertha, I have a question you may not be able to answer, and it only has a little to do with cooking. Is it a good time for you to talk?”

  “I’m in the middle of canning raspberry jelly, but go ahead, honey.”

  Hmm . . . Missy had never canned raspberry jelly; it sounded good.

  “I’ve got a fellow who I’ve liked for a long time, and he’s finally decided he likes me too. But he’s moving awful fast; he’s talking about . . . Las Vegas.”

  “Oh, honey.” Bertha sighed. “You tell him you want a church wedding. You want your friends and
family there so it can be a shared and joyous occasion.”

  Church. Gary was dead set against church. He probably wouldn’t even go there for his own funeral.

  “And besides . . . when a couple elopes, a bride never gets everything she needs for her kitchen.”

  “How do I slow him down in the meantime, Bertha?” Stretching the phone cord, Missy looked out the window in the direction of the shop. Gary’s back was to her as he spoke with Douglas.

  “That’s easy. Don’t be alone with him.”

  That was easy. She was surprised she hadn’t thought of it herself.

  “He can’t try to kiss you, if you’re not alone.”

  There went their drive.

  “Thanks, Bertha.”

  “I must admit, I’m surprised. You tell him you want a church wedding.”

  Why was Bertha surprised?

  “My syrup’s ready. I gotta go, honey. I’ll be praying.” Click. She hung up.

  “Bertha . . .” Missy stared at the receiver.

  What did she mean, she was surprised? Missy sighed. That was the problem with canning—once the syrup was ready there could be no interruptions.

  While Gary’s back was to her, Missy crossed the gravel drive. In the first bay, Daddy now worked on the Challenger as he belted out a Felida church hymn. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound...”

  The shop phone rang; Missy sprinted into the office to answer it.

  “Hello, Big John’s Auto Repair. How may I help you?”

  “I once was blind,” Daddy bellowed from the first bay. Through the interior window, Missy caught a glimpse of him. Though his fifty-year-old baby face was brimming with sweat, and tinged with dark oil, there was a glow about Daddy that she remembered only glimpses of when Mama was still alive.

  Daddy’s singing competed for her ear as much as the voice on the other end of the line. Missy stood near the interior window, and tapped her forefinger to her mouth, motioning for him to hush, but he didn’t see her.