Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “Did you say this is Big John’s?” A male voice asked.

  “Yes, it’s Big John’s Auto Repair.”

  Daddy opened a can of transmission fluid. He poured the bright-red-colored liquid into the reservoir as he belted out “Amazing Grace” all over again.

  “Sounds like it’s true,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

  Pickles! It was Bill Blanchard, the sales rep for Blanchard and Associates.

  “Friend of mine said he saw Big John at Felida Church. Tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up without a good-bye.

  Bill Blanchard hadn’t been to the shop in months—not since Daddy had wasted plenty of Blanchard’s time. Why was he visiting now? With a heavy sigh, she walked to the shop doorway.

  “Who was it?” Daddy asked, without looking at her.

  She knew when she told him that he’d yell his customary Hell’s bells and hit his head on the hood of the Challenger, so she waited for him to stand up to his full height. Daddy took his time. He stretched and even rolled a kink out of his neck before locking eyes with her.

  “It was Bill Blanchard. Someone told him they saw you at church, and he just heard you singing. He said he’d be here in twenty minutes.”

  Instead of yelling, Daddy placed his hands on his hips. “Did he say he was bringing his catalog?”

  “You know he is.” Bill was that kind of rep: never called for an appointment; everyone else’s time was his.

  “Call the preacher for me, and then hand me the phone.”

  Missy picked up the Clark County phonebook. She scanned the Yellow Pages for churches and found a small advertisement for Felida Community Church. Pastor Norris. Oh, that was his name. She dialed the number and asked the secretary for Pastor Norris before handing the phone to Daddy.

  He cleared his throat. “Hello, Pastor Norris, this is John Stuart. I don’t know if you remember me. My daughter and I’ve attended the last two Sundays. Yes, that’s me. Well, I run an auto repair business, and in the past before I became a Christian, I would egg salesmen on to get rid of them. You know, waste their time. And one of my biggest headaches of a rep is on his way here because he heard I was at church. And he’s bringing his big catalog. No appointment.”

  “What was that?” Daddy covered up the phone and looked at Missy. “Missy, get the Bible.” He uncovered the mouth piece. “You’re right, Pastor Norris, he’s representing his line of goods; I’ll represent mine. Thank you, Pastor Norris. We’ll be there this Sunday, eleven o’clock sharp.”

  Daddy returned the receiver to the cradle. “Run, Missy, and get the Bible. Now, before he gets here.”

  Missy found Mama’s Bible on Daddy’s nightstand and raced back to the shop. After she handed him the Bible, she had her own business to attend to in the kitchen. Through the window above the sink, she watched Bill park his matador-red Oldsmobile Cutlass in front of the office, open his back door, and pull out his thirty-five pound catalog. He was a scrawny man, built like a tight-rope walker—shrewd and determined, too. Soon as she had dinner underway, she was going to go watch.

  Following Bertha’s instructions, she added salt to the cubed potatoes and water. Once it reached a boil, she set the timer and jogged toward the shop.

  Gary met her halfway.

  “Where you been, babe?” He winked. “Thought you’d be right back.”

  “I will, Gary.” She smiled, short of breath.

  “You better.” He slapped her on the bottom, a reminder that she couldn’t be alone with the man. She couldn’t go for a drive. Gary’s intentions included Las Vegas.

  “First Peter and Second Peter,” Daddy mumbled while he flipped through the second half of the Bible.

  Seated in the customer chair, Bill leaned across the desk. “There ought to be an index somewhere in that catalog of yours.”

  Bill greeted her with an exaggerated smile.

  “Long time no see,” she said, stopping on Daddy’s side of the desk.

  Sweat riddled Daddy’s face as he flipped the pages. He rubbed his forehead, a sign that he was tired. It had been a ninety plus degree day, and the shop’s fans circulated but didn’t cool the warm air.

  “Help me.” Daddy handed the Bible to her. “I can’t find Peter and Bill’s never read it either.”

  “There’s probably an index.” Missy flipped to the back.

  “I’m calling Robert. He’ll know where Peter is.” Daddy lifted up the receiver, looked in his little brown book and started dialing.

  “I’m looking, Daddy. Just give me a second.”

  He handed Missy the receiver.

  “Hello,” Robert said. For some reason, he was home at five fifteen on a Wednesday night.

  “Hello, Robert; it’s Missy Stuart.”

  “Hi. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, Daddy wants me to ask you where Peter is in the Bible. We can’t find it. Daddy dialed your number before I had a chance to look in the index.”

  “About three-quarters of the way through, maybe more, look at the top of the page for the titles. It goes Hebrews, James, First and second Peter. They’re shorter books.”

  Missy carefully turned the pages.

  “While we’re waiting,” Bill said, “I’d like to go over our new line of spark plugs with you.”

  “Bill Blanchard’s here from Blanchard and Associates,” she whispered.

  “I see. How are you, Missy?”

  “Good.” After an inch worth of pages, she’d made it to Philemon, she kept turning.

  “How’s Gary been?”

  “Uh, you were right about his bumper stickers.” She looked at Daddy. By his intent expression, she could tell that he was paying more attention to her phone conversation than his own.

  Daddy shook his head. “I’m doing business with a fellow from Columbia Auto Parts. What ya got in there that Columbia doesn’t offer?”

  Missy smiled. Daddy had found an out, an excuse for sending Bill Blanchard packing, but he wasn’t taking it, at least not yet.

  “They can’t touch our battery prices.”

  “Then let’s talk batteries.”

  “Is that true, Robert?” she whispered. “Bill says you can’t touch their battery prices.”

  “If they beat us, it’s only by pennies.”

  She found Hebrews, James, and turned to the First Chapter of Peter. She handed the Bible to Daddy. “Found it. Thanks, Robert.”

  The roar of Gary’s muffler echoed through the shop into the office. Missy glanced through the interior window as Gary drove his El Camino into the third bay, over the pit.

  “Missy,” Robert said on the other end of the line. “I wanted to tell you not to worry about dinner tomorrow night. I have several appointments, but I’ll swing by early to drop dinner by for the guys.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I can make eggs or something.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Bill gave Missy a you’re-interrupting look.

  “Well, thank you. I better go.”

  “Good-bye.”

  She hung up the receiver.

  Daddy moistened his index finger and turned the Bible’s thin pages. “First Peter’s short. Only four pages long. This here is a short book, Bill.”

  “Good.”

  As Missy made her way through the garage, she heard voices. Douglas and Gary were in the pit, and they were finally looking at his muffler.

  “If I was you, I’d completely replace it. It’s rusted out here, and here.” Douglas pointed overhead.

  “How much are we talking?”

  “Parts alone will run you fifty, sixty bucks.”

  At the top of the wooden stairs, Missy peered down into the car-sized cement hole in the ground. It always smelled like burnt oil. Gary grinned at the sight of her. In one day, one hairstyle, he’d done a 180 degree turn. Trudy Tibbits was married and Gary Baker was moving on.

  He motioned with one hand for her to come on down.

  Didn’t Gary remember
that the pit held bad memories for her? Ten years back her basketball had bounced its way down. She’d been in the pit retrieving the ball when she’d heard Daddy wailing from the house. He’d found Mama.

  Again, Gary waved. He wanted her to be his girl, or maybe he wanted her to fix his muffler.

  Wide-eyed, Douglas watched her as she took the first step down. He knew she avoided the pit.

  “Maybe we don’t need to go for a drive,” Gary said when she reached the bottom. “We could just hang out down here. Your old man would never know. It must be ten, fifteen degrees cooler.”

  What were they going to do—set up lawn chairs? She stuffed her hands in her front coverall pockets and stepped away to observe the muffler. No wonder it was making such a racket—in several spots the metal was rusted clear through. Without warning, Gary’s arms wrapped around her in front as he pulled her close and nuzzled his unshaven cheek into the side of her face, making her wince.

  “Hey, you two, at least wait until I’m outta here.” Douglas made his way up the stairs.

  Under the exhaust area of his engine, she turned to face Gary. Up close he smelled like sweat, salt, and dirt. This was the moment she’d looked forward to for years; why did she feel so confused, and why, of all places, did they have to be in the pit?

  “Do you ever go to church?” she asked.

  “You know I don’t. Why? Don’t tell me you’re believing that crap too?”

  His language sounded surprisingly strong. It almost pained her.

  “I know your old man’s been bit pretty hard, but don’t tell me—”

  “I haven’t, but—”

  “Good.” Gary pulled her close and kissed her. He tasted like sweat and maybe chewing tobacco. Hadn’t he given that up months ago? She stopped his hands as they slid down the small of her back. Maybe she shouldn’t be alone with him. Maybe Bertha gave good advice.

  Steely-eyed, Gary pressed his index finger in front of his lips, and then pulled her to the nearest corner of the pit. Up above, Daddy’s boots were visible as he paced back and forth in front of the El Camino. He must have heard their voices and was looking for them. Maybe God paced just like Daddy. Daddy walked around the west side of the pit before taking the creaky wooden stairs down.

  The pit was only the width of a small car. One step from the bottom, Daddy locked eyes with Gary.

  “Missy, time for you to go get supper ready. Blanchard’s the only one staying. Gary, you and I need to talk.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Missy paced between the window and the refrigerator before she remembered to slide the thirteen-by-nine pan of leftover cabbage rolls inside the preheated oven. She set the timer and returned to the sink to stare out the window. Daddy was still in the pit with Gary. Douglas was in the shower, and Bill Blanchard probably sat twiddling his thumbs in the customer chair. Maybe he could hear Daddy yelling at Gary from where he sat in the office.

  She’d always liked Gary. Always. But now, things were different. Trudy Tibbits was married. Missy had big hair. Gary was searching for a way to mend his broken heart. And he’d kissed her in the Pit of Disappointments.

  Gary didn’t love her. He was on the rebound.

  The sound of Gary’s muffler revved in the driveway as he backed out of the shop. He drove close to the house, leaned out of his open window and, with his foot on the brake, waited for her to slide the kitchen window open.

  “Come out here a second.”

  She glanced toward the shop and wondered if Daddy would be mad, and then she reminded herself that Daddy was not in charge of her love life. The screen door bounced closed behind her as she strode to Gary’s driver’s side door.

  “Las Vegas is only a sixteen, seventeen hour drive from here, Missy.” His hazel eyes didn’t shine with happiness; instead they appeared as empty as a starless night.

  “Do you love me, Gary?” She bit her lower lip.

  “Course I do. I’ve always loved you.” A slow smile stretched across his face. “Always. Even when I was talking about Trudy.”

  Could she believe his words?

  He grasped her hand through the open window. “I’m sorry that it took seeing another guy being interested in you and you getting your hair all pretty to see what a babe you are.”

  “Who? Who’s interested in me?” Her heart knotted up and her mouth felt dry.

  “The salesman.”

  “Robert’s not interested in me.” She laughed at the thought. He couldn’t possibly like her.

  “Gary . . .” Daddy bellowed as he walked out of the first bay. “You know what I told you.”

  Gary gripped the top of the steering wheel and looked at Missy. “Your old man’s making threats.”

  “If you liked me so much, Gary, why did you always talk about Trudy? And, why didn’t you tell me when she got married?”

  “I didn’t want to get . . .” His jaw went slack.

  She knew what he’d been about to say. “Then the rest is lies.”

  Daddy strolled out of the shade of the garage toward them.

  “I can handle this, Daddy,” she yelled.

  He stopped mid-stride. Hands on hips, her father stared at her.

  “I said . . . I can handle this.” Maybe it was her tone or simply the miraculous; but, he turned around and headed back to the shop.

  “Your old man wants me to take two weeks off. Cool down a bit. In two weeks, we’ll start over. I’ll do better.”

  “For starters, you need to stop calling him my old man.”

  Gary’s jaw muscle twitched.

  “He’s my dad.”

  CHAPTER 30

  While the leftover cabbage rolls reheated in the oven, Missy mashed the potatoes, added butter, milk, salt, and pepper. The phone rang. Maybe it was Gary. Maybe he’d come to his senses and was going to apologize. She picked up the receiver and cradled it between her shoulder and her ear.

  “Hello.”

  “Missy.” It was Daddy, calling from the shop. “Bill’s staying for dinner so set an extra plate. And Pastor Norris was right, Peter’s great for beginners. Oh, and Missy...” Daddy sighed. “I’m sorry about how I handled Gary. I told him two weeks, but he doesn’t have to stay away that long. I mean, he is your first boyfriend.”

  Missy wondered if Gary’s and her names could be entered into the Guiness Book of World Records for the shortest relationship ever. They never even made it out on one date. The prom didn’t count.

  “If you want, I’ll call him and apologize,” Daddy said.

  “I think we broke up already.”

  “You did?”

  She could almost hear Daddy smiling on the other end of the line.

  “Yeah. He was rushing things.” Feeling low on energy, she pulled over a kitchen chair and sat down. She’d had her first boyfriend, her first kiss, and her first breakup, all in one afternoon.

  “Hopefully, he’s not too down about it, Missy. I better give him a call.”

  “Well, don’t mention me.”

  “Even though I’ve never agreed with one thing he’s done, he’s like a son to me.”

  Her old Daddy would probably have stayed mad at Gary for weeks, but not her new father.

  A few minutes later, Daddy and Bill came in and washed their hands at the sink. Missy was the last to sit down at the table. Douglas had gone to Gloria’s for the evening. It was just the three of them. Daddy cleared his throat and reached for Missy’s hand and then Bill’s. They lowered their heads for prayer.

  “Father in heaven, thank you for this day and another fine meal. Thank you for changing me, Lord, that I might see how fine a man Blanchard really is. I can see past the catalog now to the man behind it. In your Son Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Martha.

  Daddy grinned and looked at Bill. “We’re watching Baker’s Quaker parrot, while he’s away.”

  “Rick stinks,” Martha said, and turned around on her roost so her back was to the table.

  “Now, Martha, we’re not s
upposed to talk bad about Baker in front of other reps,” Daddy said, his cheeks red from grinning.

  Missy didn’t think that Bill was a believing man. He didn’t add an Amen like some Christians do after others pray, and he didn’t meet Daddy’s gaze but focused on the leftover cabbage rolls instead.

  “A lot’s changed around here lately,” Bill said.

  Daddy nodded.

  “Missy, I called Gary. Even though you have your cooking class tomorrow night, he said he may stop by. I told him I forgive him, and I also told him that I totally understand how a good woman can make a fellow act a little self indulgently.” Daddy smiled, and cast Bill an I’m smarter than you ever thought look.

  “Now, I can sell you twelve batteries for $18.85 each,” Bill said, “or six for $24.00 a piece. Bulk is the best price.”

  “Missy, there’s a part I gotta share.” Daddy flipped open his Bible that he’d set to the right of his milk glass, glanced at Bill, and cleared his throat. “Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy.”

  Tears glistened in his eyes. “Your mama had the joy. Never understood it, but I do now.”

  Dear God, Missy prayed if you truly are there; please help Daddy not to cry, especially not now in front of Bill.

  Silence filled their outdated kitchen.

  “Well, Blanchard, what do you do besides sell auto parts?” Daddy asked.

  “I play the cello. I’m a part of a quartet that plays around town. We call ourselves the Bass Brothers.”

  “That’s interesting. I know for a fact that we don’t have a cello player at our fine Felida Community Church.”

  Using the serving spoon, Bill slid another cabbage roll onto his plate.

  “Do you fish, Blanchard?”

  Bill shook his head.

  “I’m taking you this Saturday.”

  “I’ve heard stories about you fishing.” Bill chuckled.

  “Oh . . .” Daddy dangled his fork above his plate. “Which ones?”

  “The one about you cutting off some fellow’s anchor because he was in your fishing hole. Is that true?”