“Dear Heavenly Father,” Daddy said in his soft, new, Christian voice.
Underneath the table, Missy lifted up her tennie, and gave Robert’s foot a nice stomp.
“Thank you for the meal we’re about to eat. Thank you for my kids, and our business, and our home, and the birds outside our window that I heard chirping this morning.”
Robert jabbed her bare shin with the point of his leather shoe. Though it barely hurt, she almost burst out laughing. Weren’t Christians supposed to turn the other cheek? She wasn’t so much of a heathen that she hadn’t heard that one.
“Thank you for Robert and . . .” Daddy paused for an uncomfortably long stretch of time before he added, “Gary who showed up again for dinner tonight, Amen.”
“What’s for dinner at the Bore’s Nest tonight?” Douglas asked.
“Every Tuesday it’s Sloppy Joes. It’s the only thing Mike knows how to make.” Gary reached for a roll.
Robert dished himself up one medium-sized cabbage roll. The cabbage leaves were stuffed full of hamburger, onion, and rice, in a rich tomato sauce. Daddy spooned three onto his plate.
Robert was right about the view. It was nice being able to see Gary. Even though he was fresh off the job and wore a layer of grime, he was still handsome and dreamy. If Missy was seated right next to him, it would be more obvious to Daddy when she turned her head to stare.
“Did you know I’ve known Missy since she was born?” Gary said, probably more for Robert than anyone else. “Remember how you always used to ask me for my autograph?” He chuckled. “Every time my name was in the paper for football or baseball, Missy would bring me her little autograph book. Remember that?” He turned toward Douglas.
Douglas nodded. “She’d read into every little word you wrote.”
“You never wrote much,” she said, and curled her toes.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Robert tunnel his way through the cabbage exterior into the heart of the filling. Disappointment anchored in his eyes. He’d been the one to tell her about Trudy Tibbits. Maybe he didn’t deserve a cabbage dinner in his honor.
Had he been within hearing distance when his mother had informed her that he didn’t like cabbage?
One of Daddy’s brows arched as he looked from Robert to Missy. It was all too plain that he’d recalled the stir-fry dinner and Robert’s difficult time with cabbage. Tight-lipped, Daddy shook his head. He knew. He knew she’d made the Cabbage Rolls and the Chocolate Cabbage Cake for Jerry Boy.
“Missy, you should have taken your hat off before prayer,” Daddy said.
Her stomach plummeted like it did on the Zillerator at the Clark County Fair.
“Your mama always made us take our hats off at the table.”
Whenever Daddy referenced Mama, he was laying down a new law. Neither Douglas nor Gary had seen her hair yet, and there was bound to be—
“No hats at the table.” With a slight extension of his nearest hand, Daddy whipped off her hat and tossed it like a Frisbee into the entry.
Mouth agape, Douglas sat back in his chair. “What did you do?”
Gary let out a belly splitting laugh.
Hot tears pended at the corner of Missy’s eyes. Her throat burned and it hurt to swallow.
“She hasn’t had a chance to curl it yet,” Robert said.
“Now be good,” Martha said.
A hush fell over the room, and then everyone had a good laugh—everyone except Missy. It was Gary’s laugh she heard and remembered above the others. She had such a good view of him with his head tipped back, and his bright white teeth in his tanned, chiseled face.
She’d wanted to look like Farrah for him and he’d only laughed.
CHAPTER 25
After dinner, Missy ignored the dishes, strode to her room, and read the directions on how to curl her hair using Clairol hot rollers. She was mechanically minded, so it couldn’t be too hard. She grabbed a medium-sized, prickly ribbed roller, rolled her bangs under and slid a U-shaped wire clip into place. The roller was so hot against her forehead she had to hold the fingers of her left hand between the curler and her skin. Thereafter, it was impossible to roll her hair one-handed. One roller at a time was going to take her all night.
Someone knocked on her bedroom door. Hopefully, it wasn’t Gary, wanting to apologize. She wasn’t beautiful yet.
It was only Jerry Boy.
At the sight of her, he took an uneasy breath. She only had one roller in her hair, she couldn’t look that scary.
“I was telling your Dad about how my sister curls her hair. Uh, I called her, and she said she’d be happy to show you how to do your hair.”
“Is she coming here?” Missy gripped the door handle.
“No. If you want . . . she can meet us at my folks in ten minutes.”
Missy glanced over her shoulder at the instruction booklet. It was hard to admit, but she’d hit rock bottom; she needed help.
“Okay.”
She stuffed the rollers in the Fred Meyer sack along with the ad for Wella Shampoo. As she made her way to the entry, she passed Douglas and Gary who were seated in the living room.
“Wonder what’s on the boob tube,” Douglas said, reaching for the flicker.
“Dust,” said Gary.
Oh, the nerve! Missy bit her tongue. If it was anyone but Gary, she’d give him a piece of her mind.
“We’ll have the cake when you get back, doll.” Dishrag in hand, Daddy wiped the counters. The kitchen was already clean.
She paused in the doorway for a moment and wondered if she was simply wishing. In the last ten years, she could only name two other times someone had helped with the dishes: last week when Robert and Gary teamed up, and once when she had the forty-eight-hour flu.
“Did you do the dishes again?” she asked, following Robert to his wagon.
“We all pitched in,” he said over his shoulder.
“Even Douglas?”
“No.” Robert stopped on the driver’s side of his wagon. “But he did pick his napkin up off the floor.”
“There’s hope for him.” She opened the passenger door herself, and felt a tad surprised that Robert hadn’t been more of a gentleman. But then again, he probably knew her well enough by now to know she wouldn’t have let him open her door.
After an awfully warm day, the evening air felt refreshingly cool. She leaned toward the windshield and marveled at the bounty of stars. While she was usually watching Gunsmoke, the stars were outside shining. Imagine that.
Maybe Gary would still be here when she got home. Maybe after her hair was curled, he’d ask her to take a moonlit stroll. Maybe everything would still turn out all right.
“My sister, Charlene, just got her little girl to sleep,” Robert said as he drove south toward Felida. “Her husband’s going to stay with the baby. She said it was perfect timing.”
“How old’s her little girl?”
“Olivia’s a couple of months old. She’s a sweet little thing.”
He liked babies; she could hear it in his voice.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got your Bic filter changed yet?”
Robert scratched behind his right ear.
Missy could just picture them breaking down on the way there or on the way home, and the man didn’t have tools. She’d been a fool to accept a ride with him.
“My next paycheck, I’ll pay your father to fix it.”
“You’re pushing your luck, Jerry Boy.”
“Robert.”
It was loud and clear how much he disliked her nickname for him.
“I mean Robert.” She looked straight ahead. The man was taking her to get her hair done, for heaven’s sake. If it took all she had in her, she could be nice to him for one evening.
The front porch light illuminated the curved concrete driveway, the tidily trimmed bushes, and the front of the Schoening’s traditional, two-story home.
“Should I have changed?” Missy glanced at Robert. She’d just worn her cut-of
fs and a tank top. Why did she feel all knotted up and nervous? She’d already met his folks; it wasn’t like they didn’t know she couldn’t be a dress-wearing type of gal.
“You look great.”
“I do not.” How could he say that?
He pulled his keys out of the ignition and looked across the cab at her.
“Charlene’s already here. The Pontiac’s hers.” He nodded over his shoulder to a Grand Am parallel parked on the street in front of their home. “She’s nursing and only has a two-hour window before she needs to be home again.”
“Well, it was sweet of her to meet me.”
Missy followed Robert to the side garage door which he opened and then closed behind them.
“My mom has a rule that everyone takes off their shoes before we go inside.” He slipped off his leather shoes and set them to the left of the interior door.
Why hadn’t he told her that earlier? She hadn’t changed her socks and her feet would stink to high heaven.
“I can’t go inside.”
“Why?”
“I’ve worn these socks all day. If I take off my shoes…” she thought of how Daddy often described the smell, “I’ll have the stinkiest feet in Clark County.”
“That’s right.” Robert nodded. “Wait here. I’ll go get you a washcloth and a plastic bag for you to put your socks in.” He motioned for her to hand him the Fred Meyer sack. “Don’t your curlers need to preheat?”
The man thought of everything.
While she slid off her socks, Missy wondered why he’d said that’s right. She didn’t remember ever taking her boots off around him.
Robert opened the door and handed her a wet, soapy washcloth and a plastic bag. “Come in when you’re ready.” He closed the door between them.
Missy was a tad surprised by his actions. The Robert she knew wouldn’t have left company alone in the garage on purpose. Her feet were their usually smelly selves. It was a good thing he’d gone inside.
Once her feet were presentable, she opened the door into a tiled mudroom. The floor felt refreshingly cool beneath her bare feet. Mrs. Schoening and a young woman who must be Charlene sat at an oak kitchen table. Missy’s hot rollers were plugged in on the counter, displaying a bright red light.
Marilee Schoening’s home was beautiful. It took only a few meager glances around her for Missy to know that this woman was a scrubber. Rose-printed wallpaper adorned the walls, and creamy white curtains lined the three dining room windows. This woman obviously didn’t help run an auto repair company sixty hours a week. To cap things off, something fruity with a hint of cinnamon simmered on the stove.
“Have a seat here, Missy,” Marilee said. “This is Charlene, the youngest of Robert’s three older sisters.”
“Hello, Missy.” When Charlene stood up from the table, Missy first noticed her height. She was taller than Robert by at least an inch, and secondly, she had beautiful auburn-colored hair. Her bangs swept across her forehead and curls billowed around her face.
“Hi, Charlene. Thank you for . . .” Missy sat down in the wooden chair that Marilee motioned to and promptly forgot the rest of her little speech.
“It’s a treat for me to get out of the house, except I’m already missing Olivia, my baby girl.”
“Did you bring a picture of her?” Marilee asked.
“No. I’m rarely away from her.” Charlene laughed softly.
“I’ll go get one.” Marilee rose from the table.
“I think we pretty much have the same cut, except yours is a lot longer.” Charlene studied her hair.
Missy smiled. There was hope. Maybe Olya really did know how to cut hair.
“Here, let’s start in the bang area.” Charlene unrolled the curler that Missy had left in her crown. In the rush of leaving, she’d forgotten it was there. What a dummy. She’d worn it in the car with Robert all the way here. No wonder he hadn’t opened the passenger door for her.
This long, painful day might end on a good note. Marilee returned holding a framed photo of a blue-eyed baby girl propped on a couch pillow. She wore an apricot-colored dress and knit booties. Olivia looked like a porcelain doll.
“She’s beautiful.” Missy sighed.
“Isn’t she?” Marilee smiled, holding the photo.
Charlene gently started brushing Missy’s hair. Marilee sat down at the table and held up a round mirror by the handle.
“I always start with the crown area.” Charlene wound Missy’s hair around a large roller and fastened it in place with the U-shaped clip.
Missy wondered where Robert had escaped to.
“After your hair’s done, Missy, would you care for dessert?” Marilee asked. “I made Pepperidge Farms puff pastry shells, and I have a warm huckleberry sauce and vanilla ice cream to go with them.”
Missy’s mouth watered.
Robert wandered back into the room, a pen tucked behind his ear. Near the island, he picked up his briefcase and headed for the doorway.
“Honey,” his mother called after him. “How about joining us for dessert? I made your favorite, the little puff pastry shells and huckleberry sauce.”
Missy’s mouth watered again.
“Maybe tomorrow night. Missy made dessert, and Big John’s waiting for us to get back before he has a piece.”
“Oh . . .” Marilee smiled Missy’s direction. “What’d you make?”
If Marilee hadn’t been sitting a mere three feet away, Missy might not have felt so on the spot. She looked in the mirror and cleared her throat. Charlene already had a beehive of rollers constructed on her head.
“Uh . . . I made a chocolate cake.”
“Oh, chocolate cake is one of Robert’s favorites.”
Beneath the table, Missy curled her toes. Everyone was too nice here, including Robert. Like an incurable disease, niceness ran in their pores and oozed out into their words and actions.
“You’re going to look really pretty, Missy.” Charlene patted the last roller into place, and then she misted half the can of hairspray back and forth over the beehive.
“For working around dirty, oily cars, you have a lovely, clear complexion,” Marilee said.
Their niceness was almost too much.
“Robert won’t like my cake half as much as your huckleberry shells, Mrs. Schoening. He should have dessert here.” Maybe she should, too.
Marilee’s eyes sparkled in her softly wrinkled face.
“Robert’s very fond of chocolate cake.”
“Maybe yours. Not mine.”
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Charlene patted Missy’s shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen. “Or a glass of iced tea?”
Tea. No one drank hot or cold tea at her house. She should learn how to make it.
“A glass of iced tea sounds very nice.” She almost laughed at herself for sounding so well-mannered.
Charlene set a glass in front of Missy and then began unrolling the curlers.
“After you take the rollers out, don’t do a lot of brushing. It creates too much static. I always run my fingers through it a little at first. And sometimes it will turn out completely different than others. Don’t worry.”
Marilee held the mirror steady while Charlene unrolled the last curlers. Using her fingers, Charlene played with the front, and cupping her hands over Missy’s eyes, sprayed more hairspray.
“You look so pretty,” Marilee said.
Charlene stepped back. “You’re going to have to go see in the bathroom mirror. Mom, don’t have her look in that little mirror anymore.”
Yawning, Robert returned to the kitchen.
“You’re her first male critic, Robert, what do you think?” Marilee held a palm up toward Missy.
Missy turned slightly to face him. He leaned back against the kitchen island, crossed his arms, and knit his brows together for a long serious moment. Whatever he was thinking, he was trying to word it politely.
“You look beautiful.” His voice sounded soft and low—like he wa
s singing her a lullaby.
He couldn’t possibly have meant it. She glanced at Marilee.
The elderly woman nodded.
“Go look in the mirror,” Charlene said.
CHAPTER 26
Robert and his mother’s eyes had been her mirror, Missy realized as Robert drove her home. No one had ever told her she looked beautiful before, not even Daddy. When Robert said it, something in her snapped. Something in her that had resisted liking him, completely snapped.
And she didn’t know why.
“I wish you would have had dessert at your mom’s,” Missy said.
“Why’s that?” The hint of a smile teased his profile.
“I made a chocolate cabbage cake.”
“Yes, and why is that?”
He was asking for a full confession.
“Well, you and me,” she sighed, “we haven’t always seen eye to eye.”
“Yes, but a lot’s changed lately.”
“What do you mean? And I hope you’re not referring to my hair.”
He slowed down as he drove north on Seward and pulled into a gravel turnout across the road from the U-Pick Dahlia stand. It looked open for the season now, with its baskets, and handwritten sign: Fresh cut dahlias 25-cents or 5 for $1.00.
Without turning off the headlights, Robert cut the engine.
“You need to turn the lights off. It’s not good for your battery.”
Instead of turning them off, Robert turned to regard her. On Sunday, there’d been little rays of sunshine in his eyes. No light danced now. She wondered why.
“You’re going to get exactly what you want tonight, Missy.”
“What do you mean?” Her stomach stitched together like someone was making a crazy quilt.
“With your new look, you’re going to get Gary. He’s going to get rid of his old bumper stickers, and he’s going to start showing up for dinner every night of the week.”
Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance Page 14