“Are you sure? I mean, I felt so certain there was something between you. Charlene did too.”
Missy was eloping with Gary. He couldn’t believe she’d do that to her father. Robert tried to remember what John had told him the night he’d carried Missy into her room? She’s an awful lot like me. I’ve always had a soft heart for being needed. Missy was devoted to her father because deep down beneath her fighting spirit she had a servant’s heart.
He needed to sit down, but there wasn’t a chair close by.
“Are you okay, Robert?”
“Yes. What time does Elderly Angels end tonight?”
“We always try to end by nine o’clock. Why?”
“Someone has to talk some sense into her.”
“Remember to pray.”
Robert returned the receiver to the cradle and felt embarrassed for what Joyce had undoubtedly overheard.
“I’m sorry, there’s a little bit of a family mix-up going on.”
“But no one’s run off yet?” Joyce hit the space bar.
“Yes, hopefully no one’s run off yet.” Robert glanced from his wristwatch to the garage. Missy better not be thinking of skipping Elderly Angels tonight and getting an early start to Nevada. He still had another appointment this afternoon and paperwork this evening, and now he had to track down Missy before she ended up married.
“Young people in love often make flighty decisions.” Joyce glanced toward the garage. “They don’t realize how long till death do us part really is.”
Robert agreed. Marriage is one of life’s most important decisions. Before he’d left the other night, he’d wanted to pull Missy close. Thank goodness he’d found the wisdom to walk away. She loved Gary. He closed his eyes. It was for the best. But, still, he had to stop her from making a horrible mistake for Big John’s sake.
Missy slid the foil-topped Hungry-Man Dinners inside the preheated oven. The combination of 400 degree heat and one coat of mascara made her eyelashes briefly stick together. She blinked them apart and set the timer for twenty minutes.
The rev of Gary’s El Camino muffler announced his unexpected arrival. Through the window above the sink, she saw him hop out of the rig, wave toward the shop and then head toward the house. She supposed speaking to him and being in the same room with him again was inevitable. He was Douglas’ best friend. She bit her bottom lip and thought about her hair. It had turned out surprisingly good. She was really getting the hang of the hot rollers.
The screen door bounced closed and Gary appeared in the kitchen doorway, tan, grimy, and fresh off the job. He gripped the molding with dirty hands, and leaned toward her work area. Bottle of Windex in hand, Missy sprayed the front of the refrigerator.
“Hey,” he said, “your old man said I’d find you in here.”
“Hi, Gary.”
“Heard you’re going to your ladies’ cooking class again.”
“Yes.” He was still the same old good looking Gary, yet instead of imagining what she used to, she remembered their hurried romance, the disappointing first kiss, and the Pit of Disappointments.
“Hey, I’m sorry, babe.” He rolled a kink out of his neck. “In two weeks, we’ll try again. Your old man said it’s fine with him as long as it’s fine with you.”
She’d never had to officially break up with a guy before… tell a fellow ‘no.’ It was harder to do than she’d expected. She met his gaze.
“Looks like it’s a no,” Gary said.
Missy tried to sort through an engine full of emotion.
“You’re nodding your head like you mean yes. Is that what you mean?”
She hadn’t been aware that she’d nodded.
“Yes, I think it’s best that we just return to how we used to be.”
“You mean... you just want to be friends?”
Even though it sounded lame, she nodded.
Gary disappeared into the entry. The screen door hadn’t bounced or slammed, so she knew he hadn’t gone far. He returned and gripped the door molding.
“Why, Missy?”
She had an epiphany and a deep sadness flooded her.
“It’s not because of the salesman, is it? He could do Jerry Lewis impersonations, and everyone would think he was the real thing. But you and me, we both know he’s a loon.”
“You knew I liked you all along, Gary, for years.”
“Then why don’t you now?” Beneath his shop rag T-shirt, his chest visibly inflated.
Two words teased her brain: beautiful and wow. There was more to it than the Pit of Disappointments. If she had the time to search her heart, maybe she’d understand.
“I’m sorry, Gary. I can’t be your rebound girl.”
The screen door bounced closed behind him. She stood stock-still in the middle of the kitchen waiting for him to return and give her another piece of his mind.
He didn’t.
CHAPTER 33
When Missy pulled into Bertha’s long driveway, more than a half dozen cars were already parked near the sunflower-gold farmhouse. Not wanting her vehicle to get sandwiched in—which might force her to stay later, she parked her truck in the gravel strip that led to the barn.
As she walked to the house, she tried to put the day behind her and get past the fact that she’d officially broken Gary’s heart. He’d looked so down.
Two floor fans circulated the air in Bertha’s dining area. The house smelled like hot oil and seasonings. Poor Bertha had been frying chicken in her little kitchen on an eighty-five degree day. Missy slid off her shoes and left them near the door.
“Missy . . . I’m so glad you’re here.” Marilee paused in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Robert’s mother almost sounded surprised to see her. She obviously didn’t know about the Ginsu Knives deal Daddy had made with her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Schoening.”
“I must say your hair looks nice. You’ve mastered the hot rollers.”
“Oh, I like your hair, Missy,” Lisa said from the second row of folding chairs. “Sit here.” She patted the seat beside her.
After Missy sat down, some of the issues of the day slipped off her shoulders. She looked at Lisa; the young woman had no idea what kind of day she’d had.
“That hairstyle is one way to catch a husband.” Lisa nudged her and nodded toward the kitchen. “Wedding bells are in your future.”
Wedding bells? Had Bertha told someone about Las Vegas? Through the square window opening into the kitchen, she could see Bertha slaving away. Hopefully, she hadn’t told anyone about Las Vegas. Missy should have called her back. Even though Bertha had been in the middle of raspberry jelly, she should have called her back.
“Now, ladies . . .” Clasping her hands, Bertha entered the dining area. “Let’s pray.” She sighed heavily. “Dear heavenly Father, help us to put the day behind us. The kids, the grandkids, the heat, our husbands, and focus on you and our fellowship time together. Help the dinner to turn out, too. In your son Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”
Bertha wiped her hands on her floured apron. “While I deal with the rest of the dinner in the kitchen, Marilee’s going to walk you through the gravy. This recipe’s in our church cookbook, but we experimented a bit tonight.”
“Ladies . . .” Marilee stepped near the front table, “in our church cookbook, we have two other recipes for fried chicken and gravy, but tonight’s gravy is a little different. We’ve typed out tonight’s recipe on the pink paper on that table.” Marilee nodded toward a side table beneath the lace-curtained window.
As Missy rose to her feet, Lisa whispered, “Get me one, too.” Missy folded the piece of pink paper and slid it in the back pocket of her 501 jeans and handed the extra to Lisa.
“I’m going to demonstrate how to make the gravy for tonight’s meal.” Marilee carried an electric fry pan from the kitchen to the front table, and tipped it slightly toward the group. The pan had a good quarter inch of oil and brown bits on the bottom. It was going to be such a pain to scrub.
“I’ve
poured off all but about a quarter cup of the fat. See these brown bits, ladies? Those are gems of flavor. I’ll work them into the gravy later.”
While Lisa yawned, Missy sat straight up in her chair, taking mental notes. She’d never made gravy from scratch. Why, if she learned to make great gravy, she could make biscuits and gravy, Thanksgiving gravy, hamburger steak gravy . . .
“Now, ladies, you’re basically making a roux, which means you’re always going to match the quantity of flour to your fat. So, we’ll add four tablespoons flour.” Ingredient by ingredient, smooth, beautiful gravy formed. There was a science to cooking, yet Marilee wore a pink, rose-patterned apron instead of a lab coat.
Trying to remember each step for the gravy, Missy followed the gals to the living room. She sat beside Lisa on the comfy velour couch.
“My baby girl got five stitches in her forehead today,” Lisa whispered and pointed between her eyes. “She’s home with daddy and her new stuffed teddy bear tonight.”
“Oh . . . poor thing.”
“She smacked it on Grandma’s coffee table.” Lisa curved her bare foot around the pointed edge of the low mahogany table in front of them. “Just like this one.”
Lisa had also had quite a day too, Missy realized, as Peg began to talk.
Peg clutched her hands beneath her bountiful bosom, smiled, and looked at each lady in the group. “Proverbs 18:22 tells us: He who finds a good wife finds a good thing, and obtains favor from the Lord.”
Proverbs must be in the Bible.
“Now, ladies, when you go home tonight, I want you to write that verse on the inside of one of your kitchen cabinets—one that your husband opens on a regular basis for the Tabasco or . . .” Peg’s gaze lifted to the low ceiling. “Remind him of how blessed he is to have such a wonderful help mate for that’s what we are, ladies; we are our husband’s helper.”
“You can say that again,” one of the older ladies crooned.
Missy bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing.
“Remind us again, Peg, how we’re to love our husbands,” a tall, middle-aged woman said. Another woman seated beside her gave her a good ribbing with her elbow.
“With respect and humility. We are to be self- controlled, pure and kind. Now, ladies . . .” Peg stepped towards an end table. “There are a few knives I didn’t get to discuss last week.”
Missy waited for the tall woman to make another comment about husbands and knives, but she didn’t.
“This knife is called a carving knife.” Peg pulled a long knife out of the wood block and angled it so everyone could see its slim, sharp blade. “It’s perfect for slicing thin cuts of meat such as ham or roast beef. Now, onto my favorite knife—”
“It’s time for dinner, ladies,” Bertha said, standing at the edge of the living room.
“I’m almost done.” Using both hands, Peg motioned for everyone to remain seated, and then she pulled the smallest knife out of her collection. “A knife can be a very personal thing.” She held up a tiny knife. “I use my paring knife for everything: coring fruit, peeling potatoes, getting the last itsy bitsy bit out of a vanilla bean. If I were marooned on a desert island and could only choose one knife, it would be this one.”
Missy waited for the thin, middle-aged woman to add something.
“You’d want your chef knife, Peg, to break open the coconuts with,” was all she said—nothing about husbands. Already the woman was showing some self control.
At the end of the meal, Missy became certain of one thing: if she’d made this fried chicken dinner and topped it off with Marilee’s fresh peach cake the night that she’d first styled her hair like Farrah, Gary wouldn’t have just bought a new bumper sticker, he would have also bought a ring.
Missy was the last to leave. She paused in the doorway to the kitchen. “Thank you, ladies, everything was amazing.”
“You tell Robert that I want to see you both in church this Sunday.” Bertha dabbed at her sweat-brimmed face with a damp tea towel.
Missy wondered why she’d included Robert and her in the same sentence.
“You can tell him yourself.” Peg pointed out the window above the sink. “Robert’s waiting outside. Awh... to be young and in—”
“Are you sure it’s Robert?” Marilee joined her at the sink.
“I was his second grade Sunday School teacher. That’s Robert,” Bertha said.
Maybe Marilee didn’t drive, and Robert was picking her up. Or maybe, for some strange reason, he was here to see Missy? Not likely. She slid on her shoes and pulled the door closed behind her.
The sun had slipped behind the west hills, dimming the sky to the faintest blue. Clumps of yellow daylilies lined the brick path. Robert stood waiting at the end of the walkway near the waist-high picket fence. He was still in nice slacks and a cream-colored, button up shirt. Even though it was after nine o’clock in the evening, he looked like he’d come straight from work.
“Your mom will be a while. She’s drying dishes,” Missy said as she strolled toward him.
“Hi, Missy. We need to talk.” He nodded toward their vehicles. For some reason, he’d parked by her truck.
“Me?” She pointed to herself.
“Yes, you.” His brows knit together and his jaw muscle twitched in his lean face. For some reason, Robert was here to see her; and, if she wasn’t mistaken, he was upset about something.
CHAPTER 34
Robert’s incessant pacing had scored a pathway in the gravel driveway. With a sweep of his left foot, he attempted to erase a three-foot swath of the evidence. Maybe it was a pretense, but Missy looked like she didn’t know why he was here. Dressed in jeans and a sleeveless striped shirt, she didn’t appear all that dolled up to be eloping. But Las Vegas was an eighteen-hour drive; comfortable clothes were smart.
“Has there been an accident?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “Nothing of that nature.” On account of losing her mother at an early age, she’d probably grown up trying to prepare herself for unexpected tragedies.
The angelic look on her face reminded him of how she’d appeared when she was sleeping. The look had captured his imagination, maybe his heart.
“I don’t want to talk here. It’s too close to the house.” Robert stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. She fell in step beside him as they walked the gravel-flecked driveway in the direction of their vehicles. Lord, help me to handle this right. Guide my words. You know she’s unpredictable.
“What’s happened?”
“Wait ‘til we’re closer to the barn.”
She huffed.
Twenty feet from the red-painted barn, he finally halted. The light breeze held a hint of freshly cut hay and ripe blackberries. He stood in the shade while she remained five feet away in the sunlight. With her hands stuffed in her back pockets, she glanced over her shoulder toward the house.
Were the elderly women watching? From this distance and perspective, it was difficult to tell.
“What do we need to talk about?” She lifted her chin.
“Your elopement.”
Narrow eyed, she glanced from him to the house.
“Rumor is you’re eloping.”
Her mouth opened a bit to speak, and then there were no words. She tried again with the same results. Not a good sign.
“Worse yet, the rumor is that you and I are eloping.”
Eyes wide and unblinking, she stared at him.
“I know you’re nuts about Gary, but this is ridiculous. You’d devastate your father. And how long have you guys been a couple—two days?”
“You think . . .” her chest inflated as her lungs filled with air, “that I’m meeting him somewhere tonight. And you’re doing the rep-for-life thing by saving the client’s daughter from a disastrous marriage. That’s why you’re here. Isn’t it?”
She was definitely prettier when she was asleep.
“Isn’t it?”
Why was he here? Why had he taken it upon himself
to chase after her? She so obviously didn’t want him to. For some reason, a part of his heart imagined she would.
“Wow, Jerry Boy, you’re my Daddy’s hero.”
Gone was the angelic vision.
“I’m sorry, I interfered. Gary is perfect for you. I don’t know why it took me so long to see it as clearly as I do now.”
Her face couldn’t have been any more still if it were a portrait.
“Have you written a Dear Daddy letter? Maybe I can deliver it. Or are you going to just call him on the way home from Vegas?”
“You’re the perfect messenger. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier.” Reaching in her back pocket, she handed him a folded piece of fluorescent pink paper. “Deliver this to Daddy for me . . . and tell him I love him.”
She was really eloping and with Gary. Why did he feel like he’d stepped backward off a cliff?
“Missy, he’s not a Christian.”
“Neither am I.” She shrugged. Leaning her head to one side, her eyes appeared thoughtful, if not sad.
“You need to at least tell your father... in person.”
“People elope, Jerry, because they don’t want to tell their parents.”
“He’ll be devastated.” Robert’s shoulders felt heavy. “When are you leaving?”
“Right now.” She started for her truck.
He chased after her and ran ahead of her. If he had to, he’d swipe the suitcase that was predictably in the back of her truck. The bed of her pickup was empty. He strode to the driver’s side, and cupping his hands around his eyes, peered through the window. There were no suitcases, backpacks, or lingerie. Her red baseball hat sat on the bench seat beside a Felida Community Church Cookbook.
“I’m not eloping, you dummy,” she said behind him. “I was only kidding. It was gallant of you to try and stop me, but both you and Daddy need to give me a little credit.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her.
“I can handle Gary on my own.” She crossed her arms.
“I don’t believe you.” He turned around to face her. “You know why? Because word is, you’ve liked him for a long time; and now it’s all happening too fast, and you don’t know what to do.”
Fried Chicken and Gravy - Christian Romance Page 19