by Ann McMan
She used her tongs to turn over the chicken thighs. They were fried to a perfect, golden brown.
“That apartment didn’t have but one bedroom,” she added.
Michael smiled at her. “I guess that must mean we’re in good company on the road to perdition.”
Nadine nodded. “It don’t much matter which road you’re on, as long as you make the journey with someone you love.”
Michael didn’t reply, but he bumped Nadine’s shoulder with his own.
She looked up at him with feigned impatience, but he knew her well enough now to understand that she was trying to downplay her uncharacteristically sentimental revelation.
“What was it you wanted to ask me about, boy?”
“Well,” he said. “I was thinking that once my kitchen is back online, maybe you’d consent to come out to the inn one night a week and cook with me there.”
Nadine raised an eyebrow.
“And in return,” he continued, “I’ll keep helping out here one night a week.”
She thought about it. “I might consider doing that. As long as I can do things my own way, and you won’t bust a gusset if I slop something on your fancy-ass range.”
He drew an imaginary “x” across his heart. “I promise.”
She nodded. “Now quit your freeloading, and go get me a platter before these thighs turn into charcoal briquettes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“And while you’re at it, get the bean spread out and start filling up those small serving bowls.” Nadine waved her tongs in the general direction of the refrigerator.
Michael walked to the beat-up Maytag and pulled out the big plastic container of seasoned butter beans.
“You know, Nadine . . . we need to think about renaming this appetizer.”
“Don’t you start with that hummus crap again. I told you nobody will buy it if we call it that.”
“I wasn’t thinking about calling it hummus,” he said. “I was thinking we should name it for your grandma.”
Nadine turned around and glared at him. The overhead light made solar flares on the lenses of her glasses. She looked like one of those neon-eyed space creatures from the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars. And she could be just about as frightening, too.
“How about Harriet’s Lasagna-Bean Spread?” he suggested.
It took Nadine a minute to get the reference. When she did, Michael was barely able to dodge the soggy towel she threw at him.
TONIGHT’S DINNER AT the café was special. Maddie and Syd were coming, and they were bringing Celine. Also present were David’s mother, Phoebe, and the entire Freemantle clan.
Well. All of the Freemantles except Azalea, who still refused to break bread with Edna. And that was especially true on this day—the anniversary of the Battle of Cloyd’s Mountain, where Union forces attacked and killed General Albert Jenkins, then burned the New River Bridge, just to add insult to injury.
Azalea didn’t understand how David and Phoebe could tolerate sitting down to eat with a worthless Yankee whose people were responsible for killing their great, great uncle—no matter how good the damn fried chicken was.
She did, however, ask Curtis to drop her off a leg quarter and some broccoli slaw on his way home.
CELINE HAD NEVER eaten at Odell’s. Her last visit to the small café had been decades ago, when Maddie was just a toddler. It was mostly a dive in those days, serving only hot dogs, barbecue, and an occasional case of food poisoning. But she was pretty sure of one thing: that had to be the same portrait of Jesus hanging over the short order grill. She remembered it because no matter where she sat in the tiny place, it seemed like his eyes followed her. She said as much to Maddie’s father on one of their last visits there, and he just laughed and told her she was paranoid because she was a Jew living in sin with a lapsed Presbyterian. But tonight was no different, and when a flamboyantly overdressed David met them at the door and led them toward the café’s “best” table, she was certain that the Eyes of the Savior followed her as she made her way across the chipped linoleum floor.
David pulled out a chair for her with his customary flourish.
“Here you go, madam. It’s the best seat in the house.”
Celine looked around the tiny place. It was true. From this vantage point, she had an unobstructed view of most of the restaurant—including the short order grill.
She looked at David. “Would you mind terribly if I sat on that side of the table instead?”
He stood there, holding the chair with a perplexed look on his face. “You can sit wherever you like, Celine. But what’s wrong with this seat?”
Maddie pushed behind him and claimed a chair that sat against the back wall. “It’s the painting.” She sat down and looked up at Celine. “Isn’t it, Mom?”
Celine met her eyes. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
Syd laughed. “You’re kidding me with this, right?” She eased herself down onto a chair next to Maddie and leaned her crutches against the back wall. She motioned for Henry to take the seat that David was offering. “She could probably tell you what you ate for breakfast nine years ago on Arbor Day.”
Celine sighed. “It’s true.”
“What’s Arbor Day, Syd?” Henry asked. He was already reaching for his water glass.
David looked at the painting, then back at Celine. “What about the painting?”
Celine shrugged. “It’s the eyes.”
“The eyes?” David asked.
Celine nodded. “They seem to follow you—like one of those trick portraits in the Agatha Christie novels.”
Henry tugged at Syd’s sleeve. “What’s Arbor Day?”
“It’s a holiday that encourages people to plant trees,” she explained.
Henry seemed confused by the relationship between Arbor Day and the greasy painting hanging over the grill. “Did the pink man plant trees?”
“The pink man?” Syd asked. “Who is the pink man?”
Henry pointed at the portrait of Jesus.
Celine followed Henry’s finger and looked more closely at the portrait, then laughed. He was right. The years had not been kind to the Savior’s raiment. He looked like he was wearing a pink shawl.
David scowled. “I so did not know it would fade like that,” he muttered.
“Fade?” Maddie asked.
David nodded.
“What did you do to it?”
“I tried to clean it. The damn thing was covered with more grease than the hot dog roller at Sheetz. So I took it down one day when Nadine was out arguing with Raymond about some gravel, and I sprayed it with Resolve. Big mistake.”
Maddie narrowed her eyes. “You used Resolve to try to clean a painting?”
He nodded.
“David . . . Resolve is dry cleaning solution.”
He gave her a withering look. “I know what it is, thank you very much. For your information, I only used it on his clothing.”
“Oh.” Maddie chuckled. “Good plan.”
David cut his eyes toward Henry. “You’re just lucky we’re in mixed company, missy.”
Maddie looked around the tiny café. It was hopping. “You’ve certainly got that part right. What’s going on here tonight? It looks like half of Jericho is here.”
David shrugged. “If you ask Azalea, she’d tell you that it’s because it’s the anniversary of some Civil War battle.”
Celine thought about that. “Cloyd’s Mountain?”
Syd looked at her with surprise. “You remembered that?”
“Not really,” Celine explained. “I just remember Azalea. I can’t believe she’s still fighting that war.”
“What war?” Henry asked.
“The War of Northern Aggression,” David said.
Henry looked confused. Maddie picked up her menu. “Don’t worry about that, sport. Let’s figure out what we’re getting for supper.”
“Okay, Maddie.” He took hold of the menu and studied it. He was all business
now. After a minute, he looked up at Celine. “Gramma, what’s chute-nay?”
“Chutenay?” Celine asked.
Syd looked at Henry’s menu to see what item he was asking about. She smiled at Celine. “He means chutney.” She glanced back at the menu. “Apricot.”
“Oh.” Celine smiled and ran her hand over Henry’s thick hair. It was amazing. He really did look like Maddie. “It’s a special sauce with chunks of cooked fruit in it.”
Henry wrinkled up his nose.
Syd sighed. “He won’t eat chunks of anything.”
Maddie laughed.
Syd glared at her. “And trust me, he comes by it honestly.”
“Forget the chutney, sport,” Maddie said. “Let’s just get the fried chicken.”
Henry brightened up at once. “I want a leg.”
Maddie looked at Syd. “Hard to argue with that.”
Syd rolled her eyes and looked at Celine.
Celine shrugged. “Don’t blame me. She gets that from her father’s side of the family.”
David snorted.
They all jumped at the sound of a crash. Someone had knocked over a service tray, sending plates and glasses flying.
David sighed. “Excuse me. Duty calls.”
He adjusted his bow tie and headed for the carnage. Nicorette was already there, and she and another young woman were busy helping someone to their feet.
Syd leaned forward to get a better look.
“Oh my god . . . is that Roma Jean?”
Maddie looked toward the pile of broken plates and dirty silverware.
“Yep. That’s her.” Maddie shook her head. “Some things never change.”
“What do you mean?” Celine asked.
“She means that every time Roma Jean is within fifty feet of her,” Syd said, “the poor thing ends up sprawled out across some section of floor.”
Celine looked at her daughter. “Really?”
Maddie shrugged.
“I like Roma Jean,” Henry volunteered.
“We know you do, sport,” Syd said.
“We got to go for a ride in Charlie’s police car. Charlie let me turn the blue lights on when we stopped at Aunt Bea’s for a Coke.”
Syd was confused. “When did you ride with Charlie?”
“After school on Friday,” he explained. “I missed the bus,” he added in a quiet voice.
“Henry . . .” Syd began.
“It wasn’t my fault. Héctor took my lunchbox, and I was trying to get it back.”
Maddie was studying the small group of people who were busy clearing away the mess on the floor. “Isn’t that Charlie over there next to Roma Jean?”
Syd followed her gaze. “It looks like her.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“This isn’t the first time that Roma Jean’s hit the deck when Charlie has been in the vicinity. The same thing happened after the tornado, when they pulled you both out of the rubble.”
“Oh, really?”
Maddie was still staring at Roma Jean and Charlie.
Syd snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Hello?”
Maddie looked at her. “What?”
“Oh, please.”
“What?” Maddie asked again.
“You’re jealous.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
Celine laughed.
Maddie glowered at her. “Not helping, Mom.”
“Sorry. It’s just such a treat for me to see you acting like a teenager.”
“A treat?” Maddie raised an eyebrow.
Celine nodded. “I missed a lot. Too much.”
Maddie smiled at her. “We both did.”
“Missed what?” David walked back up to the table. He was carrying a basket. “Here you go, buddy.” He set it down in front of Henry. “Just out of the oven.”
Henry leaned forward to peer into the basket. “What are these?”
“They’re Nadine’s famous cheese biscuits—made extra special by a hefty dose of red—” He stopped when he noticed Syd making rapid slashing motions across her throat.
“Ix-nay on the epper-pay,” she whispered.
David rolled his eyes.
“What are these red things, Uncle David?” Henry was holding one of the biscuits up for closer inspection.
David thought about it. “They’re fairy sprinkles.”
“Fairy sprinkles?” Maddie asked.
David shrugged. “Why not? Michael made them.”
“Good cover.” Maddie chuckled.
The bell over the door to the restaurant jingled. David sighed. “That’s my cue. Back to work. Nick will be here in just a minute to take your orders.” He started toward the door, then stopped dead in his tracks. He touched Celine on the shoulder. “Oh, god.”
Celine looked across the tables of noisy diners toward the entrance, where a tall, white-haired man stood surveying the interior. It took a moment for her brain to process who was standing there. She felt a surge of adrenalin, and something else. Panic? Celine didn’t normally panic, but she was pretty certain that this had to be what panic felt like.
The customer continued to look around the tiny place, lingering on the portrait of the pink man over the grill. When his eyes finally landed on Celine, he looked astonished. His agitation seemed to increase when he saw the rest of her party.
Celine looked at Maddie, who was watching her with concern.
“What is it, Mom?” she asked. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Close,” Celine replied. She nodded toward the door.
Maddie followed her gaze.
“Oh, shit.”
Syd saw him too. She laid a hand on Maddie’s arm.
“Who is that man, Maddie?” Henry asked. He was busy picking the fairy sprinkles out of his biscuit.
“He’s my—” she hesitated and looked at Celine.
“He’s your Uncle Art.”
After a moment, Maddie nodded. “Right. He’s my Uncle Art.”
“Why did he leave, then?” Henry asked. “Isn’t he going to come and eat with us?”
Maddie looked back at the door. “He’s gone.”
Celine nodded. “This is your cue, Dr. Stevenson.”
“What do you mean?”
“He came the first two hundred miles. I think you can walk the last fifty yards.”
Maddie sighed. Then she pushed her chair back and stood up. “You’re right.”
They all watched her cross the restaurant and head outside toward the parking lot.
Henry looked up at David. “Are fairy sprinkles always this hot?”
David laughed. “Only if you’re very lucky.”
Syd slapped him on the arm.
“I’d sure like to be a fly on a cheap whitewall out there,” he muttered.
“David?” Celine asked. “Why don’t you go and find us another chair?”
“Isn’t that overly optimistic?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”
“And a mother,” Syd added.
Celine smiled at her.
“Whatever.” David sighed and walked off to snag another chair.
THE SUN WAS setting, and it was reflecting off about two-dozen windshields, so she nearly didn’t see him standing there next to his battered, white station wagon. Art always drove old beater cars, and this one was no exception. Maddie remembered how her father used to rag on him about his “hooptys.”
He was holding his keys, and the driver’s side door was open. He was looking right at her as she crossed the parking lot. Raymond had spread so much gravel that it was like walking on a new swath of carpet with an extra thick pad. Even the cars seemed to be sinking down into it. It made her progress toward him slower and more deliberate—like she was dragging her feet. Literally.