them between us. His head gently rested back on the pillows as he examined his new treasures. My lids grew heavy watching him sort them into distinct piles. I struggled against sleep. Mattie began to slow down and relax. Before drifting off myself, I saw his eyes finally succumb and close.
18
Gabe woke us for dinner. Mattie instantly became full on ready for play. He gathered his shells, jammed them into his pockets, and darted from the room.
“Any sign of Kate?” I inquired.
“Not yet,” he responded with a great deal of apprehension.
“Henry gone?”
“Good luck with that,” he replied, ever the smart ass.
“Kate hasn’t come and Henry won’t leave. What ever will we do?”
“You missed the fireworks. He and your dad had it out. He quit.”
“Who quit?” I asked, astonished at the prospect.
“John ordered him back to New York so Henry resigned his position with Spencer Industries.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’m no fan of Henry Walker, but that’s pretty gutsy. He said that he would only leave if you asked him to go.”
“Goodnight then. Have a great meal. Lock the door on your way out.”
“Nice try. You can’t hide out here forever. He’s not going anywhere. If you want him gone, just tell him so. You won’t hear any complaints from me.”
“Where is he?”
“Tommy is taking pity on him. They’re watching football.”
“I’m starving,” I said, hearing the rumbling coming from my stomach.
“I swear…you can eat through any emotion.”
“True. That smells delicious, though. What’s Momma Martin making?”
“Your favorites- fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and homemade buttermilk biscuits.”
“And desert.”
“Fruit,” he cautioned, knowing I’d be disappointed.
“Because I’m fat?” I asked solemnly.
“Because you’re fat.”
“Okay, fair enough.”
We made our way downstairs. Henry came into view as my foot hit the bottom step. He was in the drawing room, alone, reading John’s newspaper on the couch. I walked by him, without acknowledging his presence and proceeded into the kitchen. John looked happy helping Ms. Martin fry the chicken in the cast iron skillet. Sounds of oil popping gave cause to locate Mattie. Tommy had him in the television room watching the History Channel. The program was on the space shuttle and it seemed to capture his attention. Asking if I could help was immediately dismissed. With the last batch of chicken draining on the brown paper bags and the biscuits removed from the oven, we were all called to come into the kitchen for a casual meal.
Gabe and I were already seated when the others made their way to the table. I quickly solicited Mattie to sit by me which meant that Tommy and Henry would have to be paired across from us. John sat next to Mattie at the head of the table and Gabe’s mom mirrored him on the other end. Ms. Martin called after Henry who entered sheepishly, looking around to determine his seating options. With only two options left, he practically pushed past Tommy to take the empty chair near Ms. Martin. Sitting next to my father would have been far too risky with their earlier squabble.
Ms. Martin took the lead in ascertaining food preferences and filling plates. Gabe and I had already piled on our food while we had to wait for Henry to grace us with his presence. She prepared Mattie’s first, asking me to cut the chicken off the bone for him. I made steady progress cutting the meat into little pieces as she turned her attention to Henry.
“What piece of chicken do you prefer, Henry?” she asked.
Before he could answer, I opened my mouth, causing Tommy’s tea to practically come out of his nose. He just about aspirated the drink into his lungs.
“He’s a breast man, Ms. Martin,” I interjected.
Henry wasn’t amused. He shot me that belittling look of great disappointment which I sent back with a bit of a cracked smile attached; proud to have gotten under his skin.
“Don’t be cheeky, Jewels. I’ll take the wings, please, Ms. Martin. Thank you,” he answered politely.
“Some green beans?” she asked.
“Please,” he replied.
“How about some mashed potatoes? They’re a little looser than usual, but…”
“The looser the better for him, Ms. Martin,” I spouted, unable to stifle my angst.
Before I knew it, my plate was being lifted above my head. Gabe was taking it out to the brick porch, knowing I’d follow the food. The fork I was holding was still full of mashed potatoes.
“We’re going to eat outside,” he said with a smile, trying not to laugh.
“I’ll join you,” John dryly added, lifting his plate and utensils to follow us.
“It’s December. It’s cold out