watches intently for my approval as I try his mashed potatoes for the first time, his black-eyed peas. “The chicken is wonderful, Frank. Did your mother teach you how to cook?”
“No.” He looks taken aback, then pushes his food around his plate. “My daddy had this place, and his daddy before him. I’m not sure who taught them, but they taught me.”
“What’s the first thing you learned to make?”
He smiles. “Biscuits. I got them so wrong, the dog gave them to the field mice, and even they wouldn’t eat them.”
The biscuits are golden brown and look like they’ve been buttered on the top. I break one in half and take a bite. The next thing I know, my shoulders are up around my ears and I’m breathing out an
mmmm
sound. Frank’s smiling his proud, beautiful smile. The world would be a perfect place if Frank Darling’s biscuits married Rosa Lee’s crab cakes.
“What about you? Who taught you how to cook?”
“Oh.” I swallow hard. “No one, really.”
“You must be a natural. What’s your favorite dish to make?”
I can’t help but laugh, knowing that if I made anything, the dog and the mice would be dead. “I can’t cook. My mother did all the cooking.”
My murrah. “
I’m hopeless in the kitchen, a complete calamity.”
“I could teach you.” Frank smiles, and I believe he could. “Now, as I recall, the last time we shared a meal, you said you had a favor to ask of me.”
My turn to be penitent. I put my fork down and shake my head. It’s clear, after church, that I’ll have to take the bus to Memphis. The last thing Frank Darling needs is another reason to set tongues wagging. “Never mind. It was nothing.”
“Vada.” I love the way he says my name, like it’s holy. “I told you I’d do anything for you, and that still stands.” He reaches on the other side of the counter for two plates, each with a huge slab of chocolate cake topped off with dark, gooey frosting and pecan halves. After stuffing myself on the meal, I can’t believe I’m actually salivating.
I put a forkful into my mouth and sigh. He laughs and starts in on his cake. “Frank, this is wonderful. How do you get it so moist?”
“Buttermilk and a little Coca-Cola. I’m glad you like it.” He gets up and puts two cups on the table and starts to pour the coffee, and then shakes his head. “How could I forget? You like tea, with milk.”
“I love coffee, especially with chocolate.”
“Sugar?”
He laughs when I drop five cubes into the hot brew. “The meal, the flowers, the dessert, it’s all so wonderful, Frank.”
He pushes his cake away and takes my hand. “Enough with the compliments, Vada. Tell me what you want.”
My eyes are wide from the reference that could mean anything from passionate kisses to more chocolate cake. With Frank being the only person I know with a car, I admit I’d considered him as a way to get to Memphis and back, a handsome, charming vehicle. But after church and the scrumptious meal he made to please me, I’m confused. I still must help Darby, but I’m not sure I’m prepared to ruin Frank Darling to get to Memphis.
“You can trust me, Vada. Please.”
“As you know, I don’t have a car.” He looks hurt, like he’s thinking,
Oh, great, she wants to borrow my car again.
“There’s someone in Memphis—”
“Jesus, Vada.” He runs his hand through his sandy-blond hair and looks at me. He’s hurt, angry. “Who is he?”
“He’s not a he at all, Frank. He’s a she, Darby, my best and dearest friend. She’s in trouble and needs my help.” I can tell by his face that he’s utterly confused, and as flustered as he is, I’m not completely sure how much I should tell him.
“What kind of trouble?”
“She owes a horrible woman a lot of money. If you can just take me to the bus station in Walterboro—”
“It would take at least twelve hours to drive there by car, no telling how long by bus, and I’m not putting you on a bus.”
“Please,
“No.” He looks taken aback, then pushes his food around his plate. “My daddy had this place, and his daddy before him. I’m not sure who taught them, but they taught me.”
“What’s the first thing you learned to make?”
He smiles. “Biscuits. I got them so wrong, the dog gave them to the field mice, and even they wouldn’t eat them.”
The biscuits are golden brown and look like they’ve been buttered on the top. I break one in half and take a bite. The next thing I know, my shoulders are up around my ears and I’m breathing out an
mmmm
sound. Frank’s smiling his proud, beautiful smile. The world would be a perfect place if Frank Darling’s biscuits married Rosa Lee’s crab cakes.
“What about you? Who taught you how to cook?”
“Oh.” I swallow hard. “No one, really.”
“You must be a natural. What’s your favorite dish to make?”
I can’t help but laugh, knowing that if I made anything, the dog and the mice would be dead. “I can’t cook. My mother did all the cooking.”
My murrah. “
I’m hopeless in the kitchen, a complete calamity.”
“I could teach you.” Frank smiles, and I believe he could. “Now, as I recall, the last time we shared a meal, you said you had a favor to ask of me.”
My turn to be penitent. I put my fork down and shake my head. It’s clear, after church, that I’ll have to take the bus to Memphis. The last thing Frank Darling needs is another reason to set tongues wagging. “Never mind. It was nothing.”
“Vada.” I love the way he says my name, like it’s holy. “I told you I’d do anything for you, and that still stands.” He reaches on the other side of the counter for two plates, each with a huge slab of chocolate cake topped off with dark, gooey frosting and pecan halves. After stuffing myself on the meal, I can’t believe I’m actually salivating.
I put a forkful into my mouth and sigh. He laughs and starts in on his cake. “Frank, this is wonderful. How do you get it so moist?”
“Buttermilk and a little Coca-Cola. I’m glad you like it.” He gets up and puts two cups on the table and starts to pour the coffee, and then shakes his head. “How could I forget? You like tea, with milk.”
“I love coffee, especially with chocolate.”
“Sugar?”
He laughs when I drop five cubes into the hot brew. “The meal, the flowers, the dessert, it’s all so wonderful, Frank.”
He pushes his cake away and takes my hand. “Enough with the compliments, Vada. Tell me what you want.”
My eyes are wide from the reference that could mean anything from passionate kisses to more chocolate cake. With Frank being the only person I know with a car, I admit I’d considered him as a way to get to Memphis and back, a handsome, charming vehicle. But after church and the scrumptious meal he made to please me, I’m confused. I still must help Darby, but I’m not sure I’m prepared to ruin Frank Darling to get to Memphis.
“You can trust me, Vada. Please.”
“As you know, I don’t have a car.” He looks hurt, like he’s thinking,
Oh, great, she wants to borrow my car again.
“There’s someone in Memphis—”
“Jesus, Vada.” He runs his hand through his sandy-blond hair and looks at me. He’s hurt, angry. “Who is he?”
“He’s not a he at all, Frank. He’s a she, Darby, my best and dearest friend. She’s in trouble and needs my help.” I can tell by his face that he’s utterly confused, and as flustered as he is, I’m not completely sure how much I should tell him.
“What kind of trouble?”
“She owes a horrible woman a lot of money. If you can just take me to the bus station in Walterboro—”
“It would take at least twelve hours to drive there by car, no telling how long by bus, and I’m not putting you on a bus.”
“Please,
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