Chapter 7 – GLENNA #4
John and Heavy bust out cackling.
Mrs. Wall’s bland expression goes even more fake.
I slide down in my seat. Cash holds his hand up for a high five. I ignore it.
Thankfully, Mr. Wall, Mona, and Shay follow with more platters, and then Jesse arrives, herding children. I don’t know their names, but four of them are beefy like John, and one is Dina’s spitting image. There’s a general bustling as the kids get seated and plates are distributed.
Mona comes around and pours white wine in the stemmed glasses, and Shay follows her, filling the tumblers with ice water from a crystal pitcher. Mona gently squeezes my shoulder as she passes.
The food looks amazing and smells even better. Cornish game hens with grape dressing and glazed carrots. More fresh rolls and sides of cranberry sauce and garlic mushrooms.
“If you want mushrooms or cranberry, help yourself,” Mrs. Walls says to me from her seat at the foot of the table. “I didn’t put them on the plates because I don’t want to hear ‘I don’t like it’ from the kids.” She tousles a stocky boy’s hair, and he ducks.
“It smells so good,” I say.
“Oh, I didn’t cook,” she replies airily. “It’s catered. From La Grange.”
La Grange is the fancy restaurant in town. My dad took me there after my high school graduation. He wore the suit he wears when he covers cases at the county courthouse. I wore one of my mom’s dresses.
I smile at Mrs. Wall politely.
Cash is watching me. He grabs the bowl of mushrooms and offers it to me. I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
“We both hate mushrooms,” he says to Dina across the table, cocking an eyebrow.
There’s so much activity and conversation, she doesn’t hear him.
I feel awful for her. She’s cringing in her skin.
She always hated large groups and noise.
When we were kids, she’d never have been able to deal with this. She’d have bolted by now.
I’m laying my white cloth napkin across my lap when I see her husband dig into his pockets and then pop bright-orange earbuds into her ears. He does it all casual, and except for her shoulders lowering, she doesn’t react.
Everyone is settled in, and Mr. Wall takes his place at the head of the long table. It’s a big room, but it still feels crowded. This is a large family, and the men all have deep voices—Heavy’s is the deepest by far—and all the children except the little Dina lookalike are happy and chatty.
Mrs. Wall surveys her brood approvingly and holds out her hands, palms up, to John on her left and Kellum on her right. John drops a roll and takes it. Everyone follows suit and holds hands.
The table grows quiet. Cash squeezes my hand. Guess we’re saying grace. The mini-Dina is sitting next to me by my injured arm. She doesn’t seem the least bit disappointed not to hold hands. She’s lining up small animal toys—and a scowling figurine oddly reminiscent of Cash—in front of her plate.
Mr. Wall clears his throat. I bow my head. I don’t come from a churchgoing family, but in Stonecut County, we’re in the minority. I’m not unaccustomed to saying prayers before dinner.
“Creator God, for what we are about to receive, make us truly thankful. Through Christ we pray. Amen,” he says briskly.
“Amen,” everyone repeats.
Oh, good. It’s a short one.
I reach for my fork.
Mrs. Wall takes over. “And Gracious God, as we enjoy the food you provide for us and the company of family and guest, we pray for those in pain and uncertainty tonight. We pray for those struggling with illness, those worried for loved ones and the future. We pray for an end to suffering and the succor of a loving community and a loving God. While we enjoy our blessings, let us not turn a blind eye to the suffering of others, and let us never act in judgment or covetousness, but always out of love of neighbor. We pray in Jesus’ name, Amen. ”
“Amen.”
She was staring at me during the entire prayer, steely-eyed. She’s talking about Lil Willis. I let go of Cash’s hand. My appetite is gone.
I didn’t mean any harm to Lil Willis. Neither did Dad. If he’d known she was sick, he wouldn’t have written the piece about the armored vehicles; I’m almost sure.
Beside me, Cash tenses. The message didn’t go over his head, either.
“So, Glenna,” Mrs. Wall says as she cuts into her game hen. “We haven’t seen you at Stonecut Farm in a long time. What have you been doing with yourself?”
Cash holds his fork and knife tightly, using them both at the same time kind of like shovels. He’s glaring at his plate, his lips turned down. His face is flushing.
He’s pissed.
It makes me a feel a little better.
“I’ve been working at the coffee shop and taking pictures for the Gazette.” Everyone knows that.
“And how’s your father?”
“He’s well, thank you.” I put a carrot in my mouth for something to do.
“We drove past him on Route 7 when we were heading back to Petty’s Mill last week,” John says. “He’s still got that van running?”
It’s a friendly question, and I’m grateful for it. “Yeah. Dad says they don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”
“What is it?” Heavy asks. His voice booms like bass. John’s youngest startles in his booster seat.
“Aerostar,” John answers.
“Ford.” Heavy grunts, approvingly.
A silence descends on the table except for Mona fussing with her littles. I eat another carrot. Cash has cleaned the meat from his game hen’s bones.
The little girl beside me separates the foods on her plate so they don’t touch, just like Dina is doing across the table. When she’s done, she eats a roll and leaves the rest.
“Welp,” Mr. Wall says after a few minutes. “Bride of Chance is about to foal.”
“Oh, yeah?” John says when no one else responds.
Mr. Wall fills him in, calling on Jesse to add details here and there, and everyone except the kids and Dina listen politely with polite smiles on their faces between bites. Even the giant biker is wearing a bland expression.
Mrs. Wall’s smile is the widest as she drains and refills her wine glass, pushing the same carrot around her plate.
I get it. Everyone knows Mrs. Wall and Lil Willis are best friends.
Before she got sick, Miss Lil was Mrs. Wall’s sidekick.
I’ve taken a hundred pictures of them together at town hall meetings and spring flings and harvest days.
I wouldn’t want to make nice with someone who did a takedown of my best friend’s husband either.
This was a bad idea.
Why did I agree to it?
‘Cause a tiny bit of me was the teensiest bit enchanted by the idea of Cash wanting me to go to dinner with his folks.
And why is that?
“You gonna eat that?” Cash elbows me, pointing at my game hen.
I shake my head.
He forks it and plops it on his empty plate. I swear, he cleans its bones in a minute flat.
Other conversations gradually pop up around the table.
The kids ask Jesse how a foal is born, and he goes pink trying not to explain in any kind of detail.
Kellum murmurs to Shay, making her mouth turn up at the corners.
Shay has a hard shell. It’s nice to see her at ease and happy now.
Mr. Wall and John start talking football, and Cash contributes between bites.
I let myself relax a little.
Cash finishes the last of his stuffing, and then he grabs a roll from the basket. I expect him to swallow it whole since he apparently eats like a wild animal, but instead, he leans far back in his chair and says, “Glenna, bend forward, would you?”
What is he doing?
He ducks behind me. “Psst. Psst. Mia.”
The little girl looks over, owl-eyed. Cash holds up the roll. “Trade you for your hen.”
She blinks, and then she holds out her hand. He drops the roll. She sets it carefully in the “breads” area of her plate, and then she wrinkles her nose and reaches down to pick up the game hen with her bare hands.
“Oh. Hold up. I’ll help.” I take my fork and knife and secure the bird for transport.
I almost have it to Cash, over my own plate, when Mrs. Wall calls down the table, “My goodness, Glenna, if you’re hungry, I’ll get you seconds. You don’t have to eat Mia’s food.”
Voices fall silent. Everyone stares at me. All the blood drains to my feet at the same time my face catches on fire.
“I-I—"
Cash takes the knife and fork from my hand and lowers the bird to his plate.
“Come on, Mom. You know it’s for me. I traded Mia a roll for it, fair and square.
No take backs.” He winks at Mia, and she actually smiles and playfully snatches the roll to her narrow chest like someone might try stealing it away.
Instantly, everyone moves on. Nothing to see here.
My eyes burn. My face burns.
I hate being the center of attention.
What am I even doing with these people? They aren’t my kind. There’s an antique rifle hanging on the wall behind Mr. Wall and a glass chandelier above the table.
I mean, I don’t know who the hell my kind are, but this isn’t them.
I stab a stack of carrots and leave my fork sticking out the top.
Cash eyes my plate.
“You wanna get out of here?” he asks under his breath.
“So damn bad.”
He shoves the last of Mia’s game hen into his mouth and drains his water glass while he shoves back his chair. Yet again, conversation halts.
“Well, we’re gonna go check on Granger,” he says.
His mom is genuinely taken aback. Her wine sloshes as she sets down her glass with a thunk. “But not everyone is finished, Cashel.”
“Oh, I’m finished.” He grins at her and there’s a twinkle in his eye that I remember. The mean twinkle. “I’ve had more than enough.”
“Ready?” he asks, drawing my chair back.
I know that running away is what cowards do, but I’ve never been more relieved than when Cash seizes my hand and leads me out of that house. The air is crisp outside, and I’m a hundred pounds lighter.
Granger comes bounding over as Cash opens the gate to the pool area. He ignores Cash completely, licking my hands and snuffling every nook and cranny he can get his snout into. It’s an instant antidote. I shriek.
Cash grabs Granger’s collar. “Down, boy. That’s my woman. Find your own.”