Free Palmetto Moon by Kim Boykin Page B

beautiful.”
    Neither of us acknowledges the waitress who puts the menus on the table and waddles back toward the kitchen. I feel my face blaze.
    “You’re blushing like I said it for the heck of it, but it’s true. Truer than anything I know.”
    “Thank you, Frank.” I want to tell him I think he is beautiful, too, and he is, but it seems rather silly.
    The waitress returns with her order pad and, without even asking, pours two glasses of sweet tea. “We got chitlins for the meat-and-three special.” She looks back toward the kitchen and lowers her voice. “Don’t order the meatloaf, and if you do, don’t eat it. Y’all look like y’all need a minute,” she says and walks off again.
    “That’s My Desire” comes on the radio, and the cook turns the music down.
    Frank puts his glass up to his lips and takes a sip.
    I breathe out a dreamy sigh. “I love Frankie.”
    Frank almost spews his drink. “Excuse me?”
    “That song, before the cook turned it down. It was Frankie Laine’s ‘Desire.’”
    “Oh.” He looks relieved. He gets up and walks over to the kitchen. The cook doesn’t seem to know him, but Frank says something to him and the man mops his brow with the towel slung over his shoulder and they shake hands. The man looks at me, smiles, nods, and then turns the song back up.
    Frankie Laine’s silky voice wraps around the orchestra’s music, making me want to dance. Frank returns with a thin smile that makes me feel like he’d do anything for me.
    Too soon, another country tune comes on the radio, and the toe tappers pick up their pace, nodding their heads to the music as they eat.
    “I don’t know this song, Frank.”
    “It’s Moon Mullican and the Showboys. ‘Jole Bion’s Sister.’”
    I laugh at the singer’s hard twang and gross mispronunciation of the French words he’s attempting to sing. The song is about a woman who caught a man’s eye, until he saw her nine children. Could Frank be right about Claire, and there really are no prospects for her other than Mr. Stanley? Surely not. If Justin’s looks can make someone overlook his myriad of flaws, I’m positive someone young and handsome will fall in love with Claire.

    “I see those pretty wheels turning. What are you thinking about?” And before Vada can answer, Frank hears the chorus of the song and nods his head. “You’re thinking about Claire?” Vada smiles because Frank called the widow by her given name. “If I could, I’d make the world what you want it to be.” He reaches for her hand, runs his thumb across the soft ridges of her knuckles.
    She squeezes Frank’s hand like she believes him.
    “Are y’all going to order? ’Cause if you’re not, you’ll have to leave. This place is for paying customers only.” The waitress looks irritated. Frank looks down at the menu that is a minefield of bad choices. Cabbage and sausage? Gas. Spaghetti? He can smell the garlic all the way here from the back of the restaurant. Liver and onions. Definitely not food for lovers, but the chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes looks safe. He switches out the side of grilled onions for green beans. Vada glances down at the menu for a second.
    “Crab cakes,” the waitress repeats after Vada.
    Frank raises his eyebrows. Is this a challenge? Vada gives him a playful smile. “With grits, if you have them.”
    “’Course we have grits.” The woman huffs. “What kind of place do you think this is?”
    “Well, your sign out front says ‘best eats around,’ and to be completely honest, I’m not sure I believe it. The menu also claims your crab cakes are the best, but I had some stellar ones for breakfast this morning, so we’ll see.”
    The woman hoofs it over to the kitchen, and the cook nods and looks at Vada like she’s thrown down the gauntlet.
    “Why, Miss Hadley, are you disputing Tiny Medford’s word about my cooking? Tiny wouldn’t take kindly to that, but, for your sake, I swear I won’t tell her.” She