Page 46 of Boston
“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to be as Western as him. “Do you want me to go get the stuff from the fridge?”
“Yeah, would you?”
Cora would, and she did, bringing out the tray where Boston had stacked the paper plates and utensils, a roll of paper towels, and the serving spoon he needed for the Dutch oven potatoes. She slid it onto the table, which Cora had learned came from a detached garage.
She went back inside to get the two steaks and bag of green salad that Boston had already put in a bowl. He’d even added the scissors to it, and she took that tray outside too, almost fumblingthe salt and pepper shakers as she tried to hip open the side door.
After the two trips, she found Boston had laid a griddle over a new bed of coals, while the Dutch oven now stood just to the side of the fire pit.
“These steaks should take less than ten minutes,” he said, as he removed the bowl of salad from the tray and took everything else over to the fire.
The ribeyes hissed and sizzled as he put them on the griddle, and Cora cut open the bag of salad, the croutons, the Parmesan cheese, and the herbs, leaving only the dressing for later.
Boston tended to the steaks with all the skill of a pit master, and Cora wandered over and watched him. “You’re a much better cook than I am.”
“It’s not a competition, Cora-Cat.” He grinned at her. “I do like cooking, though,” he said. “Well, at least sometimes.”
She smiled at him and sank into her chair. “Just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll do the salad and bring over our trays.”
He told her that he kept those two trays here at the cabin, and he used them like TV trays to eat outside around the fire. That way, he didn’t have to balance a paper plate with hot food on it and try to cut steak or stab lettuce in an unsteady environment. Cora had found that to be genius, and he flipped the steak and said, “Probably three minutes. You can mix it up.”
He straightened from his crouch, his eyes suddenly a little wider. “Wait, do you like yours medium or a different temperature?”
Cora had never been a massive steak eater to begin with, and she definitely didn’t want it to be too pink. “Can I do medium well?”
“Of course you can, baby,” he said.
“Oh, strike two.” She laughed. “Baby—you said you’d never call me that.”
Boston laughed with her, and Cora got up and went to mix up the salad. She tonged some onto his plate, then hers, put them onto trays, and took everything over to the fire. She returned for the steak sauce and the spoon for the Dutch oven potatoes, and when she went back to the fire, Boston used his extra-long tongs to pull his steak off the fire and put it on his plate.
“Yours needs another minute,” he said.
“Let’s say grace.” Cora’s pulse began to bounce through her neck. “I think I can try saying it.”
Boston moved into his chair, his expression sober and almost exploratory. “All right,” he said. For a moment, Cora thought he might offer to take the burden from her, a thread of irritation already pulling through her. When he simply removed his cowboy hat and ducked his head, his eyes pinching closed, Cora tried to clear her thoughts and feelings so that she could pray sincerely to the Lord.
She remained standing, a little bit too keyed up to sit, but she folded her arms and bowed her head. “Dear Lord,” she said, feeling confident in the first two words of the prayer.
All of her childhood lessons had come back to her, and she knew she should express thanks first and ask for blessings second. So she continued with, “We are so thankful that we were able to arrive at the cabin safely. We’re grateful for the beautiful views Thou provided for us along the way, and that the air is fresh and the weather is perfect, and that we’ll have enough food to eat for the next several days.”
She drew in a breath. “Lord, we’re grateful for this land and this country, and we’re grateful that we have the freedom to hike where we want to. It’s a real bummer that that tree came through the roof, so please bless us that we’ll be warm and safe tonight, and that Boston will be able to figure out what to do with the roof in the morning. I’m really grateful for him?—”
Her throat closed and her chest stormed, and her emotion took Cora by complete surprise. As the silence stretched on, her embarrassment grew and she finally managed to swallow and continue, “I’m grateful for him packing in all the food and taking care of me and this place. Bless us that we’ll be able to see the eagles tomorrow, and that we will follow Thy laws and commandments. Amen.”
Boston started to say, “Am—” but Cora said, “Wait, wait, that wasn’t the end. Bless this food.” She squinched her eyes shut, pure foolishness filling her.
“I forgot I’m supposed to bless the food when we say grace over a meal.”
Boston started to chuckle, and Cora had completely lost her moorings. “Amen,” she said again, and Boston practically bellowed, “Amen.”
Through his laughter, he got to his feet and gathered her close against his chest, the soft vibration of his chuckling infusing into her. “That was great, Cora-Cat.”
“Are you kidding? I totally messed it up.”
“Oh, baby, you can’t mess up praying to God.” He stepped back and looked at her. “For real, you can’t. He doesn’t care at all.” He swallowed hard, and while the sun hadn’t gone completely down yet, twilight had definitely settled over the land, masking what Cora could see on his face. But oh, she could see and feel Boston’s emotion, especially in the flickering fire light.
“He wants us to come to Him exactly as we are,” Boston said. “Whether we forget to bless the food or not; He doesn’t care.” He nodded. “All right?”
