Page 135 of The Promise Of Rain
My lips twitched.
I guessed I was the potato, or rather, the bowl of mashed potatoes in this scenario.
Deacon held out my chair before tucking me under.
The glossy dining room table fairly bowed under the weight of the food.It looked more like Christmas or Easter than a simple Sunday family dinner.
I flashed a quick, albeit nervous smile in his mother’s direction.“Everything looks and smells delicious.”
“Thank you,” she answered with a tight smile.“These are all Deacon’s favourites.”
She picked up a platter and passed it along.One after another, platters passed through my hands, and I filled my plate.
It was way too much food, but I didn’t dare insult her by refusing anything.
I picked up my fork and speared a piece of buttery asparagus.Humming in appreciation, I stated, “This is delicious, Maria.”
She smiled tightly.“We usually pray before we dig in.”
“We don’t,” Deacon replied boldly.Picking up his fork, he scooped up some mashed potatoes.Eyes holding mine, he declared, “Delicious.”
“You outdid yourself, Maria,” his father added, backing Deacon’s play by taking a bite from his own plate.“Delicious, honey.Lord, bless the hands that made this food.Thank you, Father, for all you give us.”
“Amen,” she whispered, sounding lost.
This whole dinner was a bad idea.
“So, Jenny,” she began.“Where did you go to university?”
Deacon’s fork clattered onto his plate as he glared at his mother.
I laid my hand on his thigh under the table.“I apprenticed under Ansel Blum to become a baker.It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
“You’re lucky you found your vocation at such a young age,” Aaron commented.“Right, Maria?”
“Very fortunate,” she replied.“You lived with Mr.Blum during your apprenticeship?”
“Maria,” Aaron warned softly.
“I did,” I answered, my face flushing.
“He’s a wonderful man,” Deacon added.“He’s like a father to her.”He continued talking to his mother but turned to me.“In fact, this morning he told me he claimed her at eighteen-years-old and considers her his daughter.Said it was the best decision he ever made.”
“He said that?”I whispered, my eyes searching his.
His dark eyes softened.“In those exact words.”
I swallowed, my throat tight.“Do you remember that hideous fishbowl candle I made him for Christmas?”
He nodded.“I do.It had pink flowers in it.”
I chuckled in disbelief.“He has it in his room at St.Michael’s.”
Deacon smiled.“He loves you.Very much.”His eyes twinkled.“He’d have to love you to hang onto that candle all these years.”
I laughed thickly, my eyes welling.
I didn’t know what I did to deserve that man, but I thanked God for giving him to me when I needed him most.
