Family Portrait
A romantic novel for young people
by Bonnie BrewsterCopyright 1999 by G. F. Hutchison. All rights reserved.
ADD FAMILY PORTRAIT TO MY SHOPPING CART Click here to return to review page.
(c) G. F. Hutchison , 1999Family PortraitAnother Tender Story of Romance, Suspense and Personal TriumphBonnie Brewster
Published by
The Family of Man Press
319 South Block Avenue, Suite 17
Fayetteville, AR 72701Copyright 1997 by G. F. Hutchison. All rights reserved.
Printed in the U. S. A.
CHAPTER ONE:Contact!
Jason, the ruggedly good-looking owner of The Golden Frigate Restaurant, eyed the boy from across the spacious, pleasantly appointed dining room. Eric was sitting, waiting for the interview as patiently as a fourteen year old boy can wait for anything. He appeared comfortable in the white shirt and blue tie that brought out the very best of his handsome, slightly tanned, angular features. He busied himself by chatting with and sketching an older couple seated nearby. Eric was fascinated by people of all ages, and the two willing subjects, with their engaging, furrowed faces and cheerful conversation, provided a sketchpad opportunity he couldn't pass up.
Eric was fourteen, with a physique suggesting sixteen. He had excellent references and previous work experience at The Green Mill, his Mother's small, neighborhood café, not five blocks away. Looking through the boy's application, Jason found that Eric seemed to be a perfect match to what the book said he needed in a new employee.
The Frigate was a cut-above fast food establishment, catering to families and senior citizens during the day and teenagers after school, evenings, and weekends. Again, he studied the boy. As he sat there drawing, Eric seemed thoroughly at ease as he chatted with, and apparently charmed, his two, new friends.
Still, Jason felt disappointed. He was hoping that this time the applicant would be a beautiful single woman in her mid-thirties. In his fantasies, she loved camping, dancing, and laughing, and best of all, she enjoyed quiet, intimate hours, curled up with him by the fireplace.
Jason knew his friend, Dave, was right. He had to face facts - depending on fate was neither an efficient nor an effective means for getting himself back into circulation. Perhaps he persisted in that approach because deep inside he questioned whether he was ready for another such relationship. The pain and sorrow from his Karen's death thirteen months earlier continued as an ever present barb in his mind - further back now than it once had been, but nonetheless, ever present and still painful. He figured that when the intensity of that pain became less than the pain from his loneliness, he would proceed to do something about it.
Crossing the large room with its blonde, wood plank, vaulted ceiling, and red tile floor, Jason approached Eric. He extended his hand as the boy sprang to his feet greeting him.
"Keep your seat, Eric. I'm Jason, the owner. Let's just sit and talk for a while, okay?"
"Fine," Eric replied sliding back into the booth. With an index finger raised in Jason's direction, Eric stole one last moment. He turned toward the older couple and said, "It sure was nice talking with you folks. Hope your daughter gets back on her feet real soon."
They nodded and smiled. He tore the page from his sketchpad and with his patented smile reached it to them across the isle. They o-o-oed and ah-h-hed appropriately and over did their thanks to him. Eric returned his attention to Jason.
"So, Eric, it's the fast food world you have your eye set on," Jason began.
Eric proceeded as though Jason's opening statement had really been a question.
"Well, only for the time being, Sir. I plan to attend cooking school in Paris after high school and eventually become a chef in a World Famous Hotel dining room. This job is what you might call an opportunity to learn the basics of the business while getting out from under my mother's thumb."
An honest, forthright answer, Jason thought. The lad knew what he wanted and how he was going to get there. He seemed like a smart, savvy kid.
"How well do you do in school, Eric?"
Ever prepared, Eric pulled his report card from where it was stashed in his sketchpad and handed it to Jason.
"Probably not as well as I could, Sir, but I've been working long hours at Mom's Cafe. Now that she has found other help, Mom and I figure I will be able to concentrate more on my studies."
All A's and B's and the boy feels he has been sloughing off. Jason didn't think they made kids like that anymore.
"Oh yes, that's The Green Mill, isn't it?" Jason said, squinting, trying to decipher the code explaining the circled comments on the card. He was sure that report cards had not been so complicated during his own school days.
"Right. She's had it since I was five. I'm two months away from fifteen now. I've helped her there right from the start - well, I hope I'm more help now than I was at five. She's the only real work reference I have. I didn't know how much stock you'd put in a Mother's comments so I brought these," he said, handing two, still sealed, envelopes across the table. "I suppose you would call them character references. One is from the pastor of our church who has known me forever, and the other is from the lady across the street. I help her with yard work and housecleaning, window washing and general handy-man kind of stuff."
Jason read two, most flattering, letters. He smiled to himself, thinking, ' If he were just a thirty five year old female, I'd propose on the spot!'
"How many hours a week are you wanting?" Jason asked.
"Well, during the school year I'd prefer very few on week nights so I can study, but on the week ends I'll take all you feel you can give me. This summer I can be available whenever you need someone."
"How would you feel about opening mornings with me at five a.m.?"
"That sounds great! I've always been an early riser. What sorts of things would I be doing when I opened?"
"There'll be a lot of cleaning, setting up the ice cream and shake machines, picking up the litter in the parking lot, washing off all the tables and scrubbing the floors. There also might be an occasional window to do."
"I think you'll find I'll be pretty good at those things. I've logged a lot of clean-up hours both at home and at the Mill," Eric said smiling his wonderfully warm, natural smile. "Since it's always just been Mom and me, I've had the chance - like it or not - to learn a lot about dirt, scum and trash, and the most efficient methods for their removal." The smile continued. It was reflected by Jason's own.
Though it was perhaps none of his business, Jason, felt moved to ask, "And your father?"
"Well, Sir, my mother never married and I'm afraid I don't even know my father."
Jason wished he hadn't asked. Oh! How he wished he hadn't asked. How did one climb back from a faux pas like that? Eric rescued him.
"It's okay. Mom and I have done pretty well, we think. She says I've raised her to be a very good and dependable parent."
His smile slipped seamlessly into an impish grin - eyebrows raised and dimples full blown. He and his mother obviously had a good thing going. Ever-open Eric, continued his explanation well beyond what was required by Jason's question.
"I'm not saying I don't miss having a Dad. I really do, but Mom probably misses having a husband just as much - maybe more. I'm not sure how that works yet - though I do plan to find out someday. We both get lonely in our own ways but we kick each other's butts when one of us begins moping around or complaining. We trust each other. She knows I usually try to do the right things and when I don't, I know she'll be there to get me back on track. We have a really good thing, Mom and me."
"Yes, I can see you do," Jason said, then paused, fiddling with his folder.
Eric seized the opportunity and filled the moment with questions of his own.
"How about you, Sir, any children?"
"No. My wife wasn't able to have children. We talked about adopting but just never got around to it." Jason couldn't believe that he was sharing such things with a fourteen-year old stranger. There was certainly something uncommonly comfortable, about this kid.
"I heard that your wife died in a car accident last year. I'm sorry for you about that. I think having had someone to love and then losing her must be a hundred times harder than never having had anyone in the first place - like me and a Dad, I mean."
'His age and gender not withstanding, I may just propose anyway,' Jason mused to himself. His smile telegraphed his thoughts.
"What?" Eric asked responding radiantly to Jason's pleasant expression.
"Something you said just made me remember something. Nothing important."
Eric wasn't stupid. He could tell from the expression it had indeed been important, but he wouldn't pursue it of course.
"How about starting tomorrow morning at five o'clock, then?" Jason suggested more than asked.
"Really? Oh, yes Sir. That will be great! Just great! I'll be a good worker, you'll see."
"That's why we have a two week probation period here - so I can see," Jason added, punctuating his words with a commanding nod.
"Before I go, Sir, I took the liberty of sketching a couple of ideas for logos for your Golden Frigate. I notice you don't have one. I doodle all the time. Just ideas you understand."
"Thanks." Jason gave them a thoughtful once over - clearly more than just a polite glance. "How interesting. Not a bad idea. I'll think about it. Thanks again. See you in the morning."
They stood and shook hands.
"By the way, Sir, what do you prefer that I call you while I'm here at work? Mom said to be sure and ask."
"We're very informal around here. Call me Jason. When you turn 15 you might even try, Jase." The man's trademark wink and smile made Eric feel as though he already belonged.
"Yes, Sir, Jase-on. And since we're being informal here, why don't you just go ahead and call me Eric," Came the boy's grinning reply.
We will get along just fine, Jason thought to himself.
We're going to be great together! Eric thought to himself.
* * * *
Eric ran the five blocks to The Green Mill, removing his tie and shirt on the fly. That made him feel immediately more comfortable in the face of the 90 degree early June heat and rainforest-like humidity. It was a familiar, middle-America street, with small, older houses, many still struggling to maintain the picket fence air of the nineteen-forties. Waving to the old folks on the porches and calling out teen-coded greetings to his friends, he trotted on at a ready clip to deliver the good news to his mother.
He could have painted the scene before he arrived. His mother, Abby - Abigail Sarah Covington, as her birth certificate reads - would be cooking the last of the breakfasts for the late risers. Ernie would be there, having his umpteenth free coffee refill, complaining, off and on, about not being allowed to smoke in the dining room. Ample old Maude would be picking at her pancakes and sausage - picking and complaining, but finishing every morsel. Mary would be waiting tables and Jean, the new lady, would be birthing aches and pains by reaching, bending and carrying, and doing up dishes. Eric knew the routine by heart. He wondered about - not worried about, as Eric was not given to idle worry - how long it would take him to learn the new routine at Jason's place.
Presently, he arrived at The Mill - the shorthand term he and his mother had always used for their restaurant - and was quickly inside through the back door. He unceremoniously deposited his shirt and tie on top of the refrigerator, grabbed a handful of unbuttered toast from under the head lamp, and hurried to where his mother was busy at the grill. He kissed her on the cheek and then, as casually as a wildly excited teenager can speak through a mouthful of dry toast, said, "Well, I have good news and bad news, Mom."
She returned his kiss. With the back of his hand, he gently swiped at her cheek, attempting to wipe it clean of the toast crumbs his lips had deposited there.
"So do I. Good news is I'm glad to see you. Bad news is, unless you get a shirt on before I count to one, you'll have to get out of my kitchen."
"Oh. Ya. Sorry."
"Well, let's get the bad news out of the way first," she suggested, flipping an omelet with one hand and stirring the white, pepper, gravy with the other.
"Bad news is, you won't have me under foot around here anymore," Eric said beaming from sideburn to sideburn.
"That's the bad news?" Abby joked.
The good news, of course, was already out of the bag, but it was such good news that he went ahead and delivered it:
"I got the job at Jason's. I start tomorrow at five in the morning helping the owner open."
Engaging both hands, his mouth, and his groin, he struggled to untangle the mangled, white shirt.
"That is wonderful," Abby said. Feeling it deserved another kiss she leaned over and planted a big one on his forehead. He accepted it comfortably, even with several of the patrons looking on. The regulars were used to such goings on between the two of them.
"Jason seems like a really swell guy," Eric added, finally snugging the shirt up around his neck in preparation for buttoning. "He's single and about thirty-five, Mom. I'll be glad to make the introductions, now that I'm in a position to do so," he teased, tossing his head with an air of importance. Quietly, they individually wondered whether or not he had been kidding about that introduction.
"An older man, huh? Is that what you're after for a father these days?" she shot right back. Passing him on the way to the freezer, she, of course, straightened his collar. After all, she was a mother.
"Older by how much? Two years, maybe?" Eric chuckled, draining the last of the milk from a carton into an oversized glass. He closed the refrigerator door with that universal, kitchen-helper's, well-practiced, both hands full, shove from the knee.
"Older is older, now hush up or the customers will hear."
Looking out the passthrough, Eric surveyed the homey dining room he had come to love. He would miss chatting with the regulars and hearing the travel tales from those just passing through. Like his mother, Eric enjoyed people - all kinds of people, all ages of people. With toast in one hand and the glass of milk in the other, he strolled out and began talking from table to table. He figured he better enjoy that while he could since he felt quite certain it wouldn't be part of the routine at The Golden Frigate - not at the outset, at any rate.
A few minutes later, Suzzy entered, no, made her entrance would be a more accurate description - precisely as one would expect from a perky, I-know-I'm-gorgeous, precisely tanned, cheerleader. She was Eric's current girl friend - the first young lady his mother had allowed him to really date. Suzzy was blond and beautiful with all the right parts in just the right places. She was fifteen - almost sixteen.
Suzzy was worldlier and more street wise than Abby would have preferred for her son's first head-over-heels love, but she knew better than to interfere. Anyway, Abby trusted Eric. Being the mother of a teenage boy was difficult enough, but having grown up, as she had, an only child in a fatherless home, made her feel doubly unprepared for that assignment.
Eric was a nice kid and Abby was proud of him. He had never been one to get into trouble. He had a level head on his shoulders. But it wasn't his head or shoulders that caused her concern. Her sleepless nights were related to other parts of his anatomy, all quite recently remodeled by Mother Nature.
When Eric was ten, they had suffered together through the obligatory parent-child discussion about sex. She doubted if she had been very successful, so she provided him with the recommended growing up books. She insisted that he take the sex education class at school. But still she worried, partly because of her own unfortunate experience at eighteen, and partly because life seemed so much more difficult for kids these days. There were so many forces catapulting them on toward things for which they could not possibly be prepared.
Abby, dutifully, and undoubtedly all too often, continued to caution and remind Eric about his responsibilities in romantic relationships. It had been so much easier back when her little boy had, indeed, been a little boy. She believed there was much to be said for the girl-hating mentality of the nine-year old male.
Abby's own romantic experiences were severely limited, first by her mother's over zealous restrictions, and then by the presence of the baby itself. She had to fight her every instinct not to act toward Eric, the way her mother acted toward her. Perhaps in an attempt to compensate she leaned too far the other way. It was so difficult for her to know. Boys seemed so different from girls. Men seemed so different from women. It was perplexing, even disconcerting, to think about Eric as a young man with sexual interests and needs.
Those thoughts aside, there he was, sitting in a corner booth with Suzzy, holding hands across the table and looking into her face as if she were the one and only Queen of the World. Their chat ended quickly, somewhat of a relief to Abby, though she really didn't know why. As long as they remained within view, there should be nothing to worry about. They stood up and he kissed her on the lips - nothing long or obscene, very sweet actually. Still, Abby couldn't help wondering what the conniving little trollop had up her skin-tight sleeve!
On her way out, Suzzy poked her head into the kitchen and called a cordial, "Hi and bye Mrs. C."
"Hi and bye, Dear," came Abby's response, sweet and sincere in tone, if not in fact.
Eric returned to the kitchen. "What a lady, that is, huh, Mom!"
Lady. Trollop. There were probably some similarities there somewhere, Abby thought, wishing her perspective were different. She smiled at Eric and nodded through her reluctance as if in agreement.
"Suzzy has a picnic in the works for tomorrow afternoon. Betty and Randy will be going, too. It's out at Suzzy's Grandpa's farm by the creek. Randy's bringing his badminton set, and the creek's handy for a swim when it gets hot. It's okay that I said I could go, isn't it?"
"Sure. Sounds like great fun," Abby said, relieved there would be another couple along. She liked his friend, Randy, and she knew Betty's mother. "Anything we need to fix or get for you to take along?" Abby asked, as mothers always ask on such occasions.
Eric grinned, unable to let the opening pass. He leaned close to his mother's ear and whispered, "Just a good supply of condoms, I suppose."
Eric was kidding and his mother knew it, but still, she felt moved to slap his face - playfully but clearly meaningfully. She was glad he would joke with her, even if not talk seriously about such things. Perhaps she even preferred it that way. Abby truly didn't know how she would respond if he ever initiated such a conversation. Like her son, though, she was seldom at a loss for words, so somehow she would handle it.
It was at times like that she most longed for a man in the household. Not just any man, of course. Her long time, on again, off again, Johnny, would have happily become that 'just any man' if she would have allowed it. No, it would have to be a very special human being. A wise man with a sense of perspective, a sense of humor, and enough love to go around for both Eric and her. In thirty years, no such man had yet come knocking on her door saying, "Here I am. Take me." Johnny was a friend of convenience and not much more. She didn't even really like him very much, but there were times when having almost any man's company seemed preferable to enduring her terrible loneliness.
For over a month, Johnny had been out of town welding on a pipeline. It had been both a relief and a let down to have him gone. Eric made no secret that he hated the man, but courteously put up with him for his mother's sake. When Johnny was around, Eric wasn't!
Johnny was a large, burly, balding man, whose quiet, agreeable, and generally considerate demeanor gave way to that of an obnoxious and verbally abusive brawler when bitten by alcohol.
Time and time again, through the years, Eric said, "Mom, you can do so much better than Johnny. Why don't you at least go looking for somebody?"
When he was eight, Eric finally agreed to stop bringing stray men home to meet her - not that he hadn't wanted to on occasions - but he stopped. His mother explained that it was embarrassing and that anyway, it was her business. Eric felt that getting a father should have been at least partly his business, but, since age eleven or so, he had pretty well given up on that, also.
* * * * * *
Abby knew it was Jason Marshall the moment she first noticed him standing there, framed by the Pennsylvania Dutch trappings that decorated the old fashioned entry to the Mill. Eric had described him as nice and congenial. From her perspective, he was tall, tan, and titillating. He paused, surveying the picturesque scene and running his hand through his wavy black hair before making his way through the maze of snuggly arranged, red and white gingham covered tables, toward an unoccupied booth in the far corner of the cozy little room.
Abby wiped her suddenly nervous hands on her white apron, untied it, and laid it aside. She removed her hat, shook her shoulder length auburn hair down around her face and sighed from her toes before starting across the dining room to greet him. It wasn't often another restaurant owner frequented her little place.
"Hello, I'm Abby Covington," she said, extending her hand at the precise moment Jason was halfway into seating himself.
Managing to straighten up, meet and shake her hand, he said, "Yes, I know. I'm Jason Marshall from the Golden Frigate down the street."
"Yes, I know ... too," Abby replied, her tongue suddenly running far behind her head. Determined to recover, she tried again. "Its not often we have a high class restaurateur visit us here at The Green Mill, although I understand Duncan Hines gave the place his seal of approval back in the forties. Anything in particular I can do for you?" That seemed like a more than adequate recovery, she thought.
"I suppose Eric has already told you that I hired him."
"Yes. He's so excited. He'll probably be there an hour early tomorrow morning," Abby said, easily and sincerely conveying her excitement for her son.
"Well, I make it a point to meet the parents of all the youngsters who work for me, just to see if there are any questions or anything. If you have a minute?" With a turn of his extended arm, he motioned her to be seated.
Abby took a seat, thinking how gallant that had been. "Contacting the parents is a really nice thing to do. Really nice. No, I guess I don't have any questions for you. Perhaps you have some for me."
"No. Not really. I was just heading home for a break and thought this would be a good opportunity to stop in and meet you."
There followed one of those interminable and seemingly unfillable moments during which they each gazed about the room, smiling and nodding. Had there been water on the table, each would have surely reached for a glass. Presently, Jason found a direction and continued. "If your son's work is half as good as his first impression, I think I have myself a real winner."
"Eric is all of that. I'm very, very proud of him. I'm sure you will be pleased. More than likely if there is a problem, it will be the other way around."
"You lost me," Jason said, shaking his head and crinkling his brow.
"I mean, Eric has his own very particular standards, and if you or the Golden Frigate don't live up to them, he'll be the one saying good-bye."
"I see. Well, I'll certainly try to be on my best behavior, then," Jason said producing what he intended as a smile of understanding.
Abby interpreted it as meaning that she had been too blunt and had made herself sound snobbish. "I didn't mean ..."
Sensing her second thoughts, Jason interrupted: "Hey, no need to explain. It's rare to find a young man with high standards these days. Nothing wrong with that. I just hope we can meet them."
Eric had been right. Jason was a nice man.
Another moment of silence joined them like an unwelcome guest at the table. They intentionally avoided engaging a glance, though neither understood why.
"Well, I suppose I should be on my way then. I know how busy a one man - er woman - operation can get."
In his head, he kicked himself for having mangled it that way. He hadn't meant to put her place down for being small or less important. "I meant..."
"I know what you meant and you're right. It's long hours and lots of work, but it's what I enjoy doing most, other than being Eric's mother."
Like Eric, earlier in the day, Abby rescued him from another of his, all too frequent, verbal quagmires. Relieved, he surmised that tact and diplomacy ran in their family.
There was yet another unexplainably uneasy moment as Jason got to his feet. Abby followed suit.
"Well, again, it's been nice to meet you, Mrs. Covington."
"Abby, please."
"Abby. If you ever have any questions, don't hesitate to call or drop by."
"Same goes for you, Jason." Her tone seemed more contemplative than matter of fact.
Jason nodded gently, in the style of a southern gentleman, smiled, and walked toward the door. At the entrance he paused, turned slightly and signaled with his upraised hand as if to say, "Catch you later." Abby sank into the chair wondering why she had become so tongue-tied, and suddenly felt a renewed urgency about air-conditioning The Mill. The brisk swishing of the menu would have to suffice for the time being.
Eric, who had been witnessing the show from the shadows of the kitchen, rushed to join her. In one smooth motion he pulled out a chair, turned it around and slid into it. "Great guy, huh, Mom?"
"Yes, I see why you like him. He makes a nice first impression."
"Nice? Just ni-ice?" Eric said playfully, his breaking voice unintentionally giving the second "nice" an extra syllable.
"Ok, great! He makes a great first impression," Abby admitted, slapping playfully at her son's hands, which were folded across the back of his chair.
Eric grinned his impish grin and asked, "Anything I need to know?"
"No. He just wanted to introduce himself and meet me. He says he does that with the parents of all his teenage employees."
"Ya. When they have drop dead, beautiful mothers like I do!"
Eric planted a peck on her cheek.
"Well, I'm off to Randy's to shoot some hoops. Do you need me over lunch or supper today?"
"It would sure help if you could be here over lunch, this being Jean's first, full, day and all."
He glanced at the comfortably out of place Coo-Coo clock across the room. "I'll see you in about two hours then." He carefully replaced the chair, straightened the tablecloth, and hit the door at a full trot.
"How did I ever raise such a remarkable kid?" Abby wondered out loud, continuing to fan herself with the daily specials. Eric was a terrific human being: everyone said so.
That soothing thought not only brightened her moment but it made her day - well, that soothing thought along with the white-hot image of Jason, still branding itself into the depths of her being. Perhaps a splash of cold water to the face would not be out of order. Playfully, she wondered if there would be steam!ADD FAMILY PORTRAIT TO MY SHOPPING CART