Russ Calloway was seventeen, new in town, and standing at the edge of St. Michael's fish fry with a plate and nowhere obvious to put it.

His mom was working at the hospital. Everybody here seemed to have somebody.

Under the Speaker

He found a little table beneath a speaker. The music was cheerful enough for six tables. His was receiving all six.

He tucked his elbows in and made himself a little island. Across the room, Gary noticed the island before he noticed the empty chair.

The Supper Slalom

Across the hall, Gary was attempting to transport a mountain of catfish. A volunteer added one last hush puppy. Gary's knees negotiated a lower price.

He turned sideways between two chairs. His plate stayed level. His eyebrows did not. At the kitchen pass-through, another plate came toward him. Gary ducked. The catfish mountain passed underneath; Gary's grin arrived separately.

He straightened, triumphant. A chair scraped behind him. Gary performed a slow, magnificent pivot, as though supper had hired its own ballroom dancer.

You Gonna Eat That Tail Piece?

A hush puppy rolled down the mountain. Gary leaned left. It rolled right. He leaned right. It considered freedom.

Russ slid an empty saucer beneath it.

Gary followed the saucer to its owner and set down his enormous supper. Then he spotted Russ's fish.

"Yeah."

"Smart kid."

Gary pulled out the opposite chair. "Gary."

"Russ."

Gary said the name back like he'd been saving it.

The Amen That Would Not Land

Father Dom raised his hands for the blessing. Gary folded his. His fork waited beside the mountain.

Father Dom paused. Gary reached. Father Dom remembered the volunteers. Gary's hand retreated.

Another pause. Another reach. Father Dom remembered the people washing up.

Gary's fingers reversed so slowly they seemed to be backing out of a driveway.

Finally, "Amen."

Gary kept both hands firmly clasped. He wasn't falling for that again.

Russ gently nudged the fork toward him.

Father Dom took the first bite. Permission from the very top.

Parallel Parking, Without the Cones

They ate. Gary asked what Russ liked doing.

"I can parallel park a trailer."

Gary lowered his fork with the care normally reserved for sleeping babies.

"Without moving the cones," Russ added.

Gary sat taller. "Well."

Outside, Emi slept beside the blue cooler, guarding a tray of extra hush puppies without applying for the position. The little committee behind the hedge had encountered a management problem.

Inside, Gary borrowed a green crayon. Russ recognized the expression: something was about to become considerably less simple.

The Diagram That Ate Supper

Gary drew Big Bertha on a napkin. Hood. Wheels. Rear loader.

The back end ran off the edge. Gary added a napkin. Then another. Russ moved his water. Father Dom returned with his supper and moved that too.

The drawing reached a salt shaker.

Gary drew a road around it.

Father Dom tried to retrieve his fork. Gary politely drew him a crossing. Russ supplied a fresh napkin before Gary even asked.

Russ set a hush puppy beside one wheel. Gary studied the improvement, then ate it.

Father Dom quietly moved his entire chair.

In Gary's imagination, crayon Bertha lifted right off the paper. She rolled across the tablecloth, squeezed past the salt-shaker mountain, and proudly collected a crumb.

Then her enormous paper rear end stuck between two water glasses.

Gary's cheeks puffed. His hands squeezed invisible machinery. "Whump."

Back in the real hall, nothing had moved except Gary. Russ laughed so hard he set his fork down.

The First Look Inside Bertha

Through the window, the real Bertha raised one eyebrow. She appeared to have a few notes.

Gary offered to introduce them properly.

Outside, he gave Bertha a sweeping bow, then remembered which side her passenger door was on. Russ followed, smiling.

"RDK down in Tampa found us each other," Gary said, patting the door beside its little badge.

With Gary beside him, Russ climbed into the parked cab. Hands on the rails. Feet on the steps.

Gary began pointing out features. Russ pointed to a folded napkin tucked above the passenger seat.

Gary paused.

"Spare."

Bertha's eyes drifted heavenward.

Chair Valet

Back inside, the volunteers were clearing up. Russ joined them. Gary volunteered for chairs.

One folded chair. Two. A third volunteer approached with another.

Gary's smile remained visible above the stack. Then only his eyebrows.

Russ gently stopped the delivery and rolled over the empty chair rack. Gary tried to turn his armful toward it. Too wide.

Russ guided the rack sideways into the gap, neatly between two table legs.

Gary stared at the perfect parking job.

Father Dom raised both hands. This time, Gary immediately put the chairs down.

Quiet on the Steps

On the church steps, Russ lingered while the last families collected their dishes. Nobody was asking him to leave. He just hadn't learned what happened after that.

Gary sat beside him.

"Good night?"

Russ nodded. "Yeah." Then, a little surprised, "Really good."

Gary knew that surprise. Years ago, he'd sat alone at a different supper, making a plate last until leaving seemed normal. Somebody had pulled up a chair.

That was what he'd remembered when he saw Russ. Not a helper. Not somebody to impress. Somebody who could use company.

Russ could hear dishes clinking inside. Earlier, that sound had belonged to everybody else. Now he recognized the people doing the washing up.

Place Saved

Emi came out and settled against Russ's boots. Behind her, the little committee finally carried off one hush puppy. It took four plans and absolutely no applause.

Gary didn't fill the quiet. For once, there wasn't a diagram for this part.

"Next Friday?" he asked.

Russ looked back at the warm windows.

"Yeah."

Next Friday, he walked straight in. Gary had saved him a plate. Father Dom was already eating. A single blank napkin waited between them.

Russ unfolded another and placed it alongside.

"Spare."

Gary grinned. Emi's tail thumped beneath the table.

The chair was already pulled out. This time, Russ knew it was his.