Leech Hoose, part eleven

It was a simple birthday celebration. That was all Leta could afford, and in truth, she could not really afford that. The pork roast and cake would require more sacrifice for her and her children, but she and Mr. Leech Hoose were engaged to be married as soon as her divorce from the unreliable and inept Ora Freeman was finalized. The little party was her way of initiating family. While she had known Leech for nearly a year, her children had yet to meet him.

She had just served the meal. Although her children waited for her to be seated to say the table grace, Leech started to eat immediately. Both were looking at her with confusion, so she raised her glass of whiskey.

“A Toast!”

Her fiance stopped eating and looked up. The children raised their glasses of water.

As Leta continued, Leech watched.

“To Mr. Leech Hoose, a fine working man. May God bless him—you—on your birthday and throughout the coming year. We give thanks for you, this food and all of our blessings.”

“Amen!” Dale exclaimed.

Leech was startled, but stopped eating and raised his glass.

By the time Leta cut the cake, the quartet was engaging in jovial banter. Leech even showed them how he could balance a glass on his head. Although Dale tried several times, he could not master the trick. All he succeeded in doing was making his mother nervous about breaking the glass.

“That’s enough,” Leta declared after the fifth attempt.

“Sorry, my boy,” Leech said sympathetically. “But you’re missing the most important element for the trick to work.”

“What’s that?” Dale inquired with exasperation.

“Flat head,” Leech said, tapping the side of his temple with one finger.

As she cleared away the last of the cake plates, Leta asked if Leech wanted anything else. He leaned back and patted his slightly bulging stomach.

“No, thank you, Leta,” he said. “I’m plum full. I couldn’t eat another bite. That was an excellent meal.”

“Thank you,” she said. “And we’ll wrap up a big chunk of cake for you to take with you.”

“Not necessary,” he said. “I’m not a big cake eater. That one piece will satisfy me until my next birthday.”

Leta’s countenance fell.

“Oh dear,” she said. “If I’d known, I would have made you something else. What do you like? Do you like pie?”

“You got me. I’m a pie man.”

“Then I have to make you a pie,” Leta declared.

“But mother—“ Vivian began.

“I—I know, I know,” Leta interrupted. “We don’t have any fruit in the house. But I could get some apples from Aunt Louise. If you can wait until next weekend, Mr. Hoose.”

Then she cocked her head.

“Wait. Do we have any brown sugar? I could make a butterscotch pie right now.”

“Mmm, butterscotch,” Dale grinned.

“Now, now,” Leech declared, waving his hands in protest, “I won’t have that. No pie tonight. Leta and I have other things to do.”

“We do?” Leta inquired.

“It’s Saturday night, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir!” Dale agreed.

“Then it’s time to put on our hats and head out,” Leech declared, as he stood.

“Oh,” Leta said, “of course. Give me just a minute to freshen up. Vivian, will you please finish the dishes?”

“Yes, Ma.”

Five minutes later, Leta and Leech headed to the club for their regular Saturday evening repast and continued his birthday celebration until the establishment closed for the night.

To be continued.