I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Apple Pie
"Hello, Huck."
She's come back.
"Hello, Grace."
With her dazzling blue-green-green-blue eyes.
"I wanted to see how you were feeling but I didn't have your telephone number."
And her sweet smile.
"I hope you don't mind."
And . . .
"I brought an apple."
. . . a pie.
He had been attempting some yardwork for Mrs. Graham.
Trying to move his arm as much as painfully possible.
Come on, old man, this is your good arm, it's been almost a week, don't be a turkey.
And trying, trying, not to think too much about . . .
I didn't want to go back to Germany either.
. . . returning to St. Lucia.
And she . . .
Miss Miller has a red truck like that.
. . . had driven up.
I mean, Grace.
Shut off the engine.
Grace?
And gotten out.
"Hello, Huck."
With a smile.
"Hello, Grace."
And something in her arms.
She's dressed in a pretty, brown collared dress with white trim. Blue cardigan. Brown flats.
Her strawberry-blond hair is gently waved and pinned back.
And she looks just as lovely as a picture.
"I brought an . . ."
Whatever that means.
". . . apple."
And he's pleased to see her.
"No."
He really is.
"That's fine."
He can't figure why she's here.
"Thank you."
On such a fine, sunny September day when she could be . . .
"Uh, would you, uh, . . ."
. . . anywhere else.
". . . would you like to come in?"
But she's got that warmth in her voice . . .
"Yes."
. . . like she'd be kind to kittens.
"Thank you."
And he just doesn't know . . .
"It's, uh, it's . . ."
. . . how to act.
". . . right this way."
"Mrs. Graham, this is Grace Miller. Grace, this is my landlady, Mrs. Graham."
He has brought her into the sidedoor, knowing Mrs. Graham . . .
"Hello, dear. Oh, what lovely hair you have."
. . . can most likely be found in the kitchen.
"Thank you."
And so she . . .
"The color, is it from a bottle? Or is it yours?"
. . . has.
Mrs. Graham, with her green houseshift and her blue-flowered apron. Her white lady's shoes.
Her frizzy steel-gray hair and her slightly smudged reading glasses.
At her big kitchen table and chairs over which hang a single bare bulb.
Surrounded by icebox and free standing stove. Counter laden with jugs and bowls and utensils.
Her clothes wringer and deep ceramic sink under single-paned, pristinely cleaned glass window.
Pantry door slightly ajar, within shelved canned beans, peas, fruits, marmalades, jams, jellies.
And all the like of independent living.
Mrs. Graham who doesn't seem to be quite as self-conscious as Huck . . .
"It's mine."
. . . and dives right into . . .
"Well, that's fine then."
. . . polite conversation.
And Huck, hoping he's not too sweaty, in his plaid short-sleeve plaid buttonup over his sleeveless undershirt, figures it's time to rescue Grace . . .
"Grace brought us an apple pie, Mrs. Graham."
. . . from his sweet, mouthy, elderly landlady.
"Oh. I like apple pie. Did you make it yourself or is it storebought?"
Though it doesn't seem to be . . .
"I made it."
. . . working.
"Well, that's fine then, dear. Bring it on over. I believe three o'clock in the afternoon is just the right time for pie."
And Huck breathes a sigh of relief.
"Tell me, Grace. How do you know Huck here?"
Though perhaps a little too . . .
"I work with him at the hospital."
. . . soon.
"At the hospital? Where he got shot?"
And once again he thinks he should save her.
"Yes. I'm a nurse-in-training."
And once again he is . . .
"That's nice, dear. Do you like it?"
. . . at a . . .
"Yes. I like taking care of others. Treating them with kindness."
. . . loss.
And they sit down to . . .
"Huck, bring us ladies some cold milk."
"Yes, ma'am."
. . . partake.
The pie is delicious, crusty flaky and buttery, the filling cinnamon and brown sugar and Granny Smith.
They eat in relative quiet at the small kitchen table, Huck not anxiously shuffling on the worn wooden planks under his booted feet.
"This pie is very good, Grace."
At least until the wisened older lady seated mercilessly to Huck's left . . .
"Thank you, Mrs. Graham."
. . . decides to engage the young, pretty thing to Huck's right.
"You should marry this girl, Huck."
And then Huck himself . . .
"Uh, I think she just came to bring us a pie, Mrs. Graham."
. . . who for all his best efforts . . .
"My point exactly, Huck."
. . . cannot manage to keep up.
The apple pie has been delicious.
"I'll take care of those dishes in just a moment, Mrs. Graham."
The company polite.
"You'll do no such thing. Now take yourself outside and talk to your ladyfriend."
If a little blush-inducing.
"Mrs. Graham-"
"Go on, son."
And now they are . . .
"Thank you for the pie."
. . . outside as requested.
"You're welcome."
And the sun . . .
"Would you like to take a walk with me?"
. . . is dazzling her eyes again.
"You don't . . . you don't need to go?"
He said that wrong.
But her smile is still warm and gentle.
"No. Unless you want me to go?"
And he realizes, . . .
"No! I mean . . ."
. . . he really does want her to . . .
". . . yes, a walk would be nice."
. . . stay.
So, herein starts the happiness, if that's alright.
Thanks to DinahRay for reading and reviewing on our boy Huck here. :)
Up next, a little bit of backstory.
