10

Thanksgiving Day

Charlee woke with an upset stomach that choked her appetite for off-brand Cookie Crisp, but it did not slow her excitement for the holiday. It was going to be the Alexander family’s most exciting day since moving to Woodbrook two months earlier. Her dad was off for two days. Her mother had to work Black Friday at Walmart, but at least she could spend Thanksgiving at home.

Charlee sat at the chipped laminate kitchen table across from her mother and made a list on a free notepad from Woodbrook Credit Union.

Take a shower

Let Mom curl my hair

Make place setting cards

Leave for Miss Marva’s at 11 sharp

Give a tour

Help make dinner

Eat dinner

Eat dessert!

Clean up

Make Zach help

Watch movie as a family!

Walk home

They hadn’t seen a movie together since long before arriving at 27 Homes, and Miss Marva had invited them to stay after the feast to watch something on the fancy television she hardly used. Zach wasn’t convinced, but Charlee was sure that by the time dinner was done, he would love Miss Marva just like she did, and he wouldn’t ever want to go home.

“That’s quite a list,” Charlee’s mother said.

“I know! There’s more probably, but these are the big things.”

Emily pushed herself away from the table. “How about some toast and a glass of milk? Does that sound good?”

But Charlee didn’t hear her; she was adding stars to her favorite items on the day’s to-do list.

“How about an apple?” Emily asked, her head in the refrigerator. “It’s a little ripe, but it’s still good.”

Charlee didn’t hear that, either. She was drawing a stick figure wearing an apron to the right of Miss Marva’s name. Of course, the apron was much bigger than her body, and Charlee added a heart in the middle of it.

“How about my famous, hot and juicy, fish guts casserole, Charlee? I have one of those in the oven. Does that sound better?”

But the suggestion didn’t reel Charlee in from her daydream about an afternoon with all the people she loved most all in one place.

Emily soon placed two pieces of toast in front of Charlee and slid the notepad away from her to the other side of the table. “Eat something, please.”

In the yard, Zach and his dad were already working on the dusty, rusty Beetle that was taking so long to come back to life; Charlee had suggested there would be flying cars before theirs ever ran again. Watching them through the window, she admitted to her mother that she worried her dad and Zach might spend the whole day covered in grease, listening to loud music, and forget to come to Miss Marva’s for Thanksgiving.

Emily assured her daughter with a kiss on the head that the Alexander men would not miss the big day for anything. “They’ll be there.”

After breakfast, Charlee showered and enjoyed having her hair blow-dried by her mother. It wasn’t as long as she wanted it yet, but it was long enough to curl, and Miss Marva had said that if her best friend would curl her hair, she’d curl hers, too.

Dressed and ready to go long before anyone else, Charlee sat back at the kitchen table and made place cards for everyone using half sheets of cardstock and crayons. Each card had the first and last name of the guest. First names were in red; last names were in green. She even made one for Melvin and gave him the middle name Mason, just for fun.

“Melvin Mason Alexander. It sounds like a president’s name,” she told the stuffed monkey with the big teeth.

With the cards done and time left to kill, Charlee lay on the bottom bunk in the room she shared with Zach and rested her head on her hand, careful not to unfurl her shiny black curls. To keep her dress from wrinkling, she pulled the edges straight. It was the only nice dress she’d saved from the moving sale, and it was orange with oversized, white polka dots. When Charlee got tired at night, she thought the dots looked like the moon. A hazy, off-white band encircled each dot, and she counted them as she lay in bed.

She could tell her hair smelled delicious, and she couldn’t resist the urge to pull a curl toward her nose and enjoy the scent of her mother’s shampoo. The aroma made her feel like a grown-up, and Charlee couldn’t wait to share the new smell and the new look with Miss Marva.

She tried to read a book she got from the library, but the excitement of the day made it hard to focus. So she gave in and lay flat, gazing up at the bottom of Zach’s bed and wishing the clock wasn’t stuck on boring.

 

 

Charlee looked at the sunflower clock on the wall. “It’s eleven!” she shouted at 10:58.

“I’ll be right there,” her mother called from her bedroom at the rear of the trailer.

“All right, I’ll walk slow,” Charlee said, stepping outside and beginning the journey. She stopped at the fallen fence that separated their yard from the communal field and turned back to see her mother whisper something in her father’s ear. Then she waited impatiently for her mother to catch up.

Heavy rain and unseasonably warm temperatures had turned the grass in the field green and sent it high into the late-November air. Mother and daughter weaved through the field, giggling and pointing and sidestepping small puddles like unafraid soldiers in a foreign minefield.

When they arrived at the stone pathway just before the clothesline, they found Miss Marva waiting on the porch. Her silver hair was lightly curled, and the style revealed how thin her hair was.

“You did it! Your hair looks so nice!” Charlee said.

Miss Marva smiled and fluffed it with both hands. “You’re kind, but yours looks truly beautiful. You look like a glamorous supermodel. But prettier.”

Charlee looked up at her mother, and Emily winked in agreement.

“So how do you like my apron?” Miss Marva asked. It was white and featured extra-thick gold stitching and a photo of a sweet potato. Above the picture appeared the question Thankful for You? Then below the image, it read Yes, I Yam.

Miss Marva motioned for Emily to step closer. “All right, dear Emily, I do hate to hide that lovely blouse, but an apron is required to complete the outfit.” She held one up for her to admire. It was dark green and featured a large pumpkin pie divided into slices—with two pieces clearly missing. Above the pie, in white block print, it read Happy Thanksgiving! Take two and call me in the morning.

Emily slipped it on and promised to eat at least two pieces of pie before the end of the day.

Then Miss Marva pulled open Charlee’s apron so she could read it more easily. Charlee immediately noticed that the bottom had been trimmed; it was much shorter than the other aprons she’d seen before. It was cream-colored and the loopy, cursive text was dandelion yellow. It read Charlee Alexander.

Charlee had both hands over her mouth as Miss Marva draped the custom-sized apron around her neck.

“Why don’t you?” she said to Emily, and Miss Marva stepped aside so Charlee’s mother could tie the apron around her daughter’s waist.

When it was tied in the perfect bow, Emily spun Charlee back around and said, “It’s beautiful,” but quickly corrected herself. “No, you’re beautiful.”

Miss Marva walked toward her front door and, without looking back, raised her right arm and announced, “Let’s cook!”

 

 

Charlee gave her mother the promised tour while Miss Marva finished preparing supplies and ingredients in the kitchen. Charlee pointed out every photo, every Christmas decoration, and every piece of interesting history. She described the wooden Advent calendar in great detail, as if her mother weren’t standing right next to her. Then she suggested her mother shouldn’t touch it. “It’s very delicate, Mom.”

After the tour, Charlee asked permission to put the place cards on the dining room table, even though it wasn’t set yet, and she was thrilled that Miss Marva said she could decide who sat where. Charlee arranged the seats, then rearranged them, then asked her mother’s opinion, and switched them one more time. She’d run around the table so much she was dizzy when she finally settled on the assignments.

The three chefs held what Miss Marva called a turkey talk session in the kitchen to plan the day. The turkey was already in the oven, but that was the easy part, Miss Marva said. And before Charlee knew the meeting was even over, the kitchen burst alive with breadcrumbs and flour flying, mixers mixing, and pie tins rattling. Charlee had never seen hands move so quickly through the air.

She also hadn’t seen her mother smile and laugh so much since the move to Woodbrook.

As the morning turned to afternoon, the three friends broke for a snack and to taste Miss Marva’s Thanksgiving cider. They sat in the living room and played a game to identify the scents that filled the house. Each time one of them closed her eyes and concentrated, she smelled something different.

“There’s the stuffing,” Miss Marva said.

Charlee went next. “I smell pecan pie.”

“Mmm, cranberry sauce,” Emily said, her eyes still closed.

The game continued until Charlee began naming things they hadn’t even prepared yet. The women laughed and soaked in the company until the afternoon demanded they get back to work. When Miss Marva and Emily returned to the kitchen, Charlee leaned back into the soft couch and put her hands behind her head. She looked up at a ceiling fan and dreamed about a life where days like today spun around and around, repeating themselves perfectly until someone turned off the switch for just a few minutes.

The doorbell startled her, and when she sat up, she realized she’d napped for an hour and her father and brother were standing at the front door. She pulled it open and asked, “Want a tour?”

 

 

Miss Marva stood at the head of the table at 5:00 p.m. and welcomed everyone to her home. Charlee found that odd since she and her mother had been there most of the day, but she smiled and said “Thank you” anyway.

Charlee’s dad sat on the opposite end of the table from Miss Marva with Zach on one side and Emily on the other. Charlee sat by her mother and, across from her, Melvin the monkey sat on two stacked throw pillows from the couch.

Charlee thought the table looked like a scene from a television commercial. A giant turkey sat on the table in front of her father. Stuffing surrounded it on the china platter like clouds. Her mother had made Waldorf salad, which Charlee didn’t like but would eat anyway because she could pick out the apples. There were hot rolls made from scratch and real butter—not the waxy spread that tasted like the plastic tub it came in.

Her mouth watered at the heaping mountain of mashed potatoes. Steam rose from them, and Charlee admired the melting hunk of butter she’d placed so perfectly at the tip-top.

The table also held yams with marshmallows, corn on the cob, green beans, two kinds of squash, and another vegetable she’d never seen before. Right in front of Melvin sat a plate of deviled eggs; Charlee would eat one of those first, by tradition. Tradition also demanded that Charlee not leave the table until she’d placed a black olive on each of her fingertips. Zach used to do it, too, but she thought he was probably too old for that.

“Let us pray,” Miss Marva said, and even Melvin bowed his head with an assist.

“Dear Father, we gather on this Thanksgiving Day so grateful for so many blessings. But mostly, Father, we are grateful for the gift of friendship. We thank thee for bringing Charlee and her family into my home this day. May they be blessed with all that they need, Father. We ask also that Thou would bless our troops, wherever they might be, and bless the leaders of our country, that they would turn to Thee, and also please bless all the pastors and preachers of the world, whatever church they might belong to. Finally, dear Father, we are thankful for this food and ask that Thou would bless it. May we be strong, happy, and healthy. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

They each added an “Amen!”—Charlee’s was the loudest—and they began to fill their plates. Charlee’s parents took turns saying things like, “This is so much food. You’re so kind to do this. Are you sure we can’t contribute toward the cost? This turkey must have been expensive. It all smells so delicious, Marva, thank you.”

They only stopped when Marva playfully threatened to not share any pie if they didn’t simply enjoy the meal and their time together.

While Charlee ate slowly and enjoyed every bite like it was her last, Zach sat across the table and took bites so big Charlee told him he could have swallowed the turkey whole. When Emily asked him to slow down, Zach stuffed half a roll in his mouth and apologized at the same time.

“You’re so gross,” Charlee said.

“It’s all right,” Miss Marva said. “He’s just hungry, right, Zach?” While he nodded a yes, Miss Marva took the biggest bite of stuffing Charlee had ever seen. It was so big, a chunk fell off her heaping fork when she put it in her mouth.

When everyone but Zach began filling their plates for seconds—Zach was going for thirds—Miss Marva slapped the table next to her plate. “My! Oh my, I nearly forgot the gumdrops with all the excitement.”

“Gumdrops?” Charlee’s voice rose.

“Yes, I put a bowl out every year. They were my son’s favorite. J.R. always had to have a bowl on the table when he was young, and it became a tradition in our family. It was our little reminder that Christmas was right around the corner, and that while we loved Thanksgiving, the most important holiday would arrive before we knew it.”

“That’s sweet,” Emily said.

“I’ll get them for you,” Charlee offered, jumping up from her chair.

“Wonderful, dear. I’ve already got them in a glass candy dish on the kitchen counter, right next to the microwave. Thank you.”

Charlee dashed from the room and heard the adults behind her laugh as she skipped down the hallway. She pushed open the swinging kitchen door, and her eyes found the dish on the counter. Charlee picked it up and spun back around on her feet, but when she stopped spinning, the room didn’t.

She tumbled forward and heard the sound of her head hitting the square kitchen table.

The bowl fell from her hands, and the thin glass shattered on the floor into more pieces than there were gumdrops.

Removed from the pain, Charlee thought she heard her body hit the floor in stages: first her hips, then her legs, chest, arms, and head. It sounded like an old woman’s slow clap.

Four sets of heavy feet clopped down the hallway, but Charlee did not hear those sounds.

She did not hear the sound of hinges squeaking on the kitchen door.

She did not hear the door slam with violence against the inside wall.

She did not hear the scream of her mother.