IT WAS THANKSGIVING MORNING, and I needed to go shopping. Bob was up in his third-floor suite and Maya and Veronica were in the basement. If I didn’t buy a small turkey and some side-dish fixings before the markets closed, we might as well kiss off having a holiday dinner.
With the grocery store practically deserted, I carted through the aisles for the items on my shopping list and make it through checkout before noon. My purchases included boxed stuffing mix, instant mashed potatoes, canned gravy, yams, and cranberry sauce, ready-to-serve pumpkin pie, and a four-pound, maple-brined turkey breast.
Truus would’ve been horrified.
I put the turkey breast in the oven at two o’clock and headed for the dining room to set the table. The china hutch provided lovely white linens—so neatly folded, they didn’t need pressing—fine white china, sparkling crystal stemware, and gold flatware. I decorated the center of the table with an assortment of candles snatched from the parlor and a ceramic turkey I’d purchased for half off at the grocery store.
Gauging by the mouth-watering aroma wafting from the oven, I figured the turkey breast was coming along fine, so I prepared the yams with brown sugar, pineapple, and marshmallows and slid them into the small side oven to bake. The boxed stuffing, instant mashed potatoes, and canned gravy took only minutes to prepare. The trick was keeping them warm until dinnertime. The center of the stovetop served as a warming zone. Problem solved. I placed the cranberry sauce on the table, put a chilled bottle of apple cider on the sideboard, lit the candles, and dimmed the chandelier.
Time to change clothes and call in my guests.
❂❂❂
Veronica swept into the dining room as though walking the red carpet instead of a hardwood floor covered by a pastel-hued area rug. She wore a long-sleeved, taupe maxi dress with matching sandals and a gold choker, another outfit likely filched from Anne’s wardrobe.
It took me a minute to adjust to the sight of Maya. She was dressed in a clingy black, mini dress, her hair a mass of hairspray and curling-iron curls. Tomboy to princess. Wow!
I looked down at my jeans and sequined top. “Jeez guys, you could’ve warned me.”
“Paybacks are a bitch,” Veronica said, with a secretive smile.
I assumed she was referring to the way Maya and I had teamed up on Halloween with identical masks, leaving her out in the cold, so I kept silent.
“Smells good in here,” Bob said before taking a seat at the south end of the table. “You’ve been busy.” He’d come to the table shaved and suited. What a transformation. No wonder he’d stolen our mother’s heart.
“Yeah,” Veronica said, choosing the high-backed armchair on the north end of the table. “Busy like Martha in the Bible.”
This wasn’t a compliment. As I remembered the story of Martha, she complained to Jesus that her sister had left her to serve alone. “Tell her to help me,” she said, to which Jesus replied, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken from her.”
I had a pretty good idea who represented Mary in our little family saga.
If I allowed it, Veronica’s offhanded crack would ricochet in my head for weeks and decimate my self-image. Instead, I practiced a technique Dr. Mendez called neuroplasticity and tweaked her words into something positive. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Humbled, but not shamed, I sat in the chair to our father’s left. “Who wants to say grace?”
“I do,” Bob said. He waited for Maya to take the remaining seat at the table, then crossed himself and said, “Lord, thank you for my girls. I thought I’d lost them, and here they are.” He paused to clear his throat. I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to invade the privacy of his exposed heart. “Thank you for the food on this table. It was prepared with love. And thank you, dear Lord, for the forgiveness I sense here tonight.”
“Amen,” we voiced together.
Before anyone picked up their forks, Veronica said, “Sorry about the ‘Martha’ comment, Marjorie. I appreciate you doing this. Otherwise Thanksgiving would’ve come and gone without notice.” She turned to Maya. “When our little sister here smelled the turkey, she transformed into a whirlwind, insisting that we dress up to suit the occasion, and to honor you.”
I felt limp and weepy. “It’s like a dream come true,” I said, trying to bypass the lump in my throat, “having us all together like this, all dressed up and—”
“I’ll toast to that,” our father said, holding up his empty glass.
I froze. Was he expecting alcohol?
Maya picked up the bottle of sparkling cider from the sideboard and filled our glasses. “Veronica, could you please lead us in a toast?”
“Sure,” she said with a half-smile. “Since I’ve already thanked Marjorie for putting this meal together and since Dad has already said grace, I’d like to announce that my sojourn in the basement is over.”
“Hear, hear,” I said, raising my sparkling cider.
“Hold it. I’m not done,” she said, motioning for me to put down my glass. “For the next week, I plan to hang out with you, my family. Then I’ll inform the higher-ups who’ll be deciding my fate with the DEA that I want to go back to school, nights, for training in mental health nursing. If I get accepted into the basic training program at Quantico and pass muster, I hope to team up with another special agent and help people who need medication and treatment in place of or in addition to jail. Maya convinced me that many of the drug-related problems in our society are mental health issues, which, if caught and treated early, may prevent criminal activity. Sometimes more is needed to fight the war on drugs than a badge and gun.”
Wow, Veronica would push herself to the limit by taking on evening classes in addition to DEA training. From what she’d shared with me, only a handful of the thousands of applicants with impressive credentials made it through the selection process as special agent recruits. “That’s awesome,” I said. If her dream became a reality, Veronica’s compassion would have a chance to bloom.
“And I’ve broken our pact about not using the phone during our stay here,” Veronica continued.
“Again,” I said softly.
“I called Ben. We’re getting married after my fate with the DEA is decided.”
No one responded, including me. Ben, Gentle Bear, Mendoza would be my brother-in-law at last. What had changed Veronica’s mind? During our time in Big Sur, she’d admitted that love scared the crap out of her.
I looked at Maya, and the gentle expression on her face was my answer. Something she’d said to Veronica must’ve penetrated her fear of commitment and opened her heart.
“Well, don’t all congratulate me at once,” Veronica said.
“If you love him, I’m sure he’s a great guy,” Bob said. He’d loosened his tie and was unfastening the top button of his shirt.
“I can vouch for the fact that Ben loves Veronica,” I added, noticing the sheen of perspiration on Bob’s forehead. Oh God, please let him be reacting to Veronica’s announcement. Not the lack of alcohol. “Though she’s put him through hell.”
“Me put him through hell?” Veronica sputtered. “No worse than what you’ve done, and are still doing, to Morgan.”
My mood brightened at the mention of the man I loved. She was right. I’d put Morgan—and myself—through hell. But that would soon change. I couldn’t wait to introduce him to Maya. It was time she saw what true love in a relationship involved. And Joshua, oh my gosh, what a kick he’d get out of meeting a third identical sister. He’d melt Maya’s heart, as he had mine.
“Earth to Marjorie,” Veronica said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, “you made your point.”
The food wasn’t half-bad, though just about any menu item would’ve been acceptable as long as it brought us together in thanksgiving.
While the candles flickered and we ate our meal, I felt myself swell with contentment and good will. Maybe it had something to do with the way the house seemed to coddle and nurture its occupants. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that we were engaged in the moment instead of dwelling on our painful pasts.
At the close of our meal, I stood with reluctance, hesitant to disturb this fragile sense of unity, fearing this meeting as one would never be repeated. “Anyone for pumpkin pie with whipped cream?”
Bob groaned and rubbed his stomach. “Maybe later.”
Veronica picked up her plate and flatware and handed them to me. Guess I was on cleanup duty, too. Every family needs their Martha. Then she turned to our father and smiled. “I agree with Dad. Later would be nice.”
Wow, Veronica just agreed with our father. Dared I hope hate could turn into acceptance, if not outright love?
“Same here,” Maya said, getting up to help.
The doorbell rang.
“Expecting anyone?” I asked no one in particular.
“Who’d be calling on Thanksgiving?” Bob asked. “No one has manners anymore.”
“Maybe it’s a homeless person who needs something to eat,” Maya said. “You wouldn’t believe how many people go without a meal on Thanksgiving. We have plenty left to share.” Before anyone could respond, she rushed out of the room and into the foyer.
Bob shook his head. “Must be a result of her humble upbringing.”
Veronica looked like she was about to say something, then seemed to think better of it.
“We can all learn from her,” I said. “Happiness comes from giving.”
Bob stood and headed for the foyer. “Okay, I’ll give you that, but she still shouldn’t be out there on her own. It could be someone up to no good.”
I agreed with my father and appreciated his concern. It showed he was making progress in the father-daughter department after all the years of neglect. He hadn’t yet left the dining room, though, before Maya was back. “Look who’s come for a visit.” Her lips were moist and rosy, her eyes bright as sapphires. She looked like an angel.
When Dr. Donovan entered the room, Bob broke into a smile. You’d think President Bush had just come for a visit.
“The place still looks the same,” Dr. Donovan said with a shake of his head. “Crystals, candles, stodgy drapes.” He loosened his tie and blew out a breath.
I glanced at Veronica and tried to gauge her reaction as she stared at the jumble of leftovers and dirty dishes on the table. Even the crystal had lost its luster.
Who had invited the doctor to our family affair? I doubted it had been Maya, which left... From across the table, I met Veronica’s gaze. How could you? I mouthed. She looked away.
Maya introduced the doctor to our father, who became animated, as if a puppeteer had gotten the hang of how to manipulate his strings.
I blew out the candles and cleared the table, then washed and dried the china, crystal, and flatware. When I reentered the dining room to put them away, Veronica, Bob, and Dr. Donovan had retired to the parlor. Maya followed me into the kitchen, her face a moist and feverish pink. “Papa says he’s ready for pumpkin pie now.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, grabbing a napkin to wipe her forehead.
“Sure, why do you ask?”
“Cause you look hot and bothered.”
She looked over my shoulder as I dabbed at her face. “It bothers me to know Shane needs me in a way he doesn’t yet realize.”
I thought of Cliff and figured it was time I shared. “I once knew someone who had a similar effect on me,” I said. “I thought I loved him, and maybe I did, but whenever I was with him, something didn’t feel right. He claimed to love me, but...”
By the dazed look in Maya’s eyes, I realized she wasn’t listening, so I pulled her into a tight hug. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Is the coffee ready?”
I released her slowly, hoping she’d open up before it was too late.
“Tell you what,” I said. “You can take in the pie, and I’ll take care of the coffee.”
Maya looked into my eyes. “I know you don’t like him, Marjorie.”
“You’re darn right, I don’t. But I’m not the one deciding, you are. It’s like what you told me about our father.”
Maya’s eyes widened. “How does this compare?”
“You said all we could do was offer him our love and support and encourage him to trust his inner guide.” I cut a piece of pumpkin pie and put it on a plate, then topped it with a squirt of whipped cream and handed it to my sister.
When she reached for the plate, I squirt a dab of whipped cream onto her nose. She squealed at my foolishness, then wiped off the cream and smeared it onto my face. I pointed the can at her. “Back off.” She squealed again, this time followed by laughter. “What does your inner guide tell you to do?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
Another squirt of whipped cream. It hit her on the forehead. “What does your inner guide say?”
“That you’re crazy,” she said, looking down at her dress to check if I’d inflicted any damage.
I put down the can. “Fair enough.”
We were still laughing when Veronica charged into the kitchen. “What’s the hold up.”
❂❂❂
After serving coffee and pie, I hightailed it back to the kitchen with the excuse of having more cleaning up to do. To my surprise, Veronica and Maya followed with an offer to help.
“The men are talking about the boost it was for New York City to have three of the World Series games played there after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center,” Veronica said, “even with the Yankees falling to the Diamondbacks in game seven. I love it when strangers bond over sports. Anyway, thank you again for what you did tonight. It was the kind of Thanksgiving I’ve always dreamed of. Just wish our mother could’ve been here to share it.”
“Maybe she was,” I said.
“I wish I could’ve gotten to know her,” Maya said with a sigh.
I took off my apron and looked through the window to the backyard. The sun had set and the light was fading fast. It was also wet and foggy. “Maybe you still can.”
“Marjorie…” Veronica said, with a note of warning.
“How?” Maya asked.
I continued to look out the window, wondering if what I was about to suggest was crazy, especially with Dad and Dr. Donovan nearby. “Veronica, do you remember the circle we talked about forming to call on Antonia?”
“In the labyrinth?” she said. “Sure.”
“Want to give it a try?”
She looked down at the gown she wore. “Dressed like this?”
I pulled a small flashlight out of Anne’s junk drawer. “For what we’re about to do, changing clothes won’t be necessary.”
We slipped out through the back-porch door. With luck, Dr. Donovan and our father wouldn’t even notice we were gone.