44
Frank’s rusty truck stood out like a sore thumb against the pristinely kept yard and the bright, white siding of Aunt Rose’s house. I imagined her nose wrinkling when she saw it parked there. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.
Mom pulled our station wagon into the driveway. “Leave it to Rose to live in a house like this.”
“Weggegooid geld,” Oma said, turning from her seat in the front of the car to wink at me before opening her door.
“What did she say?” Joel asked.
“That this”—Mom nodded at the house—“is a waste of money.”
“This much house for only a few people?” Oma said. “I’m right, you know.”
“Can you imagine how much it costs to heat this place?” Mom shook her head.
The four of us stood on the porch, and Mom let Joel push the doorbell. Aunt Rose opened it before it stopped chiming.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, pulling the door wide and holding it as we all filed inside. “Welcome.”
“Thank you for having us,” Mom said, submitting herself to the air kiss Aunt Rose smooched next to her face. “Your house is lovely.”
“How nice of you to say.” Aunt Rose touched her cheek to mine and make a mwah sound close to my ear. “I’m sorry to say that Eliot had to go out of town on business despite my feelings. He sends his regards.”
Joel and I met eyes. My brothers and I had hardly seen Uncle Eliot more than a couple of times. Mike had Joel convinced for years that Uncle Eliot wasn’t real and that Aunt Rose made all her money working as an assassin during World War II. From the look on Joel’s face, I thought he still half believed it.
“Frank is in the drawing room,” Aunt Rose said. “First door on the left.”
“What’s a drawing room?” Joel whispered to me.
“Just a fancy living room, I guess,” I answered.
“Huh. Rich people are strange.”
I shushed him. “You know she’s right behind us, don’t you?”
He grimaced and covered his mouth with his hand. “Do you think she heard me?”
“For your sake, I hope not.”
Frank stood at a window in the drawing room, a mug in his hand with the tail of a tea bag dangling from the lip. He turned toward us, giving Mom his half grin.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said, lifting his mug in a toast.
“I’m glad to see you dressed up,” Mom said.
“Oh, this old thing?” He rubbed the front of his well-worn flannel shirt and grinned.
“I asked him to wear something with a collar,” Aunt Rose said, crossing her arms. “I suppose I should have been more specific.”
“Where’s Grandma?” Joel asked, his eyes darting across the room.
“In the kitchen.” Aunt Rose sighed. “She insisted on doing all the cooking.”
“I’d like to say hello to her,” Oma said. “If I may.”
“Of course. Just this way.”
Aunt Rose led Oma out of the room, turning and looking at Mom as if she wasn’t sure what to make of her. I was glad that Mom hadn’t seemed to notice.
Joel crossed the room, taking Frank’s hand. “How ya doing, Dad?”
“Swell,” Frank answered. “Isn’t that what you hip cats say these days.”
Joel’s mouth spread in a wide smile. “Right on.”
“You’re still playing that guitar, aren’t you?”
“Sure am.”
“He’s getting pretty good,” I said. “I should know, I hear him practice every single day.”
“Well, anybody could play it if they wanted to.” Joel put his hands in his pockets.
“I couldn’t,” I said.
“You could. I’ll teach you.”
Frank’s eyes went from Joel to me, observing the back and forth of our conversation as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
You could have had this every day, I wanted to say to him. You don’t know what you gave up.
But from the look in his eyes, the longing I read there, I thought he knew exactly what he’d lost.
Grandma looked healthier than I’d seen her in years. She stood without a stoop and smiled wide enough to show her teeth. As she moved around the kitchen there was more life to her steps and she hummed every once in a while. I thought she’d even put on a few pounds. She hadn’t gotten plump, not nearly. But she looked as if she’d been eating better, which was an improvement over the last time I’d visited with Mike.
It was the grandmother I remembered from before Grandpa had gotten sick.
She busied herself, basting the turkey and filling the kitchen with the rich smells of stuffing and sweet potatoes, buttered mashed potatoes and yeast rolls. Oma whisked flour into turkey drippings for gravy while Mom cut a mincemeat pie. Aunt Rose and I filled relish trays with olives and pickles and radishes cut to look like flowers.
“Mother,” Aunt Rose said. “Have you told them what you’ve done?”
“Oh, they don’t care about that,” Grandma said, her glasses fogged up from the steamy oven.
“I do,” I said.
“Well, if you must know, I’ve joined a Dorcas Society. Rose made me,” she told us. “We meet on Tuesday mornings to sew and then we have lunch together someplace in town. It’s something to do, I guess.”
“Don’t let her fool you. She loves it,” Aunt Rose said. “It was a moment of genius on Eliot’s part, really. He saw the announcement in the church bulletin and knew it would be a good thing for Mother.”
“What do you sew?” I asked.
“Oh, some ladies make quilts and others knit sweaters,” Grandma said. “I’ve been working on making little dresses for girls. Then we send all of it to the needy.”
“How nice,” Mom said, moving on to cutting up a pumpkin pie. “And you’ve made friends?”
“I suppose you could say I have,” she answered. “There’s this one named Edith who comes and takes me to see a movie every once in a while. We have a good time.”
“She’s doing well here,” I whispered to my aunt. “This is a good place for her.”
“I’m trying,” Aunt Rose said, not looking up from the block of cheese she’d started slicing.
“You’re doing a good job,” I said.
She met my eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever before seen a more sincere expression on her face. Her lips trembled and she pulled them together as if to still them.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Grandma insisted that Frank carve the turkey, which he did with a surprisingly steady hand. He doled out the meat, light or dark. We passed seemingly endless dishes of all varieties, filling our plates with all things delicious and traditional. No matter how much food everyone took, there still was more. More than we ever could have eaten in one sitting.
“Son,” Grandma said. “Bless the food, would you?”
He nodded, taking my hand on his right and Grandma’s on his left. The tremor was slight, hardly noticeable. But when I curled my fingers around his hand, it nearly stopped altogether.
His prayer was simple and full of thanks. And he asked God to watch over the ones who weren’t with us that day, especially Mike. It surprised me how true his voice sounded, how humbled and yet how confident. For twelve years I’d thought that when Frank walked away from us, he’d left God behind too.
I wondered if I’d been wrong all that time.
November days always ended early. Mom was anxious to get on the road before it got too dark. Aunt Rose wrapped up leftovers for us to take home including a whole extra pie that Joel declared would be his breakfast the next morning.
Frank walked us out to the car. He shook Joel’s hand, even going as far as putting his left hand on his shoulder. And when Joel pulled him into a hug, he didn’t make a face. Instead, he put an arm around his neck, giving one back.
“You’ll come to our house for Christmas, won’t you?” Joel asked.
“If I’m invited,” Frank said, slapping him on the back. “You’ll be taller than me by then, I bet.”
“Bye, Frank,” I said, giving him a hug of my own. “See you soon.”
“Take care of them,” he whispered. “Will you?”
“I always do.”
When he let go of me he looked me right in the eye. I expected him to say something, but he just smiled. That said much more to me than any words could have.
We all climbed in the car, except for Mom. She stayed out, talking to Frank.
“What do you think she’s saying to him?” Joel asked.
“Whatever it is, he’s smiling,” Oma said.
“I knew it,” Joel whispered to me, nodding. “Something’s happening.”
For the first time in twelve years, I hoped. For Frank.
Dear Mike,
Thanksgiving was nice. Aunt Rose even laughed at one of Joel’s stories! And not her robot laugh, either. A real one that made her eyes water. Can you believe it? Her face didn’t crack, even. Really, she behaved herself and so did Mom.
Grandma is doing better than you could ever imagine. She pretended to be curmudgeonly, but I could tell it was an act. You should write and ask her what she’s been up to. She has friends, Mike. Grandma has buddies. It truly is the best we could have wished for.
I guess that’s what I’m most thankful for this year.
Well, I really could have used my big brother around today. A little advice could have helped me a whole lot. Why, you ask?
Walt Vanderlaan is taking me out tomorrow night. I think we’re going to catch a movie and maybe have some dinner afterward. When he first mentioned it a week ago, I didn’t think it was a date. I pictured it as old friends getting reacquainted. But then he called today and the way he asked me over the phone, the formality of it all, I think he wants it to be one.
Should I have said no? Should I have asked if Joel could come along? Am I doing the right thing by going? What if he tries to kiss me? Should I knock his lights out?
Okay, I know how you’d answer those last two.
I’m sweaty and shaky and nauseous just thinking about it. How am I supposed to eat if I feel like upchucking whenever I think about it? Can you believe I even thought about calling Frank to ask him?
No, I haven’t told Mom yet. She’ll blow her lid. This will be worse than when you told her about you joining the Army.
Maybe I’ll talk to Bernie. Strike that. That is a horrible idea.
Anyway, I’ll write you to let you know how it goes. Thank goodness Jocelyn is still home on Thanksgiving break. At least I have one voice of reason still around.
Go ahead. Laugh at me. I know you want to.
Miss you,
Annie