Chapter Fourteen

As she’d learned in her life too many times, vows were made to be broken. Three days later, Curtis gripped her elbow and steered her through Honey’s front door.

“My baba,” shouted Atticus.

In the corner of the living room, Crusty set the baby down in his rocker and tucked a blanket around him. Atticus barreled headlong across the room on his chubby legs to the rocker, with Jamie following. They sat next to the baby, cooing and touching his hands while Meredith stood rigid with eyes narrowed.

She couldn’t stop staring at Gemma who stood at the tall stone fireplace next to Egan, who wore a satisfied smile. Finally, shaking off Curtis' hand, she turned to Honey. “What’s all this?”

“Come help me in the kitchen, dear.” The older woman disappeared around the corner, calling out as she went, “The potatoes need mashing. Gemma, why don’t you keep an eye on the kids.”

“Did you know?” Meredith spoke low to Curtis. He shook his head, looking miserable.

It was ridiculous that the possibility of others being invited to this Thanksgiving dinner never crossed her mind. She should have realized the woman would invite her own granddaughter and would want her new great-grandson there, too.

She noted Egan’s arm draped loosely over Gemma’s shoulders and wondered how their reunion came about, and how he’d gotten past Honey’s earnest dislike of him. Gemma, too, didn’t appear to mind Egan’s affection. Any lingering grief she might have suffered over Brian’s death was vanished. The girl, with a newborn babe at her feet, had moved on. Of course, I have too, she realized with a jolt.

She followed Honey into the kitchen. “We’re not staying.” Her friend handed over the potato masher and pointed at a steaming pot. “Give it a go, will you?”

She obeyed without thinking, heaving the masher into the soft white cubes, and took some solace in squashing them. On the counter behind her, her friend picked up a carving knife and attacked a massive turkey, slicing chunks of meat off the bone. “We really aren’t staying.”

Arching one brow, Honey set down her knife and opened the refrigerator. “What about your kids? You’d deprive them of my delicious Thanksgiving dinner out of spite? That’s not like you.” She set the butter and milk next to the potatoes. “Add a lot of butter. The whole cube will do. Keep mashing, no chunks. I like my potatoes rich and creamy.”

Meredith plopped the cube of butter into the pot and splashed in some milk. What am I doing? Brian’s girlfriend and baby are in the other room. She set down the masher and turned to face the other woman, who was back at work on the turkey. “What were you thinking? How could you do this?”

Honey turned, holding the carving knife in front of her. Meredith glanced down at sharp, heavy blade, and considered that her friend was capable of just about anything. “All families have problems.” Honey waved the massive knife in the air dismissively. “But they’ll still sit down together at Thanksgiving and enjoy a meal together. Don’t spoil this for your children.”

Her children would have a fit if she made them leave. They wouldn’t understand and she couldn’t explain it to them. There was nothing back at her house to cook for a Thanksgiving meal and the grocery store was closed for the holiday. Honey trapped her into having Thanksgiving dinner with Gemma and the…child. Brian’s baby. “They aren’t my family.”

Her friend sighed and hefted the platter piled high with turkey, giving her a firm look. “Oh yes we are. We all are. You may as well get used to it.”

Honey carried the turkey to the dining room. “Dinner,” she announced cheerfully. “Everyone, come find a place at the table.”

****

Meredith didn’t speak during dinner. She kept her gaze glued on her plate and fiddled with her fork even as Jamie kept up a steady chatter. Curtis contributed a polite amount of conversation and Gemma, at the far end of the table, focused on the baby. Crusty, Egan and Honey discussed land prices while Jamie and Atticus just ate and ate.

“I love Thanksgiving,” her daughter announced through a mouthful of turkey while cranberry sauce rimmed her mouth. Everyone laughed except Meredith, who was determined not to enjoy one minute at a table where Gemma sat.

“Too,” added Atticus. “More.”

She wiped at Jamie’s mouth, then lifted Atticus from the table. “If you eat any more, you’ll blow up.”

“Bl’up,” he agreed. “Bl’up, bl’up.”

“Just wait ’til you taste my sweet pumpkin pie, little one,” Honey offered.

The five-year-old eyed the turkey slices still left on the large platter. “Can I take some turkey home instead? We don’t get to eat meat at home anymore.”

“Jamie.” Meredith’s tone was warning and her face reddened. “Don’t be rude.”

Honey tsked, though her expression was pleased. “I’ll make up a package for all of you. There’s more than plenty left over.”

Egan stood and stretched, rubbing his stomach. “Why do all you gals always want to be vegetarians? I don’t get it.”

Her lips went thin. “We’re not trying to go vegetarian.”

She stopped. Why should she explain to everyone how meat was pricey and she needed to cut back on expenses? She made sure her growing children consumed plenty of protein; no one in her house was starving or being deprived. There was no reason to share her financial problems with anyone. In any case, eating more fruit and vegetables was healthy.

“I’d never go vegetarian.” Gemma smiled up at Egan as she spoke, twisting the ends of her hair, and he gave her an approving nod in return.

Meredith stacked plates and marched off to the kitchen. The turkey sat like a lump in her stomach, weighted down by mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. She parked herself at the sink and sunk her arms up to their elbows in dishwater. The clatter of dishes meant she was saved from having to talk to anyone. She scrubbed, rinsed, and stacked, taking her rage out on the cranberry and gravy stained plates piled high around her.

Honey was at her shoulder, her voice low. “Here’s a secret. Mushrooms. Chopped fine. In the stuffing.”

She swung around, thinking of the moist delectable stuffing. “What?”

Honey gave a broad smile. “Surprised you, huh? No one ever guesses. It adds a nutty flavor and a little texture. Plus, there’s good protein in mushrooms. Chop ‘em fine, add them to just about anything and no one knows. Just a thought if you’re cutting back on meat with those growing kids of yours.”

Meredith wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t like mushrooms.”

“You never knew what you were eating though, did you? They’re easy to sneak in without anyone knowing the difference.”

Honey settled in next to her, drying the dishes and then bustling around to tuck them away in cupboards. Without any warning, the woman launched into what happened in Twin Lakes. “I read somewhere it isn’t unusual to have deaths go in threes. I just can’t get it out of my mind, a person dying right there in a confessional as though he were struck down for his sins. And then a priest too.”

“And Brian,” Meredith added in a low voice.

“Or…” Honey drew out the word and then fell silent.

Meredith withdrew her hands from the dishwater and yanked out the sink stopper. “Or what?”

“Hard to know whether your husband was the first, or Jacob was the first in a run of three,” Honey mused. “There’s either one more or we’re done, depending on how you count. Course, this is all speculation and superstition. Doesn’t mean another death is on the horizon.”

“I’m not superstitious,” she responded, although this wasn’t entirely true. Hadn’t she felt haunted by Brian?

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that lazy Jacob Burns got himself murdered,” Honey prattled on, scrubbing at her stove top. “Letting his wife be the breadwinner with an important job, growing his hair over his ears and down his neck, at his age. He was asking for something bad to happen.”

Sometimes it was difficult to know when Honey was serious or just provoking a reaction. Meredith grabbed a dishtowel and began drying the silverware. “You don’t murder someone for being laid off.”

Honey’s face was hidden as she hunched over the stove, still scrubbing. “There’s lots of reasons for killing someone. You may well have considered something similar yourself,” she said, making Meredith glance around to make sure they were alone. “We all have those thoughts, but thank goodness most times, they go away. Some people get those thoughts and can’t get them out of their mind; so, they do it.”

From the first time she’d met her, it seemed Honey could see inside her mind. Brian debased her, abused her and cheated on her. In the months leading up to his murder, fantasies about killing him filled her mind. After his murder, she worried, somehow, she killed him while under the influence of sleeping pills. In the months since, she convinced herself she never would have actually killed him. But who could say for certain what was down the other fork in the road?

“Murder’s a pretty big step to take, regardless.”

Honey shrugged. “You never know what’s in someone else’s mind.” She spoke lightly, and assessed her now spotless stove, wiping an invisible speck off the top.

Once more, she wondered if her friend had anything to do with Brian’s murder. Had Honey persuaded someone else to kill Brian to protect her granddaughter? Meredith glanced behind her to where Honey was gathering more items from the dining table and whispering something to Gemma.

Gemma would have known if Brian carried a gun in his car. She could have told Honey about his whereabouts, and Honey could have shared this information with someone unstable enough to commit murder.

What if, what if, what if, she thought. In the end, someone else pulled the trigger. He was in prison. Wasn’t this enough?

As though conjured by these thoughts, Gemma lugged in the final dishes and sidled up next to her at the sink. A scent of flowers and ginger filled the kitchen. “This is just as difficult for me, you know,” the girl said with a pout. “Don’t act like it’s all on you.”

Meredith gritted her teeth in frustration. Would this Thanksgiving never be over? “Don’t talk to me.”

“Gram said having you all over was the neighborly thing to do, since you don’t have a family.” Gemma said the words lightly but the words hit home as intended. “I understand you never had a father at all.”

She whirled to face her. It hadn’t occurred to her Brian would have told this girl the personal details of her life. The alcoholic mother and absent father, her nomadic existence, and how grateful she was when Brian gave her the first stability she’d ever known. It was galling to have Gemma view her with pity. A smirk crept into the girl’s face as Meredith visibly fought to control her emotions. If her friend was manipulative, this granddaughter of hers was cunning.

Honey stopped behind them, holding a turkey baster and handful of silverware. “Gemma was so grateful you sent her money, to pay Brian’s debt on the house. Weren’t you, dear?”

The girl paused and to Meredith’s surprise, obediently replied, “Yes, Gram.”

“It’s not so easy to find a buyer way out here. Especially for a house so run-down. Meredith has done wonders. We really like having you here. Don’t we, dear?”

The girl sounded chastened. “Yes, Gram.” She skulked off to the living room to join the others.

“She has some growing up to do.” Honey sighed. “Teen age years are such a worry.”

Meredith darted a look at Honey, then turned back to the sink to hide her expression. Teen age. “How old is she?”

“Nineteen, last week, and thinks she knows everything.”

She swallowed thickly. “She was barely seventeen then? When Brian started up with her?”

Honey shook her head in disgust. “Men preying on underage girls. He wouldn’t have stopped, you know.”

She’d known the girl was young…but how could Brian do such a thing. He’d been thirty-two then, nearly twice his teen age girlfriend’s age. Just when Meredith believed she was on the road to recovery from that part of her life, the life she had with Brian and then his murder, something arose to drag her straight back into the old murky pit.

She toweled off the final dishes and dried her hands. Her stomach churned and rolled. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Honey. It’s time for us to go.”

****

They finally got out the door, but not until Honey wrapped up a dessert tray to go, along with a large foil package full of turkey and stuffing. Jamie carried the foil container to Curtis’ truck, nose tucked close to the packet, her expression one of supreme contentment. The topic of baby goats wasn’t broached, at least not in her hearing, and Jamie seemed to have forgotten all about them.

The tension in Meredith’s body didn’t ease until Curtis pulled up in her own driveway and she’d unloaded her daughter and Atticus from his truck. It felt good to be back at home, this house she’d hated in the beginning. The run-down place became a home at some point in the past eight or nine months. Despite the peeling kitchen linoleum, the lime green toilet, the leaking roof. Even the landscape, once viewed as empty, was in continual flux with the seasons and movement of wildlife.

She stood at the driver’s side of the truck, not yet ready to say goodbye. They’d hardly had a chance to speak to each other at the Thanksgiving dinner. He helped her on and off with her coat, and they sat platonically next to each other at Honey’s table. After the night before, she could hardly stand not touching him. She wanted nothing more than to lead him into her house to her bedroom, but there were her children to consider.

“Thank you. I couldn’t have survived today without you.”

Curtis made a sound of frustration. “Honey is a stubborn woman,” he said. “You handled the situation as good as anyone could have.”

Jamie and Atticus disappeared through the front door of the house. This is the best moment of the day. This moment alone with Curtis and with my kids safe at home. Don’t get greedy for more.

She couldn’t help herself. “Stay for a bit? We can eat Honey’s pumpkin pie.”

Curtis’s answering smile warmed her to the core and she felt ridiculously happy.

****

Curtis lingered after pie, waiting while she tucked Jamie and Atticus into bed. Her daughter popped up twice, first wanting a glass of water and then complained she wasn’t sleepy. When she was finally settled and all was quiet, Meredith set their cups on the kitchen table with a sigh.

He wasted no time in drawing her into his arms for a long moment. The aggravations of Honey and Gemma slipped away, her fears about bills disappeared, and the specter of death pursuing her ceased to exist. There was only Curtis and his warmth, the tugging of his fingers to lift her sweater and his lips covering hers.

“Mommy?” Jamie stood in the kitchen doorway.

They broke away from each other. Meredith stumbled backward against the table and an excuse bubbled to her lips, but no words emerged. Heat rose to her face. She needed to talk to her daughter about Curtis and his role in their lives. What if starting something new was too soon after Brian’s death? The girl had adored her father.

“It’s snowing in my bedroom.”

Meredith noticed for the first time Jamie’s hair was wet and she shivered. “What?”

Curtis headed down the hallway with Meredith a half step behind. From the doorway to her daughter’s room, they stared as flakes drifted down through a gaping hole where the roof opened up. A soggy wood shingle swung loosely above the torn ceiling that surrendered to expose the darkening sky.

The good part of my life is going to have to wait a bit longer. My house is tumbling down.