Chapter 18
Corban was the first guest to arrive on Thanksgiving Day. He fidgeted nervously, glad he’d brought with him two bottles of sparkling cider and another African violet.
“Dear boy,” Leota said, taking the flowering plant in its small blue pot and smiling in such a way that his nervous tension eased slightly. “Annie’s in the kitchen. Why don’t you put those bottles in the refrigerator to chill? After that, would you please move Barnaby into my bedroom? I don’t want him having a relapse today.”
“Hi!” Annie said brightly, grinning at him as she put the foil back on the turkey she was checking. “We’re getting there. I hope you’re hungry. We have a twenty-pounder.”
“I’ll do my part when the time comes.”
“Good. You can mash the potatoes. I’m hoping Uncle George will carve the turkey. Grandma said she’d do the gravy. We’ve got green peas and mushrooms, cranberry sauce, black olives. Arba’s bringing candied yams and Aunt Jeanne is bringing pies—apple, mincemeat, and pumpkin.”
“What about stuffing?”
“Of course, there’s stuffing. It’s in the turkey. Grandma’s recipe. Plain and simple—seasoned bread, celery, onions, and the giblets all ground together. Took us a good part of this morning, but it’ll be worth it.”
The doorbell rang, and Corban saw a flicker of tension in Annie’s face. “Why don’t you be the greeter?” she said. “I don’t want Grandma to have to get up and down every few minutes. She should be presiding over festivities in the living room.”
Leota was already at the door. “George, Jeanne. Come in! Come in!”
“Mama.” The woman leaned down to kiss Leota’s cheek. “How are you?”
“Fine, just fine. Come in, come in.” She turned, her eyes shining. “Corban, this is my son, George, and his wife, Jeanne. And my grandchildren, Marshall and Mitzi. This is Corban, a good friend of mine.” The children were staring at Barnaby, who was staring back, beak open and ready for attack.
Jeanne was the only one who seemed openly friendly. She smiled and greeted him warmly, while her husband stood silent and assessing. What did the guy think he was? A felon on parole? “I’d better get Barnaby out of here.” The children trooped after him, asking questions about the bird that Corban couldn’t answer. “You’ll have to ask Annie. All I know is he’s crazy and he bites.” When he returned to the living room, he saw Jeanne was still holding the box she had brought in. “Let me take that for you,” Corban said.
“Oh, I’ll take it. You men sit and get to know one another.” With that, Jeanne headed for the kitchen, the two children in her wake.
Corban turned to face the somber-faced George.
“My mother’s told me you’ve been a big help to her.”
“It’s been my pleasure.”
“When it hasn’t been a royal pain in your backside,” Leota said, settling back into her recliner. The three of them spent the next fifteen minutes in small talk—highly pained small talk. Corban had never felt so uncomfortable. Leota made a valiant attempt to get a conversation going with her son, but good old George wasn’t cooperating.
“How is business going these days?”
“Fine.”
“Still expanding?”
“Trying to.”
“I suppose Marshall is still in soccer.”
“You think so?”
“Jeanne handles the children’s schedules.”
“Don’t you attend his games?”
“When I can.” George shifted, glanced at Corban, then back at Leota. “Do you mind if I turn on the television, Mother? There’s a good football game starting.”
“If that’s what you want to do.”
How, Corban wondered, can the man miss the look of sadness in his mother’s eyes? Maybe his presence was the cause of George Reinhardt’s reticence? Maybe if he were out of the way, George would feel more free to talk.
“I’m going to go see if I can help Annie in the kitchen, Leota.” At least the women were talking.
“It’s so much brighter in here,” Jeanne was saying when he joined her and Annie. “And the flowers you painted are wonderful, Annie. I had no idea you were so talented!”
Annie blushed. “Grandma said to do whatever I liked, and I’ve been having the best time, Aunt Jeanne. She’ll sit in here, and we’ll visit while I paint. She says she enjoys watching me.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Jeanne said. “I’d like to watch. I’d love it if you’d do some of this in my house. I’d even pay you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t ask you to pay me.”
“Nonsense. You’re a working artist, aren’t you? You have to eat.” She glanced out the window at the children playing. “You’ve been working in the garden, too, I see. Everything was so overgrown the last time I was here.”
“Corban’s been a big help.” Annie grinned at him. “And Susan and Sam and some of the neighbor children. We’ve had plenty of helping hands.”
“It used to be so beautiful.” Jeanne sighed. “The first time I came here, the lilacs were in bloom. It smelled like heaven standing out there. I’m glad you’re bringing it back.”
The doorbell rang again. Corban turned in the doorway, but George was already on his feet. Seeing who had arrived, Corban steeled himself for a long, miserable day. The Ice Queen, consort in tow. Corban met Eleanor Gaines’s cool look with a slight nod while her husband, Fred, greeted Leota with a kiss and a compliment. The regal Eleanor barely said hello to her mother before she sailed toward the kitchen. He stepped back out of her way so she wouldn’t ram him.
“Is everything going all right in here, Anne-Lynn? The turkey smells done.” She nodded toward her sister-in-law. “Jeanne. Nice to see you.”
Not much warmth between the sisters-in law, Corban thought, playing a fly on the wall.
“Everything’s fine, Mother. I just checked the turkey a few minutes ago,” Annie said, coming to her mother, who turned her face so Annie could kiss her cheek. Annie drew back slightly, eyes flickering. “I’m glad you were able to make it, Mom.”
“I don’t see any yams. Didn’t you make yams?”
“Arba is bringing them.”
“Who’s Arba?”
“Grandma’s next-door neighbor. She and the children will be over in a little while.”
Clearly, that was an announcement that didn’t please Annie’s mother.
“I think I’d better check on my children.” Jeanne headed for the back door. Corban was trapped between the living room and the kitchen.
“I thought this was to be a family gathering.”
Annie blushed, her eyes flickering to him. He decided to rescue himself.
“Leota took pity on a poor, starving college student,” he said ruefully.
“Oh, of course, I didn’t mean you,” Eleanor said.
Liar. He looked her straight in the eye. “That’s okay, Mrs. Gaines. I understand what you meant.”
Annie gave him a pained look.
Eleanor turned her back on him. “Anne-Lynn, I really think you should take another look at that turkey. . . .”
Corban thought about excusing himself and going into the bathroom. Maybe he could squeeze through the window and escape.
Somehow, Annie managed to get her mother back into the living room and sitting down. The television was blaring, and those talking had to raise their voices. Adding to the confusion, Arba arrived, bearing gifts of candied yams and a sweet-potato pie. “The children are coming through the back gate, Leota. I think they already met your grandchildren over the fence.”
“The back gate?” Eleanor’s perfectly shaped eyebrows arched. “For heaven’s sake, George, turn the television down.” When he did, Eleanor looked at her mother. “What gate?”
“The one that’s been there for years,” Leota said. “Sam fixed the hinges a couple of weekends ago when he came over to see Annie.”
“Sam?” Eleanor’s lips tightened.
“Sam Carter. He’s a very nice young man,” Leota said.
“He’s an ex-con, Mother.” She rose, heading for the kitchen again.
“Oh, dear,” Leota said softly. “Now, I’ve done it.”
Corban could hear Eleanor’s voice from the kitchen, not that she was speaking loudly. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. “I didn’t know you were seeing Sam Carter,” Eleanor was saying, “though I don’t know why I should be surprised by anything you do these days.”
“I’m not seeing him in the way you mean, Mother.” Annie’s tone was calm and patient. “He’s just a friend.”
“Oh, of course. That’s the vernacular for sordid relationships these days, isn’t it?”
Fred rose, his face pale and tight. “Excuse me.” He headed for the kitchen. He spoke softly, but the regal Eleanor was having none of it.
“This is between me and my daughter, Fred. Please stay out of it.”
“Mother, please . . .”
“I knew this day would be a fiasco from the start. I just knew it! Didn’t I tell you?”
“Shut up, Nora.”
“What did you say to me?”
“You heard me, and so did everyone in the house. If the day turns into a disaster, it’ll be your fault. Now, come back and sit down!”
Corban looked at Leota and saw tears welling in her eyes. In a moment they would be spilling down her cheeks. He glanced at Arba and saw mixed pity and anger. George’s jaw was set, his eyes glued to the television set. Jeanne sat there, forcing a smile. The voices in the kitchen dropped lower, but they were just as angry, just as intense, just as intrusive. Corban rose. “I think I’ll go outside and have a breath of fresh air.” They wouldn’t miss him if he snuck away.
“Don’t even think about it,” Leota said, keen-eyed.
“What?”
“You know exactly what, Corban Solsek. You’re staying.”
George looked between them, frowning. When Corban looked back at him, a muscle jerked in George’s jawline and he looked at the television again. “Let him leave if he wants to, Mother.”
That was all it took to make up Corban’s mind. “I’m not going far, Leota. Only as far as the front porch.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He didn’t come back inside until dinner was announced. The turkey was cooked to perfection, not that Eleanor Gaines could admit it. She sat at the dining room table, back rigid, face pale, lips tight, eyes down while Jeanne, Arba, Annie, and Leota talked.
“Let’s have the blessing, shall we?” Leota said, having been seated in the place of honor at the head of the table. Annie’s eyes were shining again, and she held out her hands—one to her grandmother, one to her mother. Everyone joined hands, some less eagerly than others. Corban felt uncomfortable and embarrassed, but that didn’t stop Arba from grasping his hand and giving him an encouraging smile.
“This is a day of Your making, Lord, for my family is under one roof again after so many years. Thank You, Jesus.” Leota’s voice was husky. She hesitated, then spoke again. “Open our minds, Father, and open our hearts as well. Come, join us at the table. In the name of Your precious Son, Jesus, we pray. Amen.”
Platters of food were passed.
“There are no chestnuts in the stuffing.” Eleanor glanced at Annie after a taste. “Did you put oysters in it?”
“Not this time.”
“This is the best stuffing I’ve ever tasted,” Jeanne said with enthusiasm. “Everything is wonderful, Annie.”
Eleanor glanced at Jeanne, her mouth tight, and went back to eating in silence. The tension kept everyone cautious.
The children were laughing in the kitchen. “What’re they doing in there?” Eleanor was clearly annoyed.
“Having fun,” Fred said tersely.
Corban thought about his own family. He could remember the tension on Thanksgiving Day, his mother slaving away in the kitchen while his father worked in the den. Thanksgiving had been nothing more than a day when vendors and customers didn’t call the office. It gave his father a day of rest from the telephone, but not from his obsession. Even when he had made it big, he couldn’t rest in his success. He was driven by the memory of a childhood of deprivation, driven to overcome the stigma of having grown up on the “wrong side of the tracks,” driven by his own feelings of inadequacy.
Corban’s parents had lived in a big house in an exclusive neighborhood with a guard at the gates, but that hadn’t changed his father. The man had always been driven before a strong wind. Then one day he was gone, blown away by a massive heart attack. He died at his desk. His mother grieved for a few years, then remarried. She was making new traditions now. Thanksgiving in Paris. Christmas in Geneva.
Someone else always cooked.
A cold thought suddenly went through his mind, unbidden, making his chest tighten. Am I like my father? Driven to prove myself? For what? And for whom? What am I doing? Where am I going?
“Good dinner, Annie,” George said, rising. He left his plate on the table and didn’t bother pushing in his chair.
“George,” Jeanne said, clearly annoyed.
“I’m just going to check the score.” He turned the television on and made himself comfortable on the sofa.
“Where’s a blackout when you need one?” Jeanne’s mouth was tight.
“We had blackouts all the time back during the war years,” Leota said. “The siren would go off and we’d pull down all the shades and turn out the lights. Frightened the children half to death sometimes. Melba was our block captain. She lived two doors down. She’d go out and walk up and down the street and make sure there were no lights on. Your grandmother—”
“No one ever bombed us,” Eleanor said impatiently.
“Not if you don’t count Pearl Harbor, dear.”
Eleanor’s face reddened. “Pearl Harbor is an ocean away, Mother. And the war’s been over for decades.”
Corban wanted to lean over the table and slap her. Where did she get off talking to Leota in that nasty tone? Gritting his teeth, he reminded himself he wasn’t part of this family, and it wasn’t his business.
Annie glanced at her grandmother. “I’d like to hear about the war years.”
“Why?” Eleanor said sharply. “We were dirt-poor. Mother was never home. And Grandma and Grandpa Reinhardt were always bickering.”
“Usually over you. And money. Or rather the lack of it. We were a strain on their budget, in case it never occurred to you. Three extra mouths to feed. Grandma Helene was not pleased to be left with the responsibility of two children, and she made no secret of it to either of us.”
“Mother!” Annie’s face was white.
“Let it go,” Leota said, putting a hand over Annie’s. Leota didn’t say much about anything after that. She sat quietly, picking at her Thanksgiving dinner while Annie and Jeanne tried to move the conversation through safer channels. No matter where they went, though, they found themselves in a minefield of Eleanor’s making. As soon as Eleanor finished eating, she began stacking dishes. The clattering of porcelain and silverware seemed to announce the meal was over, whether they were finished or not. “I’ll clean up,” Eleanor said and pushed her chair back.
Annie’s eyes welled with tears.
“I’ll help you,” Arba said, starting to rise.
“No, thank you. I’ll take care of it myself.”
Arba hovered halfway out of her seat until Leota smiled at her. “Stay put, dear. It’s nothing personal. Eleanor just likes to do things her way.”
Fred looked down the table. “I’m sorry, Leota. Annie . . .”
“It’s not your fault, Fred,” Annie said quietly and bowed her head.
As soon as the football game was over, George stood and announced it was time for his family to leave. Although Mitzi and Marshall protested, one look from their father silenced them. Eleanor, the grand martyr, had just come from the kitchen.
“What about dessert, George?” Jeanne’s eyes flashed anger. “We haven’t served the pies yet.”
“Fine. We’ll have pie and then leave.”
“We’d better be going, too, Fred.” Eleanor didn’t even bother to take a seat. “I’m exhausted.”
An embarrassed silence fell. Arba rose from the stuffed chair near the corridor. “Why don’t you sit and rest a bit, Mrs. Gaines? Take the weight off your feet.”
Annie stood ready to serve. “What will you have? Apple, mincemeat, pumpkin, or sweet potato?”
“Sweet potato!” Arba’s children said in unison.
“Apple! Pumpkin!” Mitzi and Marshall joined in exuberantly.
Eleanor grimaced. “Must they shout like that?”
“How about a little slice of each?” Leota said.
“There you go, girl.” Arba grinned.
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “None for me, Anne-Lynn. I’m too tired to be hungry. When everyone’s done, I’ll wash the plates.”
“Apple,” George said, stone-faced. Maybe his team wasn’t winning.
“Corban, what will you have?” Annie said.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll wait until later.” With luck, the Ice Queen would leave and his appetite would return. Nothing like a contentious woman to sour a man’s stomach.
When Annie went into the kitchen to serve the pies, she saw the roasting pan sitting on the nook table. It was scrubbed so clean it looked sandblasted. Annie opened the refrigerator for a look. What had her mother done with the turkey and leftovers? Heart sinking, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink. Sure enough, her mother had stuffed the meaty carcass into the garbage can, along with the candied yams, mashed potatoes, and peas. So much for turkey sandwiches, turkey casseroles, and turkey soup.
Arba, who had come in to help cut and serve the pies, stood behind her. Annie swallowed hard and quietly closed the cabinet door, fighting the hurt and humiliation that wanted to overwhelm her. Her eyes burned hot with tears. “I’m so sorry, Arba.” How could her mother scrape everything into the trash like that?
“What’re you sorry about, girl? This isn’t your doing.” She stood, hands on her hips, and looked around. “Well, at least the kitchen’s clean.”
Annie gave a soft, broken laugh. “Oh . . .” She covered her face. How would Grandma feel when she found out?
Arba put her arm around her. “Honey, that was the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve had since my mama went home to the Lord. Don’t let anyone take your joy away, not even your mother!”
Still trembling slightly, Annie nodded. “Thanks, Arba.”
“I’ll make the coffee,” Arba said.
Annie cut the pies in silence. When all the plates had the slices requested, she carried them into the living room two by two and delivered them. She wouldn’t look her mother in the face. The hurt had given way to anger. She prayed her mother would keep silent until she left.
“Coffee would be nice,” her mother said.
“Arba is making it.”
“I’ll help her.” She started to rise from the sofa.
“No, you will not. You’ve done enough already, Mother.”
“You needn’t be so rude, Anne-Lynn. All I did was wash the dishes.”
Annie looked at her then. She lowered her voice. “That’s not all you did, Mother. You did a lot more than that.”
Her mother blushed, her gaze skittering away. Fred looked up at Annie, his expression troubled and questioning. “Your pie.” She forced a smile and handed him a plate with sweet-potato pie. Her mother kept her head down.
As Annie left the room, she imagined what was going on in her mother’s mind. She was probably mulling over the words, chewing on them, ruminating until she could find some way to spit them back in her own defense. Annie refused to feel guilty this time. Whatever her mother decided to say, she was not going to allow the words to pierce her heart and spoil this day.
Corban came into the kitchen. “I’m on my way out. Thanks for dinner, Annie. It was great.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay longer?” She knew her grandmother enjoyed sparring with him, and she had the feeling the others would soon be on their way.
“I have to study.”
She looked at him. “I know this isn’t the time, Corban, but I’d like to know what’s troubling you.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” His eyes were dark with anger.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Friends help one another.”
He smiled slightly. “So I might give you a call sometime.”
“I’ll be here all weekend. You know you’re always welcome.”
He gave a nod and left without another word.
Arba served coffee while Annie gathered empty dessert plates. She could feel her mother’s gaze following her, willing her to look in her direction. She went back into the kitchen, stacking the dishes carefully in the sink. Time enough to wash them later after everyone left.
“We’d better be on our way,” Arba said, gathering her children. She leaned down and kissed Leota’s cheek, whispering something in her ear.
Leota smiled and patted Arba’s cheek tenderly. “You’re a sweet girl,” she said, then sat obviously pleased as she received kisses from Tunisha and Kenya and a handshake from Nile. “I’ll see you at three on Monday,” Leota said.
George took Arba’s departure as a sign for his own. He went for the coats Annie had hung in the guest room. Marshall and Mitzi thanked Grandma Leota for the nice day, though they were too shy to kiss her good-bye. Leota made an effort to rise from her chair when George came back into the room.
“Don’t get up, Mother. We’ll show ourselves out. Thank you for the fine day.” He grazed her cheek with a quick kiss and put his hand at Jeanne’s elbow, nodding toward the door.
“You don’t mind if I say good-bye to your mother, do you?” Jeanne stepped around him and leaned down, smiling. “This is the best Thanksgiving we’ve had in years, Mama. I hope we do it again.”
Annie’s eyes smarted with tears as she heard her grandmother’s mumbled reply. “I’ve prayed for years to have the family together again.”
“Me too,” Jeanne said in a husky voice. When she straightened, her eyes were moist. She came around Leota’s chair to Annie and hugged her tightly, whispering in her ear. “Good job, honey. And don’t give up the ship.” She patted her cheek and then joined George as their family went out the front door.
Annie looked at her mother then. She met her gaze and remained on her feet, waiting.
“I guess it’s time we left, too.” Her mother stood, chin high. “Fred?”
He stood and came to Annie, hugging her tightly. “I don’t know what your mother did to hurt you, Annie,” he whispered, “but I’m sorry about it.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“I know.” He kissed her cheek.
Her mother had gone for the coats. She came back into the room and held Fred’s out to him. He shrugged into it and took hers, opening it and holding it for her so she could slip her arms into the sleeves and draw it on. Annie stood next to Grandma Leota’s chair, her arm resting on top of it. Her mother gave her a hard-eyed look of displeasure. Then she looked at Grandma Leota. “Thank you for the nice day, Mother,” she said coolly. “Anne-Lynn, I’ll call and speak with you later.”
“Give me a day or two, please.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed, and then she went out the door, Fred following at a slower pace.
“What was that all about?” Grandma Leota said when the front door was closed and they were alone.
“Nothing for you to worry about, Grandma.” She hoped her mother would give her time enough to pray and let go of the anger and hurt. If she didn’t, they would both regret it.
Her grandmother sighed. “The house is so quiet now. I’m glad you’re still here.”
Annie knelt down beside the chair. “We’re going to have the whole weekend together. Remember? I’m not leaving until Monday morning.”
“We can have leftovers for the next few days.”
“I’m afraid not, Grandma. They’re all gone.” She had quietly taken the garbage out back so that her grandmother wouldn’t see what her mother had done. “Except some mincemeat pie.”
Grandma Leota smiled and leaned closer. “Thank you, dear. Thank you for all you did today. It was as close to a perfect day as I’ve had in years.”
Annie almost wept. “We did get them all under one roof again, didn’t we, Grandma?” All except for Michael.
“Yes, we did. And no one killed any of the others.” Grandma Leota’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Though there were a few moments . . .”
Annie gave a soft, broken laugh. “I love you, Grandma.”
“I love you, Grandma,” Barnaby said from the front bedroom. “I love you, Grandma.”
“Oh, dear,” Grandma said in disgust. “That bird is at it again.”
Annie laughed as all the tension of preparing and surviving Thanksgiving burst like a dam. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“I love you, Grandma!” Barnaby was demanding attention. It was as though he were saying, “Hello in there. Don’t forget about me!”
“I’ll get him, Grandma,” Annie said. “As soon as his cage is draped, he’ll quiet down.”
Grandma Leota tipped her recliner back. “If not, just put the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the room. It shut him up the last time!”
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Nora said as they drove down the street. She expected Fred to say something to that, but he didn’t. He drove in silence, mouth set, eyes straight ahead. Annoyed, she turned on the radio. When she heard his sixties music, she punched the Seek button and let it sift through stations until it came to one with classical music. She stopped it there, hoping Beethoven or whoever it was would soothe her frayed nerves.
“What’d you do, Nora?”
Her heart gave a flip. “What do you mean, what did I do?”
“In the kitchen.”
“I washed dishes all by myself.”
“Arba offered to help.”
“I was hoping for a little time alone with my daughter.”
“Hogwash.” He looked at her then, one brief, hard look that made her feel suddenly vulnerable. Exposed.
Guilt assaulted her. Resenting it, she crossed her arms and looked out the window.
“Out with it, Nora. What did you do?”
“I threw away the leftovers.” Shame filled her, but only for an instant before her instincts for self-defense took over. “That’s all I did. No one likes to have leftovers for days after Thanksgiving.”
“That depends on who did the cooking!”
Her head snapped around as she glared at him. “Meaning what? Annie’s a better cook than I am?”
“You’ve fixed me many wonderful meals over the years, Nora, but until today, I didn’t know how moist and delicious turkey could be.” Then he looked at her again. “Admit it. You were jealous.”
“I was not.”
“No? What other excuse could there be for your rotten behavior?”
She could feel her cheeks filling with heat. When she looked at him again, she saw the hard glint in his eyes before he stared at the road again.
“I wonder if you’ll ever change, Nora.” He turned off at their exit. “If you don’t, you’re going to end up a bitter old woman.”
“Like my mother?”
He slowed the car and stopped at the light. “She’s lonely, maybe, though I expect Annie, Corban, Arba, and the children fill in the gaps you and George have left. But you know something, Nora? I didn’t see one hint of bitterness in your mother, not like I see in you. I find that amazing, considering the way she’s been treated by her own children.”
The light changed to green. Fred applied the gas calmly and turned onto a busy boulevard.
“I have reason to be bitter,” Nora said quietly, blinking back tears. “You just don’t understand. You don’t know what it was like.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
“She moved us in with Grandma Helene and Grandpa and went to work. She’d leave early in the morning and not come home until late afternoon. After a while, I felt as though I didn’t even have a mother!”
“What about Grandma Helene?”
She closed her eyes. “We were a burden to her. I don’t know how many times I heard her say she was too old to have the responsibility of two small children. And it was true. It wasn’t fair to her. She’d get terrible headaches and lie on the couch with a cold cloth on her forehead. And she’d say she was sure she was going to die. I lived in fear she would and it would be our fault.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“He was away all day at work. He’d read the newspaper and then write letters at the dining room table. He and Grandma would talk to one another in German. I learned to understand after a while and knew she was always complaining about my mother. Grandpa would listen to her for a while and then go out for a walk. Sometimes he would take George and me. He was shy, I guess. He never said much of anything.” The only thing Nora could remember him saying was, “Your mama is a good woman.” He would say that time and again. She’d never been able to understand how he could feel that way toward a woman who could dump her children and go off to live her own life as she pleased.
Fred took the garage remote and pressed it. She fell silent, feeling overwhelmed by sadness. As soon as he parked the car and turned off the ignition, he turned to her. “Keep talking.”
She took a shaky breath. “My grandmother loathed my mother. She would tell us how my mother went to dances and movies while she had to take care of us. She would tell us how my mother kept all her money for herself and never even pitched in to pay for the food we ate. I don’t remember Grandma Helene ever saying a nice thing about my mother when she was away working. And when Mother was home, Grandma Helene would criticize her to her face, and my mother would just stand and take it. Or go out in her garden. I used to hate her for that. I used to wish my mother would fight back and fight for us, and then when she did . . .”
Fred took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Go on.”
“I woke up one night and heard them screaming at one another. Grandma Helene in German, and Mother, hysterical and crying and raging. Then I heard Grandpa crying. And Grandma Helene, too. I hated them both for hurting Grandpa. He was such a gentle man, and I could hear him sobbing and speaking in this . . . this broken voice. I didn’t understand anything he said, but I knew how much they’d hurt him and I . . . I couldn’t forgive them for it.”
“What about your father?”
“It was worse when he came home. I was so afraid of him. Mother stayed home with us for a little while and then went right back to work again. It was as though we weren’t enough for her. My father would sit in his chair and drink.”
“Didn’t he have a job?”
“Oh, he worked. He had his own business for a while, but nothing ever lasted. I remember his coming home in a rage once after he’d been fired. George and I hid under our beds while he broke things in the living room. It was Grandpa who talked to us about it all later. He told us the war had changed my father. He said my father had been a master carpenter before he went away to fight for his country, but I only saw him finish two things: the apartment he built behind the garage for Grandma and Grandpa and the cases of beer he’d down day after day.”
She looked at Fred, wanting him to understand, to empathize. “Can you imagine how Grandma Helene must have felt, giving up her house to my mother? Grandma Helene seldom set foot in the house after that, not unless my father gave her a personal invitation. I hated Thanksgiving, Grandma sitting there and never saying a word to anyone. She’d eat in silence and keep her eyes on the plate, and my mother would pretend to be so happy.” She’d taken one bite of her mother’s dressing recipe today, and the memories came flooding back. She hadn’t meant to hurt Anne-Lynn’s feelings when she stuffed that turkey into the garbage. All she’d wanted to do was throw the past—and all the pain that went with it—away. She could still see Anne-Lynn’s face when she’d come out of the kitchen: white, pinched, hurt, angry.
“Didn’t your mother take care of your grandmother until she died?”
Nora nodded. She swallowed hard. “I’ve wondered about that over the years. I don’t know how they could stand to live together, feeling about one another the way they did. It must’ve been hell on earth.” She put her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I suppose Mother felt guilty for stealing my grandparents’ home. Taking care of Grandma would have been penance.”
“What were they like together when you went to visit them?”
“Visit?” She gave a brittle laugh. “Are you kidding? Why would I go back when I couldn’t wait to get out of that house and away from all of them? I married Bryan Taggart just to get out.” She gave another brittle laugh. “Not that he made my life any better. The only good thing that came out of that marriage was Michael.” She pressed her lips together and turned her face away so Fred wouldn’t see the tears of hurt welling. Had her son even bothered to call home today? She covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking.
Fred’s thumb caressed the back of her hand. “You’ve got to let it go, Nora. You can’t change the past. You’ve got to let it go and move on.”
“It’s not that easy. I’ve tried.”
Fred sighed heavily. “You still miss her, don’t you? Even after all this time. You withhold your love because you feel it’s been withheld from you. And you’ve never been able to kill it completely, have you, Nora? That’s why you haven’t been able to forgive her.”
She took her hand from his and rummaged in her purse for a Kleenex. He made it sound as though her daughter had been gone for years instead of months. “I could forgive Anne-Lynn if she came home where she belonged.”
He took the keys from the ignition. “I wasn’t talking about Annie, Nora. I meant your mother.” Opening his door, he got out and left her alone in the car.