Aren't we an oddball bunch? Matt thought, grinning. The weirdness started with Austin, who'd insisted that Matt sit at the head of the table, "Because if you think I'm gonna jog from this end to that every time I get a yen to kiss my best girl, you've got another think comin'." The twins sat to Matt's right and left. Harriet, Bud, and Flora lined up on Warner's side of the table, Mercy and Austin on Steve's. Across from Matt at the far end of the table sat Honor, wearing a fuzzy, elbow-length sweater that not only matched the blue flecks in her enormous green eyes, but accented her curvy figure, too.
He could barely see the satiny white flowers etched into the fabric of the tablecloth, thanks to bowls and baskets and platters, all filled to overflowing. The blend of scents hung like an invisible cloud above them, and the steam from pots and pans hazed the windows, taking him back to those rib-sticking Grandma cooked-and-baked dinners of his childhood. Steve had drawn a plate-sized heart in the fog, and Warner fingered M.S. + A.F. inside it, and Matt wondered if the happy couple would take their eyes off one another long enough to notice.
Everyone in this sunny dining room had a lot to be thankful for, from Flora, whose cancer had been in remission for more than two years, to Mercy and Austin, who'd found each other again after misunderstandings and stubbornness kept them apart for months. Harriet had cleared eight boxes of God-knows-what from her basement, and the twins earned twenty bucks apiece for helping her accomplish the feat. Matt had their good health, a mortgage-free house, and a dependable car to be grateful for, and God willing, a shot at winning a coveted award for his article on the Chesapeake Bay. And then there was Honor, all pink-cheeked and glowing despite the rumor shadow that followed her everywhere. Matt had no idea if she could find something to give thanks for today, but she looked happy. And after everything Brady Shaw's report had subjected her to, that was something, right?
"The table looks wonderful," Flora said. "All these beautiful dishes!"
"Pass the beautiful breadbasket, please. And while you're at it, the beautiful butter dish, too."
"Bud," his wife said, "you're incorrigible." And then she kissed his cheek.
"You know, I thought Austin, there, was crazy, not taking his proper place at the head of the table, but if this is why he's breaking tradition?" He returned the kiss. "I'm more and more inclined to agree with him."
Austin kissed Mercy, just because he could, and Warner whimpered. "It's a good thing my stomach is empty."
"Why's that?" Harriet wanted to know.
"Because all this mush might just make me throw up."
"Not suitable table talk, son," Matt said, forefinger wagging like a metronome.
Warner responded with a quiet sigh, and Matt groaned inwardly, but not for the same reason as his son. Honor might as well have been a mile away. Not that he was in any position, literally or figuratively, to kiss her, but he sure as heck wanted to.
He might have given the admission a moment's thought, if Steve hadn't piped up with, "If somebody doesn't say the blessing, the potatoes will taste like cardboard and the gravy will congeal."
"Congeal," his twin echoed, snickering. "Are you fer real? Mrs. Wiley didn't really mean that you have to use every spelling word in a sentence."
"Your breath is getting ready to congeal," he shot back.
"Your face has already congealed."
Steve crossed both arms over his chest, and for a moment there, all gathered thought he'd been bested. Until he smirked. "Yeah, well, your brain must have congealed because everybody knows that's just plain dumb."
The adults laughed, enjoying the banter, but it made Matt nervous. Not so much because he'd refereed hundreds of similar verbal sparring matches over the years as something Honor had said on the phone, about not having much patience for squabbling kids.
"Li'l Stevie is right," Harriet said. "Who'll do the honors?" For the first time since they'd gathered around the table, the room fell silent. Every head turned, every eye was on Matt. He blinked. And swallowed. "Why are you all lookin' at me?"
" 'Cause the guy in that chair says the blessing," Austin pointed out.
"And slices the turkey," said Mercy.
The resolute expressions aimed his way told Matt that despite what he did for a living, he would never come up with the words that would help him weasel out of the prayer. "Well, don't just sit there like a bunch of zoo monkeys," he said, grinning, "fold your eyes and close your hands."
"Dad!" the boys blurted, and when the laughter died down, Matt cleared his throat. "Dear Lord," he began, and like dominoes toppling, the sound of heads bowing and hands clasping rippled down the table like a gentle wave, "we thank you for the generosity of our hostess, who opened her home to this motley crew."
"Motley," Warner whispered, giggling.
"Sh-h," Steve hissed past his own snicker.
Matt raised his voice, just enough to silence them, and grinning, continued. "We ask Your blessing, Father, on the veritable feast Mercy has prepared, and on Mercy, who for reasons known only to You has consented to marry a man who's more brother than friend. Thank you for Flora's healing, and for the good health You've bestowed on everyone at this table. Watch over the brave men and women who fight for our freedom, and their families, who wait and worry here at home. Go with every first responder, Father, as they walk into unknown dangers to keep us safe. Comfort and provide for those rendered homeless by any one of a hundred calamities. We ask these things in Your most holy name, Amen."
He barely heard the enthusiastic Amens that echoed his own, because when Matt looked up, it rocked him to see a trembly smile playing at the corners of Honor's mouth. Still more surprising were the tears shimmering in her eyes.
"That was beautiful," she whispered, and the words floated to him like a welcomed summer breeze. People liked to say that God works in mysterious ways, and Matt had never agreed more. If Austin had sat him beside Honor, she'd be all tangled up in a hug right about now, trying to decide whether to participate in the kiss . . . or punch him on the jaw.
It took a few seconds to realize that all eyes were on him again, this time waiting for him to carve the turkey. Standing, Matt picked up the big-handled blade and executed a few moves learned while on the fencing team in college. It tickled the men and boys and terrified the women.
"Just slice the bird, y'big show-off," Harriet said with a cluck of her tongue.
"Yeah, Dad," Warner agreed, "before we all faint from starvation."
Steve hid behind one hand. "He's right, Dad."
"I read someplace that it takes weeks to starve," Flora put in.
"Speaking of reading," Bud said, and launched into his annual "what really happened at the first Thanksgiving" spiel.
When someone suggested they take turns going around the table, naming one thing they were thankful for, Matt thanked God that Honor's sweet potato casserole distracted them because he couldn't think of one thing to add to his prayer . . . except to admit how grateful he was that God had put Honor into his life.
Halfway through dessert, Austin's cell phone buzzed, and he stepped into the foyer to take the call. His former jovial expression gave way to one of high alert as he said, "There was a multi-car pileup on the Bay Bridge." He grabbed his prepacked duffle and, shouldering it, kissed Mercy good-bye. "I'll call as soon as I can."
A chorus of "Praying!" and "Be carefuls" followed him to the door, and when he closed it behind him, Mercy went into the kitchen.
He'd been in Austin's shoes, plenty of times. Matt started to follow her, hoping to smooth things over and spare his pal the "your job is too dangerous you have to quit before I go insane" nonsense he'd faced so many times with Faith. But Honor stopped him with nothing more than a brow quirk. "I'll go," she said as the chatter rose up again.
It was a simple thing, really: she'd sent a silent message, and he'd received it. Happened to couples all the time, right? Not so simple after all, when he considered that in the eight years he and Faith had been together—and they'd been about as close as two people could get—nothing even remotely like it had ever happened between them.