SIX WEEKS EARLIER
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Nancy Richardson loaded yet another box of chafing dishes and serving platters into the trunk of her daughter’s Mustang. “There’s a couple of perfectly good restaurants decked out to the nines. I’m sure the owner…no, wait, aren’t you the owner? Why, Sydney? Why in the world are you insisting on serving Thanksgiving dinner at your place when Hush Money and the Ten-Ten are there at your disposal?”
Sydney took one last inventory before lowering the trunk door. “Because, Mom. Thanksgiving’s all about hearth and home, right? Besides, we spend every night at those restaurants. Being there on Thanksgiving takes away the holiday feel.” She gave her mother a hug. “People are coming tomorrow around one. I figure dinner at two.”
“I’ll be at your place no later than eleven. I’ll bring the pies, rolls, and my stuffing. Roland’s sending over the turkey and sides?”
“I told him to be as traditional as he could. He gave me that look.”
“The patented The Great Roland Delmardo doesn’t do traditional stare?”
“That’s the one.” She opened the driver’s-side door. “I’m off. Bookings are solid tonight. I told the staff they’re on their own.”
“They’re up to it. Besides, I’m meeting Horst for a burger at the Ten-Ten. I’ll swing through and make sure Hush Money’s running smooth.” She nodded toward the trunk. “You sure you can handle all this on your own?”
“The doorman will load it onto a cart for me. See you tomorrow?”
Nancy nodded. “I love you, baby girl. Remember, just set the serving pieces out. I’ll take care of filling them.”
Sydney waved as she drove away. She knew better than to challenge her mother’s subtle insult to her culinary abilities. Twenty minutes later she pulled in front of her condo and tooted her horn.
“So you drew the short straw?” she asked when Rick, the young man with the shy smile, trotted out to her car.
“Holidays are all about seniority. Luckily I’ve got two weeks on Pablo. He’ll be working tomorrow while I’m chin-deep in pumpkin pie and football.” He stepped back when Sydney opened her trunk. “Whoa! Looks like you’re the hostess for turkey day. All this stuff go up?”
“It does. There are some glass pieces in those boxes, so careful is the word.”
Rick ran back into the building to get a cart. Sydney hopped from one leg to the other while she waited. She looked up at the sky. Low and gray. The air was damp. It wouldn’t be long before Madison had its first snowfall of the season.
“I got this, Ms. Richardson,” the doorman said as he pushed the cart across the sidewalk. “Get back in your car. Warm yourself up. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Sydney thanked him and scooted back into the front seat and dialed the heater up to max. When Rick closed her trunk, she pulled into the condo’s garage and parked. She took the elevator up eight floors and wasn’t surprised to see Rick already standing by her front door.
“If you could load all this onto the kitchen counter, I can take it from there.”
Rick made short work of her request. Sydney thanked him, handing him a ten-dollar bill for his trouble. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“You, too, Ms. Richardson. Looks like it’s going to be some kind of fancy feast.”
“I have a lot to be thankful for this year.”
She allowed herself the luxury of sleeping in the next day and didn’t have to look out the window to know her weather prediction had come true. The morning light cast a comfortable, muted glow on her bedroom walls. She looked outside and saw a swirl of snowflakes dancing through frosty white air. From this high up she felt like she’d been transported to a snow globe all her own. Sydney snuggled deep into the covers and indulged in a few extra minutes of the magic feeling of being warm and safe while a storm raged outside. She hopped out of bed at 8:45. Her mother said she’d be there by 11:00, which, in Nancy Richardson time, meant 10:30. Sydney headed to the bathroom and was showered, dressed, and putting the final spritz of spray onto her jet-black hair by ten. She went into the living room, where floor-to-ceiling windows added to the sanctuary-in-the-snow feeling.
This is perfect, she thought. Let it snow, let it snow. My favorite people will be here, there’s plenty of food. Nothing to do but relax the day away.
As expected, there was a knock on her front door at 10:40. Sydney opened it to see her mother and a frazzled-looking young man.
“I’d have been here earlier, but this guy insisted on helping me.” Nancy Richardson stepped inside. “I told him I didn’t mind making a couple of trips, but he was pulling things out of my hands before I could stop him.”
“You must be Pablo,” Sydney said to the doorman. “Rick told me you’d be working today. I hope you still get time with your family.”
The thin young man nodded. He looked down at his overladen arms and Sydney pointed to the kitchen. He unburdened himself, and Nancy placed the two pies she carried next to what he stacked on the counter. Sydney walked him to the front door, stopping at an entryway table to pull another ten-dollar bill from a wooden box she kept there for just such purpose.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Pablo. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
Pablo nodded again, this time with a smile. Sydney closed the door and went to take her mother’s coat.
“It’s a blizzard out there. Luckily, I followed a salt truck all the way. Over the river, through the woods, and all that.”
“Look at you!” Sydney stepped back to take in her mother’s ensemble. Black velvet trousers, silk blouse the color of aged pewter, and a wide-sleeved shrug bursting with reds, blues, purples, and gold against a black background. “Pretty la-di-da, lady.”
Nancy couldn’t hide her smile as she twirled for a full inspection. “I think maybe rubbing elbows with all those folks at Hush Money every night is getting to me. When I had my own joint, dressy meant clean jeans. Now that I’m working with the swells, I figure I might as well amp things up.”
“You’re glowing today, that’s for sure. You look terrific, Mom.”
“You, too.” Nancy took in Sydney’s outfit of gold brocade slacks and black cashmere turtleneck. “Of course, with a shape like yours, you could wear a potato sack and still turn heads.” She stepped over to the dining room.
Sydney had spent the previous afternoon dressing the round table with a pumpkin-colored damask cloth. A muted green circle of burlap formed the foundation for a low-rise centerpiece of squash, pussy willows, and dried corn arranged around a woven reed cornucopia overflowing with apples and pears. Five places were set with off-white china and gleaming flatware.
“I was going to have candles, but I thought it would be too crowded.” Sydney watched her mother take in the tableau, well aware that at thirty-five she shouldn’t be so invested in her mother’s opinions.
Nancy looked at her with a sheen of tears in her eyes. “It’s perfect, Syd. Perfect and beautiful. Just like you.”
“You’re thinking about Dad, aren’t you?”
“This is a day for thanks. I miss him like crazy. Even after all these years. Still, I’m thankful I had him in my life as long as I did. Maybe I’ll never get used to him not being here to carve the turkey.”
How are you supposed to get used to it, Mom? You send your cop husband off to work and the next thing you know you’re in an emergency room. Some doctor telling you he never had the chance of recovering from the gunshot wounds.
“C’mon,” Sydney said. “Let’s see what you brought.”
They were halfway through arranging pies, cookies, and a coconut cake on various serving platters when the front doorbell rang. Sydney crossed the living room, clucking to her mother that she’d brought too much food as she opened the door.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Sabrina and Gail, two hostesses from Hush Money dripped snow as they called out their greetings. Behind them was Pablo, this time with a cart.
“Right back at you.” Sydney waved them all inside. “I assume you come bearing gifts.”
“Bounty from the mighty Roland Delmardo,” Sabrina sang out. “Whoa! Syd! Look at this place. It’s like you’re floating in the middle of heaven.”
“It looks like a magazine layout,” Gail added. “If this is what working a restaurant gets you, sign me up for life!”
A flush of embarrassment washed over Sydney as the two young women made their way around the space, oohing over this and aahing over that. She knew she shouldn’t be ashamed of having the money to afford to live as comfortably as she did. But it’s not really my money, is it? All I did was get myself born to a couple of rich people who’d rather pay to have me out of their lives than make the effort to raise me.
“So what did the chef send over?” Sydney hoped to bring the girls’ focus back to something other than her creature comforts.
“I have no idea,” Gail said. “But it smells like heaven.”
Pablo started unloading insulated boxes onto the already-crowded counter.
“He included a listing of all he prepared,” Sabrina added. “It must be in one of the boxes. He was in a hurry when we went by to pick this up. I don’t know what his plans are for the day, but I got the impression they’re pretty big.”
“Everything’s big to Roland,” Nancy commented. “The other day he got a paper cut and you’d have thought he sliced off his thumb. I’ve never heard such wailing. At least not since the last time something went amiss for Mr. Award-Winning Chef.”
Sydney started taking lids off cartons. “Looks like some kind of potato masterpiece here. This one’s got, what? Green beans and, is that kale? Whatever it is, it looks great.” She looked to Sabrina and Gale. “Can I get you girls something? Tea? Maybe some cocoa? We have enough cookies to go with a cup, that’s for sure.”
The girls thanked her, but begged off.
“I’ve got to get to my mom’s,” Gail said. “We’re driving up to Westfield. Dinner’s at my aunt’s. Whole family will be there. That’s like thirty of us when you include all the cousins.”
Sydney wondered what it must be like to be from such a large brood. It had always been just her, her mom, and her dad. “Sounds like fun.”
“Guaranteed!” Gail assured her.
“How about you, Sabrina? What are your plans?” Sydney asked.
“David and I are lying low,” Sabrina answered, referring to her boyfriend. “I told my folks I had to work. It’s wrong to lie, but if you had to spend a Thanksgiving in Whitefish Bay, with my mother insisting each and every second be orchestrated to reenact all the so-called family traditions, you’d do a lot worse than lie to get out of it. Besides, David doesn’t even own a suit…and my mother would fall over dead if he dared to show up at her table in anything less than full formal attire. This is our first holiday together. I don’t want to scare him off. So we’ll camp out at his place. He’s making a pot of spaghetti. We’ll watch football and a couple of movies. Maybe go out and build a snowman once the wind dies down.”
“That sounds delightful.” Sydney envied her enthusiasm over freshly blossoming young love. “Can I send any food with you guys? I have enough to feed two armies.”
Both girls thanked her again, assuring her they’d have their fill by the end of the day. They rewrapped their scarves, pulled their mittens back on, and headed to the door with promises to see one another at Hush Money the next day.
“Look at this!” Sydney spread her arms to include the mountain of food in her kitchen. “What are we going to do with all this?”
“Organize!” Nancy slipped off her shrug of many colors and marched into the kitchen. “Leave it to me. How about you get some music up in here. Something fun for this snowy day.”
Mother and daughter puttered together, unboxing turkey and ham and side dishes. Putting some in the oven to keep warm, some in the fridge, and appetizers on the dining room’s credenza. Sydney had chosen a CD of American standards and the two women sang together when a favorite song filtered through ceiling-mounted speakers. Both stood stock-still when Frank Sinatra started singing “Time After Time.”
“The first song you and Daddy ever danced to.”
Nancy nodded. “I love that you remember that.”
“It was at the department’s Christmas party. Your neighbor was dating a cop and she begged you to join her.”
“You were listening all those times Dad and I told that old story.”
Sydney leaned against the dining room wall and watched her mother lose herself in the music. Nancy was transformed from a sixty-four-year-old widow carrying twenty extra pounds around her midsection into a twenty-year-old wrapped for the first time in the arms of a man who’d be the only one to hold her from that dance forward.
A knock on the door pulled them both from their reverie. Sydney went to answer while Nancy slipped back into her shrug and patted her gunmetal hair back into place.
“Kitz!” Horst Welke pulled Sydney into a hug with one hand while hoisting two bottles of wine in the other. “Happy Thanksgiving to my two favorite girls.” He released her and nodded over his shoulder. “I got two stragglers right behind me.” He stepped into the foyer and made himself at home hanging his parka in the closet.
“Gobble gobble!” Dr. Veronica Pernod, Sydney’s best friend since they shared a kindergarten class, was next through the door. “Hot damn, this place smells terrific. A haven from the storm. I’d ask if you’ve taken a look outside, but with your view it’s like you’re living in it.” She slipped off her boots and pulled bedroom slippers out of her purse before handing her coat to Horst and heading across the room to give Nancy a hug.
“I guess I’m bringing up the rear.” Clay Hawthorne was the last through the door. He leaned in and kissed Sydney’s cheek, allowing her to take in his masculine scent. On impulse, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.
“You two kids watch it now,” Horst jokingly admonished. “There’s other folks in the room.”
Clay gave her a wink when she released him. She looked at the bottles in his hands.
“Those for me?”
“For the feast.” Clay handed her two bottles of wine and another of brandy. “Where do you want them?”
Sydney took them while Horst took Clay’s coat. “I’ll search, but we’re running out of room. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this food.”
“Well, then.” Horst rubbed his hands together. “Perhaps we had best get started.”
Roland had sent over an assortment of appetizers. Clay handled bartending duties and kept everyone’s glasses full while the five of them noshed on broiled shrimp, crab puffs, and mushrooms stuffed with sausage and fennel. Ronnie told the story of nearly missing the dinner. A patient of hers had been in labor for nearly twenty hours and still the baby seemed in no hurry to make his entrance into the world.
“I finally told Dad it looked like he was going to miss every football game. You should have seen him. It was like he’d forgotten today was Thanksgiving. Next thing I know, he’s up by his wife’s face, calling out push, push, push like he’s the leader of one of those skull races. Twenty minutes later one healthy baby boy pops into view. Mom and Dad are doing great, I get a couple hours of sleep, and here I am.”
Compliments flowed when it was time to take a seat at the dining table.
“This is my contribution,” Sydney told them. “Decorating I can do. Cooking?”
Her four guests joined in a unison affirmation that she’d made the right choice in staying out of the kitchen.
They took time with their meal. Horst told funny cop stories. Nancy added to the lightness with offerings of the latest Roland Delmardo shenanigans. Clay related an article he’d recently read about the emerging popularity of jazz in eastern Europe.
“It’s a shame jazz is on the decline here in America. This is where it was born.”
“Your place is full every night,” Sydney commented.
“That’s the difference between blues and jazz,” Clay explained.
“Meaning the Low Down is in good shape for the long run?” Nancy asked.
“I don’t see the blues disappearing anytime soon. Everybody can relate to feeling lost. Alone. It’s that driving two-four beat and the words of woe that bring folks in night after night. Happiness? That comes and goes. But the blues, man, that’s forever.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Ronnie speared another bite of sage stuffing onto her fork. “Ain’t no way anyone’s feeling the blues with food like this in front of them.”
Over a seemingly never-ending array of desserts, table talk changed to what each person was grateful for. Nancy started.
“For health, family, and friends, of course.” She reached to her right and left, grabbing Ronnie’s hand in her right and Sydney’s in her left. “I almost lost these two girls this year.” Her voice cracked, threatening tears. “Bullets and beatings. I don’t know how I would have survived without you. I’m grateful you’re both here. Healthy. Whole.” She kissed each of their hands before releasing them.
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t die, too,” Ronnie said with a laugh. “It is my profound hope that I’ve seen my last visit to the ICU as a patient.”
“I guess I’m next,” Horst said, when Ronnie looked toward him. “Not a day goes by I don’t miss Joe. He was my partner, my teacher, my brother. I wouldn’t make it through if I didn’t have you, Nancy. Or you, Kitz. Having Joe’s widow and daughter take me in like I’m part of the family. It’s everything.” Horst bowed his head and cleared his throat. “Now somebody else say something before I blow this macho image I’ve taken time to cultivate.”
Clay looked around the table before resting his eyes on Sydney. “I have a great life. I’m grateful for all of it. But this year’s brought me the promise of something more. I’m grateful for the opportunity to explore whatever it is Ms. Sydney and I have going on.”
Sydney felt the odd surge of romantic joy and crushing fear she often did when she allowed herself to contemplate a future with Clay.
Don’t be such an idiot. You spend your whole life fighting the legacy of abandonment your birth parents gifted you with. Now here’s a wonderful man ready to jump into forever with you and you act like he’s ready to infect you with Ebola. What’s wrong with you?
“And that leaves our hostess,” Ronnie said. “What about it, Syd? What’s high on your gratitude meter these days?”
Sydney looked around at the faces at her table. She looked outside to see the wind had settled, but the snow still fell straight and gentle. “This,” she said. “I’m grateful for all of this.”
She finally scooted her mother out the door at a little past eight o’clock. Sydney had sent each of her guests home with a box of leftovers sure to keep them stocked for the weekend and still her refrigerator was filled.
“You’re taking this,” she said to Clay. “All of this.”
“First rule of bachelors: Take whatever real food is sent your way.” He was standing by the living room window. The sky was dark. Lights illuminated the buildings below. The snow had stopped, leaving the entire city looking like chocolate nougat floating under a cloud of whipped cream.
“I love winter,” he said.
“Me, too.” She wiped her hands clean and walked over to him. “You know, we midwesterners are supposed to complain bitterly about the ice and dark.”
“That’s just to keep outsiders far away.” He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was filled with an energy that would belie a belly full of turkey. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“Now? In this?”
“Right now. Before the snow has a chance to get dirty. While the streets are empty.”
How could he know it’s one of my favorite times to drive?
“You’re on. But we’re taking my car. Roads like these demand a standard shift.”
His eyes filled with mischief. “Is it that? Or are you finding yet another way to exert control?”
Sydney put up her hands in innocence. “This is a safety thing. Feel free to drive. I’ll put myself completely in your hands.”
He pulled her close and stared into her eyes. “I like the sound of that.” Then he kissed her. Long and slow and deep.
A half hour later they pulled into the driveway of his home on Madison’s Near West side.
“I can’t believe how many houses already have their Christmas lights up,” she said as she got out of her car.
“And they’ll keep them up until St. Patrick’s Day.” Clay opened the trunk and grabbed two bags of leftovers. “Damning the darkness of a cold winter’s night, I suppose.”
Sydney grabbed the last bag of goodies and followed him into his cozy living room.
“I’ll just pile these into the kitchen,” she said.
“The fridge is pretty bare. You won’t have any trouble.”
She heard him walk away, toward the bedroom, as she unloaded enough food for another Thanksgiving feast. A few moments later she heard music. The opening strains of Nat King Cole’s “A Christmas Song.”
“I always like to kick off the season with this one,” Clay said as he came back into the kitchen.
“Is that before or after you turn on your holiday lights?”
“I never was one for yard decorations. There’ll be a tree, though. I’m hoping you’ll be here to help me decorate it.”
Again, the defensive pull against planning ahead tugged at her. “I’ll bring the eggnog.”
He took her hand and led her to the sofa. “I got you something.”
“Clay! It’s Thanksgiving. One of the things I love about this holiday is there’s no pressure for gift giving.”
He ran a hand through her ebony hair. “Think of it as a kickoff to Christmas.” He reached behind a pillow and pulled out a velvet jeweler’s box. It was long and narrow. The kind made for bracelets.
Thank God it’s not a ring box.
“Like I said, it’s a little something. But it means the world to me.”
Sydney took the black box from him and opened it. She laughed when she saw the toothbrush inside.
“Soft bristles, too,” he said. “Like the one you have at home. I think the days of you waking up here and using your finger as a toothbrush need to end.” He slid off the couch and bent down on one knee. “Sydney Amelia Richardson, will you do me the great honor of practicing good oral hygiene each and every time you sleep over?”
She fanned her hand over her chest, feigned a case of vapors, and gave her best attempt at a southern accent. “Why, Mr. Hawthorne, this comes as quite the surprise. Are you sure our relationship is ready for a step of such magnitude?”
He stood, pulling her up with him. He led her down the hall, through the master bedroom, and into the adjoining bath. He laid his hand on the wall-mounted holder, where his blue toothbrush hung in lonely solitude.
Sydney pulled the bright yellow toothbrush from the jewelry case and dropped it into an open slot.
“They look good together,” she said.
“Yes, they do.” He pulled her into an embrace. A gentle kiss turned more ardent. His hand slid down her back as she leaned into him.
A noise from the front door froze them both.
Sydney stepped back, at once paralyzed and energized by fear. Memories of darkened rooms, a madman stalking her, a gun pointed in her direction flooded her consciousness. Her eyes were wide and her hands were clinched around Clay’s arm.
“Easy,” he cooed. “It’s probably just a stray cat. Maybe the wind.”
The sound of the front door being heaved open eliminated those possibilities. A small yelp drifted from Sydney’s throat.
“Stay here.” Clay’s voice was a whisper, but his eyes were demanding. “You have your phone?”
She nodded.
“If you hear me yell go, you dial 911. Don’t hesitate. Can you do that?”
She nodded again and reluctantly released his arms.
Clay stepped back into the master bedroom. Though the room was dark, there was enough light from the bathroom to see him pause by the door to pick up a wooden baseball bat before he walked out to the hall.
Sydney waited. The three seconds before she heard his voice felt like three years.
“Oh my God!” Clay called out.
She heard another voice. A man’s. A heartbeat later she heard them both laughing. She put her cellphone back in her pocket and stepped sheepishly toward the living room. There was Clay, standing at the open front door, wrapped in an embrace with a man an inch or two taller than his own six feet. He was thinner by probably twenty pounds, but had the same thick black hair. The same pale skin. When the two of them turned enough for Sydney to see the other man’s face, she drew in a sharp breath. The man’s face was nearly identical to Clay’s. Similar enough to make Sydney believe she was looking at Clay hugging a younger version of himself.
The visitor saw her standing there and stepped away from Clay. “Who’s this?”
Clay’s grin was wide enough to suggest he’d just received the only gift he wanted this new holiday season. He waved her over, still keeping one arm around the man’s shoulder.
“Sydney! Come here! Meet the joy of my life.” He turned to his doppelgänger. “This is Steel. My son.”