Lucy didn’t know exactly what she wanted. Certainly not cozy family games of Monopoly, such as he used to enjoy when he was younger. But she had thought he would join the family at dinner. She’d thought he’d be around for a while in the evenings, perhaps watching a video with the rest of the family. And she had hoped to have a little time with him by herself.
Now, she realized with a start, if she did get him to herself she’d like nothing better than to shake some sense into him. She would like to yell and scream and let him know he was behaving like a pig. She’d like to make him understand how much he was hurting her and how very angry it made her feel.
No, she thought. That wouldn’t do. If he was the prodigal son, it was her job to set aside her petty little negative feelings and welcome him. To kill the fatted calf in celebration—or in her case, to cook the turkey and reheat the brown rice casserole.
Doing a quick count, Lucy realized there would be twelve for dinner, instead of the eight she’d been figuring on, presuming Toby and his friends deigned to eat Thanksgiving dinner with them. She counted again. Herself and Bill and the three girls—that was five. Toby and his friends made nine. Add the Barths and Miss Tilley, the total came to twelve.
That meant she would need some extra chairs. She’d have to round up all the strays from the bedrooms and Bill’s attic office. There were plenty of dishes, but her silver service only had eight place settings, so she’d have to use the kitchen stainless, too. So much for the elegant table she’d hoped to set. Oh, well, she told herself as the alarm sounded, Thanksgiving was about being grateful for what you had, not wishing you had four more sterling place settings.
* * *
A few hours later, Lucy was savoring the sweet satisfaction of revenge. The college kids weren’t sleeping late this morning thanks to Zoe, who wanted to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. She had settled herself right in front of the TV, a bowl of cereal on the floor, a spoon in one hand, and the remote in the other. Any attempts to dislodge her—and there had been a few— had been repulsed with fits of noisy squealing. She had now solidified her position, calling on her sisters to act as reinforcements. The college kids had finally given up and had begun the hours-long ritual of morning showers.
Busy in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and mixing up stuffing and arranging plates of condiments, Lucy thought smugly to herself that things had a way of working out. They hadn’t eaten the cassserole last night; they could jolly well eat it today. They didn’t want to behave like proper guests; the family didn’t have to act like gracious hosts.
Glancing at the clock, Lucy saw it was almost time to leave for the football game. She turned on the oven and opened the door, preparing to slide the turkey inside so it could cook while they were gone, when Sara ran into the kitchen.
“You’ll never believe it, Mom.”
“What won’t I believe?” asked Lucy, straightening up.
“I saw Katie Brown on TV!”
Lucy looked at her doubtfully. “How can you be sure it was her?”
“ ’Cause she was with her dad and her mom and her brothers. They were all there. At the parade, like she said they would be.”
“Really? You saw them in New York?”
“Yeah, Mom. Isn’t that cool? She told me in school yesterday, to look for her, and I did and I saw her! I can’t wait to tell her.”
“That is pretty cool,” said Lucy. “ls the parade almost over?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, because it’s almost time for the game. Would you tell the others so they can get ready to go?”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
A miracle. A small miracle. She’d asked one of her children to do something and she’d done it willingly. Treasure the moment, Lucy told herself as she checked the dining room table.
Everything was in place: the linen tablecloth and napkins, the cornucopia of fresh fruit and nuts, the twelve place settings with assorted flatware. Three pies—pumpkin, apple, and mince—were sitting on the sideboard along with dessert plates and coffee cups and saucers. It all looked very nice, she thought, pausing to admire the new wallpaper.
In the kitchen, the turkey was stuffed and roasting in the oven; it would be almost done when they got home. The brown rice casserole only needed a few minutes in the microwave; the potatoes were peeled and in the pot, covered with water and ready to cook. Cranberry sauce, pickles, and celery with olives were arranged on crystal dishes and covered with plastic wrap, cooling in the refrigerator. So was the wine, and the coffeepot was set up and ready to go.
And so was she. Ready to go and cheer for the home team at the football game.
Taking her place beside Bill in the Subaru, Lucy firmly pushed all thoughts of Toby and his friends from her mind. They had transportation. They could come to the game if they wanted to. She wasn’t going to worry about them. She and Bill and the two younger girls would have a lovely time on their own. Elizabeth, never a big football fan, had offered to stay home and keep an eye on the turkey. What a contrast to her thoughtless, irresponsible, selfish brother!
“It’s a perfect day for football,” said Bill, interrupting her thoughts.
Lucy considered. The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless blue sky, there was no wind to speak of, and there was just a slight nip in the air.
“It’s perfect,”
