“So, Robert,” Jonathan said. “Have you and Norma gotten knocked up yet, or have the doctors decided there’s no lead in the old Wooster pencil after all?”
“That is none of your-”
“Oh, Robert, he didn’t mean anything by-” their mother said.
“Norma!” Denise (or maybe Charlotte) said. “I’ve been so worried but I didn’t dare-”
With his brother’s penis squarely on the chopping block, Jonathan pushed his plate aside and followed Ellen to the den. The room glowed in the festal candlelight. Two wide sofas in leather the color of chocolate seemed cozy, looking out through the glass-wall picture window at the angry Atlantic Ocean. Ellen sat on one, legs tucked up under her. He could tell by the way she held herself that the earring wasn’t in.
“I told you so,” he said.
“You really did,” Ellen said. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“The nice thing about Jerry Springer is that you get to throw chairs. I never get to throw chairs.”
“And your mother,” Ellen said. “She’s the worst of all.”
“There is that Demon-Queen-Directing-Her-Monstrous-Horde quality to her. It was more fun when Aunt Ida was still around. She was much worse.”
“Aliyah felt awful. I told her I’d apologize for her.”
“For getting beaten up by my family? Doesn’t that usually go the other way?”
“It usually does,” Ellen said coolly.
Before Jonathan could think of a good answer, his cell phone started the ring tone he’d set aside for the United Nations. Committee business calling. He dug it out of his jacket pocket, held up a single finger to Ellen, and said hello.
“Bugsy! I hope I’m not interrupting,” Lohengrin said.
“Not at all,” Jonathan said. “What’s up?”
Ellen rose, shaking her head slightly, and headed back toward the ongoing train wreck of the Tipton-Clarke Thanksgiving. Jonathan put one hand over his ear to block out the voices.
“Can you come to New York?” Lohengrin asked. “There’s something we need to discuss. An assignment.”
Jonathan nodded. Truth to tell, it was moments like these that made working with the United Nations fun. “You bet, buddy. I’ll be there with bells on,” he said. Then, “You know, I could probably have fit about three more b’s in that if I tried. Betcha buddy, I’ll be by with bells on my-”
“Jonathan? Are you okay?”
“I may be a wee teensy drunk,” Jonathan said. “Or I might hate my family. Hard to tell the difference. I’ll be in New York tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
Lohengrin dropped the line, and Jonathan put his cell phone away. The voices in the dining room had changed. With a sick curiosity, he made his way back to the table.
“You always did that, Maggie, ever since you were a little girl,” Ellen said, pointing an antique silver butter knife in his mother’s direction. “Salt, salt, salt. You’d think God never gave you taste buds.”
His mother’s cheeks had flushed and her lips pressed white and bloodless. Ellen turned to consider Jonathan, except whoever she was, it wasn’t Ellen. The familiar eyes surveyed him slowly. She snorted.
“Aunt Ida?” he said.
“I like this Ellen of yours, Johnny,” Ida said. “I’m surprised she puts up with you. Sit, sit, sit. I feel like I’m at the bottom of a well with you just looming there.”
“How did-?” he began as he sat.
Ida held up the silverware. “I always said this set was mine, and now I’ve proven it, haven’t I? Robert, dear? Pass the potatoes, and let’s see if she’s oversalted them, too. Maggie, stop looking at me like that. I was right, you were wrong, and no one is in the least surprised. Thanksgiving is a time for family. Try not to ruin it.”
Stellar
Manhattan, New York
“Ana?” wally whispered. “can I sit with you?”
“Sure.”
Wally followed her through a maze of round tables draped in billowing tablecloths. The lights were set low; candlelight and the glow from the skyline glinted on wineglasses and silverware. He nodded or waved at the few folks he recognized.
Ana led him to a table near the middle of the room. Wally’s own chair creaked precariously. He sat between Ana and the Llama. They’d never worked together, but Wally had met the South American ace at other Committee events. Wally always thought he looked a little like a giraffe, what with his long neck and all, but never mentioned it. “Hey, how ya doin’, fella? Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Hi,” said the Llama, chewing on something. That seemed strange, since the waiters hadn’t brought any food out yet. They didn’t even have bread on the table.
The Llama seemed distracted. Wally realized he was busy glaring across the room at the Lama.
Wally turned to Ana. “So how’s Kate these days?”
“Good, I guess. She’s glad to be back in school, but it’s probably kinda weird. I think she misses us. She doesn’t miss this stuff, though.” She pointed to the cyan United Nations banner hanging over the head table where Lohengrin, Babel, and a few others sat.
“Yeah.” The Committee had lost much of its allure for Wally over the past couple of years. For some reason he kept sticking with it, even though he’d found better ways to make a difference in people’s lives. A real difference. Plus, these shindigs weren’t the same without the old crew.
As if reading Wally’s mind, Ana asked, “Do you still keep in touch with DB?”
“Sure do.” They’d gone to war together, Wally and the rock star. Twice. They’d been through a lot.
He looked around the room. Except for Ana, none of the people he knew best were around. In addition to Kate and DB, Wally missed Michelle, who was still down in New Orleans and apparently not doing too good. King Cobalt, his first friend from American Hero, had died in Egypt. So had Simoon, who had been pretty nice to Wally.
Except that she wasn’t entirely dead, not all the time, anyway. Bugsy and Simoon were going out, which Wally couldn’t begin to understand. All he knew was that Bugsy spent most of his time these days with Cameo, who had joined the Committee last year in New Orleans, before she lost her old-time hat. They were having their own Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving was a time to be with family. But what family? More and more, his visits home to Minnesota made him feel lonely and isolated. He thought he’d found a family, of sorts, with the Committee. And that had even been true for a short time. But he didn’t feel at home with the Committee any longer. And so Wally had tried to help other families, on his own, but now even that seemed to be going away.
A little cheer went up throughout the room when a stream of servers emerged from the kitchen. They brought out turkey, chicken, goose, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stuffing, three kinds of gravy, cranberries, corn bread, spinach salad, fruit salad, and pumpkin, pecan, apple, and cherry pie. They even brought out a turducken. Wally wouldn’t have known what that was if he hadn’t heard Holy Roller and Toad Man discussing it once, back before the big preacher had left the Committee to return to his church in Mississippi. Wally missed him.
He couldn’t imagine anybody eating so much food. And that made him think of Lucien, his little pen pal. A single table here probably held more food than his entire family saw in a month.
“You’re looking glum,” said Ana.
“Just missing folks, I guess.”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Like, see, I got these pen pals. It happened because I saw a commercial late at night during a Frankie Yankovic marathon. You know, for one of those setups where you send in a few dollars to help out a kid somewhere?”
Ana smiled. She took a drumstick from the platter at the center of the table. “That’s great, Rusty.”
“Well, I got a few of them. But this one kid, his name’s Lucien, and me and he got to be pretty good friends, writing letters back and forth. But his last letter said-”
