Wildest Dreams (Thunder Point #9)(83)

“Depends on who you ask, Charlie. Some people don’t want to know. And some people think there’s a time and place to know. Maybe she just wanted you to be old enough to understand.”

“I do understand,” he said.

“Did she ever tell you not to research this stuff?”

“Nope. I just asked her why she wasn’t telling me more details and she said, ‘Many reasons.’ Like it was not my business. And it is my business.”

“You have to tell her,” Blake said.

“I know. That’s what Aunt Leigh said, too. But I’m not telling her until after Thanksgiving. I think we should have one good holiday before she kills me. Tomorrow we’re gonna have a good day, all of us together, and then on the weekend I’ll tell her. With you.”

“With me?” he asked. “Why me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Charlie said. “She won’t kill me in front of you. And if you act like it’s normal, like anyone would want to know and it’s okay, then maybe she won’t kill me at all.”

“She’s not going to kill you. She might be upset, though. You might have to grovel a little, ask forgiveness for doing it behind her back, but you’re a big boy—you can do that.” He took a breath. “Charlie, you’re her whole life. She tries to take care of you, protect you. She wouldn’t keep important things from you to be mean, you know that.”

“I know. But still...”

“You knew she wouldn’t want you to do this,” Blake said. “You’re going to have to take your medicine.”

“But I wasn’t wrong!”

“It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about doing something you know would make your mother unhappy and doing it, anyway. That’s what you have to own. That’s what it means to become a man—you make a decision, you stand by it, you deal with the consequences if there are any. Sometimes fallout that seems all bad is good in the long run. But you won’t know that until you walk through the whole flood. You did what you did. Time to step up, man.”

“Is that what you did?” he asked.

“You have no idea,” Blake said.

Eighteen

Iris Sileski was hosting Thanksgiving dinner at her house. Nine months pregnant, due in three weeks, feeling big as a water buffalo in a tutu, ankles swollen, father-in-law in the spare bedroom, husband working until afternoon, Iris was doing the baking and roasting a turkey. Seth’s oldest brother, Boomer, and his wife and kids were going to his wife’s family for the holiday, something they seemed to decide after Gwen announced her divorce and moved Norm out of the house.

“Chicken,” Iris said to Boomer. “The next time you’re in a bad place, call someone who cares!”

Nick, the bachelor brother, was coming. But Nick was not only clueless, he was also unpredictable. If some pretty girl called him with a better offer he might suddenly come down with the flu and miss Iris’s dinner. And being the bachelor, he wouldn’t be bringing the pies if he did come.

But despite the fact Iris was in a foul mood, she gave the dinner her all. She’d gone to Grace’s shop and made herself a beautiful horn of plenty centerpiece, baked three pies, bought a twenty-pound turkey and rigorously cleaned the house.

“Can I help with anything, Iris?” Norm asked her.

“Yes,” she said. “You can go next door and do whatever it takes to make up with your wife!”

“Now, Iris,” he said. And then he went to the station for a while. God forbid he should vacuum or clean a bathroom. Maybe Gwen had a point...

* * *

Seth had volunteered to work most of Thanksgiving Day so other officers could take time with their families. As compensation, he would take an extra-long dinner break, from maybe four till seven, during which time he would have dinner with his family, even though he’d be on call. And as extra compensation, he would have a nice Christmas, working the bare minimum, during which time he expected to have a brand-new baby girl in residence.

When he got home, only Nick and Iris were there. Nick was in front of the TV, watching football, drinking a beer. Iris was in the kitchen, working her tail off. Seth kissed her cheek and asked her how she felt.

“Just great,” she said, heavy on the sarcasm.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “Can I help?”

“You’ve got cleanup,” she said. “You and any other male Sileskis on the property.”

“You bet. Of course. I’m on call, though.”

“Ah,” she said. “Have you scheduled the call yet?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” she said. “Just relax. It’s almost ready.”

“Where’s Norm?”

“At the station, of course. I imagine he’ll be here the second the dinner bell rings.”

And sure enough, he was. Iris said five o’clock and Norm came wandering in at ten minutes to—just enough time to wash his hands. He got a little sidetracked, though. He grabbed a beer and sat down with his boys in the living room, watching the game.

The table was set, the bird was resting, the potatoes mashed, the gravy perfect, the green beans under a pat of butter and the rolls buried in a linen wrap in a wicker basket. Napkins were rolled into holiday rings and the ice water had been poured.