The Dark Divine(30)

Mrs. Kalbi shrugged. “I think Daniel just needs some time to get adjusted. I hope you will understand if he doesn’t see your family for a while.” Her eyes flicked in my direction. “I’ll send for his things later.” She closed the door behind her.





THANKSGIVING MORNING




I woke up early to the sound of wind battering my window. I shivered and shook in my bed. Daniel was right. He didn’t need anybody. I’d been fooling myself in that garden. Daniel didn’t need my lifeline. He didn’t need me at all.

I pulled my comforter over my shoulders and hunched into a ball, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t find warmth in my bed.

The clinking of flatware in the distance was evidence that my mother was already setting the table in anticipation of today’s Thanksgiving dinner to end all dinners.

I decided to get an early start on making amends for yesterday’s absence and lurched out of bed. The sleepiness in my brain vanished the second my feet hit the frigid hardwood floor. I scurried over to the closet and pulled on my slippers and robe and then made my way downstairs.

Mom had two of the tables from the parish’s social hall pushed together so they stuck out into the foyer from the dining room. They were draped with pressed linen tablecloths the shade of maple leaves, and she was setting places for at least twenty-five with her best china and crystal goblets. Festive floral arrangements and candles adorned the table instead of the usual papiermaché pilgrims I’d helped her make when I was nine.

“Looks nice,” I said from the last step.

Mom almost dropped a plate. She steadied herself and placed it on the table. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t need you up until a quarter to six to get the pies started.”

Obviously, all had not been forgiven yet.

I sighed. “I was awake anyway.” I rubbed my hands together. “You could stand to turn up the heat, though.”

“It will get plenty warm in here when the ovens get going and this place starts filling up with people. We’ve got a crowd this year. I’m doing two turkeys.” She placed silverware around the table as she spoke. “But that means the pies need to be done by eight at the latest. I bought fixings for two of your caramel apple pies and a couple of spiced pumpkin. Your dad is making his famous crescent rolls, so we need to time those just right.”

“Thank goodness for two ovens.”

“Like I said, it will get plenty warm in here.”


“But can’t we turn up the heat for a few minutes?” I peeked through the window curtains and was actually surprised that the lawn was still bare and dead and not blanketed with snow. “Aren’t you afraid Baby James will freeze to death or something?”

Mom almost laughed. “It’s not that cold.” She came up and swatted me on the butt. “Go get an early start on those pies. Or if you’re so cold you can go work up a sweat helping Jude clean out the storage room.”

“The storage room?”

“Somebody might want a tour of the house.” I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t have to show them the storage room.”

Mom shrugged. “Jude was up looking to get his penance over with an hour ago, and we both know that your father is the only male in this family who can cook.”

“Oh.” I didn’t bother to point out that she could have had Jude set the table because she was repositioning the floral centerpieces to be exactly the same distance apart. “Is April still coming?”

“Yes. Didn’t she tell you?” Mom gave me an inquisitive glance.

“Seems like she talks more to Jude these days than she does me.” I knew it was petty to be bothered by April and Jude hanging out—but I couldn’t help it.

Mom wrinkled her nose. “I guess that explains why he seems so anxious lately.” She clucked her tongue.

“I guess so.” I fingered the tie of my robe. “April is a good person.”

“I’m sure she is.” Mom adjusted the fold on one of the linen napkins. “I’m sure she is.”

“Um, I guess I’ll get dressed and then start in the kitchen.”

“That would be nice,” she mumbled, and started straightening all the goblets.





PIES




Mom was right. Things got pretty heated around the house later that morning. It all started when Dad revealed that he had no idea Mom wanted him to make his famous crescent rolls for the festivities.

“You never asked me,” Dad said after she made a snippy remark about how he should have gotten started on the dough a half hour before.

“You make them every year.” She banged a tray of dried bread chunks onto the counter. “I shouldn’t have to ask.”

“Yes, you should. I’m not in the mood for baking right now. And I’m not in the mood for this big dinner, either.”

“What do you mean?” Mom swatted the bread crumbs into her mixing bowl and jabbed at them with her wooden spoon. “I put this big dinner together for you.”

“You should have asked me, Meredith,” he said from the other side of the counter. “I don’t want all these people coming over. I don’t want a big fancy dinner. I don’t even know if I feel like giving thanks today.”