The Dark Divine(32)

Mom had James on her hip and a Day’s Market bag in her hand. “Great. I forgot one of the pies, didn’t I?”

I nodded. Though I felt like it was my fault for taking so long at the store.

“Just great!” she said. “I remembered a few more groceries just after you left, so I ran over to Day’s…. And now the house stinks. Just what I need.”

I contemplated reopening my petition for a cell phone but thought better of it as James started to fuss when Mom tried to put him down. He wrapped his legs around her knee and clung to her shirt. I offered to take him from her.

Mom peeled him from her legs and handed him over.

“It’ll air out,” I said, and tried to bounce James on my hip.

Why did it seem like I was the one holding everyone together lately?

James dropped his blanket in a desperate attempt to jump from my arms to Mom’s. “Banket!” he shrieked, and burst into tears, kicking his Curious George slippers against my legs.

I picked it up and wadded it into a puppet. “Mwah, mwah,” I said, and pretended to kiss his face. His whines turned to laughter, and he hugged his blanket in his skinny little arms.

“I’ll open a few more windows,” I said to Mom, “and then find Charity so she can entertain Baby James while I help you cook.”

“Thanks.” Mom rubbed her temples. “Charity should be back soon. She went over to the Johnsons’ to feed their birds. Tell her to make James some lunch in a couple of hours. Dinner is at three, so I want him to go down for a nap by two. Oh, but we’ll have to put him down in his Portacrib in the study. Aunt Carol will be staying in his room.”

Great. Just who my dad needed today—Aunt Carol.





DINNER




My mother’s family is half Roman Catholic, half Jewish—kind of ironic for the wife of a protestant pastor. And even though she was raised Catholic, her family still celebrated Passover and Hanukkah. I think that is where they got this interesting tradition of always setting an extra place at the table for special occasions. According to Aunt Carol, it was supposed to be an expression of hope and faith in the Messiah who would someday come. While I thought it was kind of cool, it usually bugged Dad because, of course, he believed that the Messiah had already come, in the form of Jesus Christ, and that such a tradition was an affront to his devotion for Him.

Mom, trying to appease both him and her sister, would tell him to think of it as an extra place for an unexpected visitor. However, today Dad seemed to find my mother’s family’s tradition especially irksome as he scanned the ragtag group of lonely hearts, young families, widows, widowers, and single moms who congregated around our holiday table, and noticed that there was not only one empty seat but two. One was at his end of the table. The other, across the table from me, was set with a special golden goblet and golden utensils.

Dad glared at the goblet and mumbled something under his breath. Then an almost-genial smile spread across his face. “Shall we get started?” he asked the crowd.

Eager faces nodded, and April actually licked her lips—but she was staring at Jude when she did it, so it may have had nothing to do with the food.

“Who’s missing?” Pete Bradshaw gestured to the two empty seats. He and his mother sat to one side of me. I’d felt bad when Pete told me his dad had cancelled their annual Thanksgiving cruise because he had an emergency meeting in Toledo, but I was glad Pete was there to close the distance between my mom and dad—who threw each other pointed looks when Pete asked this question.

“Don Mooney had to close up at Day’s Market,” Dad said. “Meredith does not feel like waiting for him.”


Mom coughed. “Don did not RSVP, so there is no point in waiting if we don’t know if he’s coming.”

“I’m sure he will be along soon.” Dad smiled at her.

I wondered if he was right or if Don was still brooding over his encounter with my father the other day. I actually got this heavy feeling when I imagined him sitting alone in his apartment behind the parish.

“The other seat,” Mom started to explain, “is a family tradition of ours—”

Dad grunted. “Meredith has asked me to say a special blessing over the food.”

Aunt Carol gave Dad the evil eye, most likely on my mother’s behalf.

Dad extended his hands to Jude on his right side and Leroy Maddux on his left. We all joined hands around the table, my fingers slipping tentatively into Pete’s. Dad began his blessing. His voice was even, and he sounded like he was speaking words he had rehearsed in his office at the parish or wherever he had disappeared to until dinner.

“We are gathered here, O Father, to celebrate thy bounty. Thou art giving and kind unto us, and we wish to share that with others. That is why we leave a space at our table for any unexpected visitors. To remind us to open our home to those in need. And also to remind us of those who should be here: our extended family, my father, and Maryanne Duke.” He paused for a moment and then went on. “Let us give thanks for thy blessings—”

The doorbell rang. Mom fidgeted in her seat.

“Let us give thanks for thy blessings. Keep us and bless this food that it will nourish and strengthen us as Thou strengthens our souls. Amen.”

“Amen,” the rest of us intoned.