“I’ll make the coffee,” Arba said.
Annie cut the pies in silence. When all the plates had the slices requested, she carried them into the living room two by two and delivered them. She wouldn’t look her mother in the face. The hurt had given way to anger. She prayed her mother would keep silent until she left.
“Coffee would be nice,” her mother said.
“Arba is making it.”
“I’ll help her.” She started to rise from the sofa.
“No, you will not. You’ve done enough already, Mother.”
“You needn’t be so rude, Anne-Lynn. All I did was wash the dishes.”
Annie looked at her then. She lowered her voice. “That’s not all you did, Mother. You did a lot more than that.”
Her mother blushed, her gaze skittering away. Fred looked up at Annie, his expression troubled and questioning. “Your pie.” She forced a smile and handed him a plate with sweet-potato pie. Her mother kept her head down.
As Annie left the room, she imagined what was going on in her mother’s mind. She was probably mulling over the words, chewing on them, ruminating until she could find some way to spit them back in her own defense. Annie refused to feel guilty this time. Whatever her mother decided to say, she was not going to allow the words to pierce her heart and spoil this day.
Corban came into the kitchen. “I’m on my way out. Thanks for dinner, Annie. It was great.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay longer?” She knew her grandmother enjoyed sparring with him, and she had the feeling the others would soon be on their way.
“I have to study.”
She looked at him. “I know this isn’t the time, Corban, but I’d like to know what’s troubling you.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” His eyes were dark with anger.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Friends help one another.”
He smiled slightly. “So I might give you a call sometime.”
“I’ll be here all weekend. You know you’re always welcome.”
He gave a nod and left without another word.
Arba served coffee while Annie gathered empty dessert plates. She could feel her mother’s gaze following her, willing her to look in her direction. She went back into the kitchen, stacking the dishes carefully in the sink. Time enough to wash them later after everyone left.
“We’d better be on our way,” Arba said, gathering her children. She leaned down and kissed Leota’s cheek, whispering something in her ear.
Leota smiled and patted Arba’s cheek tenderly. “You’re a sweet girl,” she said, then sat obviously pleased as she received kisses from Tunisha and Kenya and a handshake from Nile. “I’ll see you at three on Monday,” Leota said.
George took Arba’s departure as a sign for his own. He went for the coats Annie had hung in the guest room. Marshall and Mitzi thanked Grandma Leota for the nice day, though they were too shy to kiss her good-bye. Leota made an effort to rise from her chair when George came back into the room.
“Don’t get up, Mother. We’ll show ourselves out. Thank you for the fine day.” He grazed her cheek with a quick kiss and put his hand at Jeanne’s elbow, nodding toward the door.
“You don’t mind if I say good-bye to your mother, do you?” Jeanne stepped around him and leaned down, smiling. “This is the best Thanksgiving we’ve had in years, Mama. I hope we do it again.”
Annie’s eyes smarted with tears as she heard her grandmother’s mumbled reply. “I’ve prayed for years to have the family together again.”
“Me too,” Jeanne said in a husky voice. When she straightened, her eyes were moist. She came around Leota’s chair to Annie and hugged her tightly, whispering in her ear. “Good job, honey. And don’t give up the ship.” She patted her cheek and then joined George as their family went out the front door.
Annie looked at her mother then. She met her gaze and remained on her feet, waiting.
“I guess it’s time we left, too.” Her mother stood, chin high. “Fred?”
He stood and came to Annie, hugging her tightly. “I don’t know what your mother did to hurt you, Annie,” he whispered, “but I’m sorry about it.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“I know.” He kissed her cheek.
Her mother had gone for the coats. She came back into the room and held Fred’s out to him. He shrugged into it and took hers, opening it and holding it for her so she could slip her arms into the sleeves and draw it on. Annie stood next to Grandma Leota’s chair, her arm resting on top of it. Her mother gave her a hard-eyed look of displeasure. Then she looked at Grandma Leota. “Thank you for the nice day, Mother,” she said coolly. “Anne-Lynn, I’ll call and speak with you later.”
“Give me a day or two, please.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed, and then she went out the door, Fred following at a slower pace.
“What was that all about?” Grandma Leota said when the front door was closed and they were alone.
“Nothing for you to worry about, Grandma.” She hoped her mother would give her time enough to pray and let go of the anger and hurt. If she didn’t, they would both regret it.
Her grandmother sighed. “The house is so quiet now. I’m glad you’re still here.”
Annie knelt down beside the chair. “We’re going to have the whole weekend together. Remember? I’m not leaving until Monday morning.”
“We can have leftovers for the next few days.”
“I’m afraid not, Grandma. They’re all gone.” She had quietly taken the garbage out back so that her grandmother wouldn’t see what her mother had done. “Except some mincemeat pie.”
Grandma Leota smiled and leaned closer. “Thank you, dear. Thank you for all you did today. It was as close to a perfect day as I’ve had in years.”
Annie almost wept. “We did get them all under one roof again, didn’t we, Grandma?” All except for Michael.
“Yes, we did. And no one killed any of the others.” Grandma Leota’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Though there were a few moments . . .”
Annie gave a soft, broken laugh. “I love you, Grandma.”
“I love you, Grandma,” Barnaby said from the front bedroom. “I love you, Grandma.”
“Oh, dear,” Grandma said in disgust. “That bird is at it again.”
Annie laughed as all the tension of preparing and surviving Thanksgiving burst like a dam. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“I love you, Grandma!” Barnaby was demanding attention. It was as though he were saying, “Hello in there. Don’t forget about me!”
“I’ll get him, Grandma,” Annie said. “As soon as his cage is draped, he’ll quiet down.”
Grandma Leota tipped her recliner back. “If not, just put the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the room. It shut him up the last time!”
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Nora said as they drove down the street. She expected Fred to say something to that, but he didn’t. He drove in silence, mouth set, eyes straight ahead. Annoyed, she turned on the radio. When she heard his sixties music, she punched the Seek button and let it sift through stations until it came to one with classical music. She stopped it there, hoping Beethoven or whoever it was would soothe her frayed nerves.
“What’d you do, Nora?”
Her heart gave a flip. “What do you mean, what did I do?”
“In the kitchen.”
“I washed dishes all by myself.”
“Arba offered to help.”
“I was hoping for a little time alone with my daughter.”
“Hogwash.” He looked at her then, one brief, hard look that made her feel suddenly vulnerable. Exposed.
Guilt assaulted her. Resenting it, she crossed her arms and looked out the window.
“Out with it, Nora. What did you do?”
“I threw away the leftovers.” Shame filled her, but only for an instant before her instincts for self-defense took over. “That’s all I did. No one likes to have leftovers for d
ays after Thanksgiving.”
“That depends on who did the cooking!”
Her head snapped around as she glared at him. “Meaning what? Annie’s a better cook than I am?”
“You’ve fixed me many wonderful meals over the years, Nora, but until today, I didn’t know how moist and delicious turkey could be.” Then he looked at her again. “Admit it. You were jealous.”
“I was not.”
“No? What other excuse could there be for your rotten behavior?”
She could feel her cheeks filling with heat. When she looked at him again, she saw the hard glint in his eyes before he stared at the road again.
“I wonder if you’ll ever change, Nora.” He turned off at their exit. “If you don’t, you’re going to end up a bitter old woman.”
“Like my mother?”
He slowed the car and stopped at the light. “She’s lonely, maybe, though I expect Annie, Corban, Arba, and the children fill in the gaps you and George have left. But you know something, Nora? I didn’t see one hint of bitterness in your mother, not like I see in you. I find that amazing, considering the way she’s been treated by her own children.”
The light changed to green. Fred applied the gas calmly and turned onto a busy boulevard.
“I have reason to be bitter,” Nora said quietly, blinking back tears. “You just don’t understand. You don’t know what it was like.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
“She moved us in with Grandma Helene and Grandpa and went to work. She’d leave early in the morning and not come home until late afternoon. After a while, I felt as though I didn’t even have a mother!”
“What about Grandma Helene?”
She closed her eyes. “We were a burden to her. I don’t know how many times I heard her say she was too old to have the responsibility of two small children. And it was true. It wasn’t fair to her. She’d get terrible headaches and lie on the couch with a cold cloth on her forehead. And she’d say she was sure she was going to die. I lived in fear she would and it would be our fault.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“He was away all day at work. He’d read the newspaper and then write letters at the dining room table. He and Grandma would talk to one another in German. I learned to understand after a while and knew she was always complaining about my mother. Grandpa would listen to her for a while and then go out for a walk. Sometimes he would take George and me. He was shy, I guess. He never said much of anything.” The only thing Nora could remember him saying was, “Your mama is a good woman.” He would say that time and again. She’d never been able to understand how he could feel that way toward a woman who could dump her children and go off to live her own life as she pleased.
Fred took the garage remote and pressed it. She fell silent, feeling overwhelmed by sadness. As soon as he parked the car and turned off the ignition, he turned to her. “Keep talking.”
She took a shaky breath. “My grandmother loathed my mother. She would tell us how my mother went to dances and movies while she had to take care of us. She would tell us how my mother kept all her money for herself and never even pitched in to pay for the food we ate. I don’t remember Grandma Helene ever saying a nice thing about my mother when she was away working. And when Mother was home, Grandma Helene would criticize her to her face, and my mother would just stand and take it. Or go out in her garden. I used to hate her for that. I used to wish my mother would fight back and fight for us, and then when she did . . .”
Fred took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Go on.”
“I woke up one night and heard them screaming at one another. Grandma Helene in German, and Mother, hysterical and crying and raging. Then I heard Grandpa crying. And Grandma Helene, too. I hated them both for hurting Grandpa. He was such a gentle man, and I could hear him sobbing and speaking in this . . . this broken voice. I didn’t understand anything he said, but I knew how much they’d hurt him and I . . . I couldn’t forgive them for it.”
“What about your father?”
“It was worse when he came home. I was so afraid of him. Mother stayed home with us for a little while and then went right back to work again. It was as though we weren’t enough for her. My father would sit in his chair and drink.”
“Didn’t he have a job?”
“Oh, he worked. He had his own business for a while, but nothing ever lasted. I remember his coming home in a rage once after he’d been fired. George and I hid under our beds while he broke things in the living room. It was Grandpa who talked to us about it all later. He told us the war had changed my father. He said my father had been a master carpenter before he went away to fight for his country, but I only saw him finish two things: the apartment he built behind the garage for Grandma and Grandpa and the cases of beer he’d down day after day.”
She looked at Fred, wanting him to understand, to empathize. “Can you imagine how Grandma Helene must have felt, giving up her house to my mother? Grandma Helene seldom set foot in the house after that, not unless my father gave her a personal invitation. I hated Thanksgiving, Grandma sitting there and never saying a word to anyone. She’d eat in silence and keep her eyes on the plate, and my mother would pretend to be so happy.” She’d taken one bite of her mother’s dressing recipe today, and the memories came flooding back. She hadn’t meant to hurt Anne-Lynn’s feelings when she stuffed that turkey into the garbage. All she’d wanted to do was throw the past—and all the pain that went with it—away. She could still see Anne-Lynn’s face when she’d come out of the kitchen: white, pinched, hurt, angry.
“Didn’t your mother take care of your grandmother until she died?”
Nora nodded. She swallowed hard. “I’ve wondered about that over the years. I don’t know how they could stand to live together, feeling about one another the way they did. It must’ve been hell on earth.” She put her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I suppose Mother felt guilty for stealing my grandparents’ home. Taking care of Grandma would have been penance.”
“What were they like together when you went to visit them?”
“Visit?” She gave a brittle laugh. “Are you kidding? Why would I go back when I couldn’t wait to get out of that house and away from all of them? I married Bryan Taggart just to get out.” She gave another brittle laugh. “Not that he made my life any better. The only good thing that came out of that marriage was Michael.” She pressed her lips together and turned her face away so Fred wouldn’t see the tears of hurt welling. Had her son even bothered to call home today? She covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking.
Fred’s thumb caressed the back of her hand. “You’ve got to let it go, Nora. You can’t change the past. You’ve got to let it go and move on.”
“It’s not that easy. I’ve tried.”
Fred sighed heavily. “You still miss her, don’t you? Even after all this time. You withhold your love because you feel it’s been withheld from you. And you’ve never been able to kill it completely, have you, Nora? That’s why you haven’t been able to forgive her.”
She took her hand from his and rummaged in her purse for a Kleenex. He made it sound as though her daughter had been gone for years instead of months. “I could forgive Anne-Lynn if she came home where she belonged.”
He took the keys from the ignition. “I wasn’t talking about Annie, Nora. I meant your mother.” Opening his door, he got out and left her alone in the car.
Chapter 19
Annie left early Monday morning, but not before Leota was able to take care of business. Leota felt relieved and faintly smug that she had managed to get Annie’s signatures on several documents without her granddaughter being the least bit suspicious. One set was for the bank, the other for Charles Rooks, who had prepared everything as swiftly as though she were about to die.
Her greatest worry had been how she would convince Annie to sign everything prepared for her. If Annie realized what she was doing, she might protest. However,
all the worrying had been wasted. All Leota had needed to do was tell Annie the truth: she wanted to be sure there was someone who could step in to help if the need arose. With Eleanor still angry and George so distant, it made perfect sense to have Annie as her executor and give her power of attorney.
That was all Annie had needed to hear. She signed on the dotted line. She didn’t even read anything. She obeyed Leota’s wishes. It wouldn’t have mattered to the girl if she were signing her life away. Of course, she had no idea what all she had signed. Leota had only told her half the truth, not all of it. . . .
For the first time in months, Leota walked alone to do her errands. She registered and posted the envelope to Charles Rooks. He would keep everything secure in his office files and safe, as they’d agreed. She sat on a bench to rest for a few minutes, then went into the grocery store to buy a roasted chicken, ready-made salad with dressing in the package, and two éclairs. Why not celebrate? Everything was settled.
Exhausted when she got home, she fed Barnaby and sat down to rest. She settled into her chair, her eyes drifting shut. Thank You, Jesus, for my precious granddaughter. She has been better to me than ten daughters and sons. Please watch over her and protect her in the days ahead, for they will be rocky. Give her wisdom when she makes her decision. I don’t even know what to pray for Eleanor and George anymore, Lord. Am I wrong to wish?
With a sigh, she drifted to sleep.
Arba’s children came after school. Leota served them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They’d been hoping for turkey, but she said it was all gone. She read two chapters from The Secret Garden. They wanted more, but she said it was time to buckle down to homework. Arba arrived at five and asked Leota to dinner. “I bought a pizza on the way home.” Much to the children’s noisy delight.
“Not this evening, dear, but thank you.”
Arba studied her. “Are you all right, Leota?”
“I’m fine, just worn out after all the festivities.” And she was, bone tired, weaker than usual.
“I’ll check on you later.”
“If you do, you’ll likely wake me up and I won’t thank you for it.”