Turkey for Dinner - conclusion

Turkey for Dinner - conclusion

Cate rubbed at her mouth with her fingers, but the sensation of Eric’s kiss lingered. What was he thinking? They were enemies, and had been for almost twenty years—ever since he’d put that half-eaten piece of pie on her chair. You just didn’t grab your enemy and lay one on her! Where were the ground rules?

She tried to pull away, but Eric tightened the arm he’d snaked around her waist.

“A five-minute wait is not going to make any difference in that turkey,” he said, as he lowered his head again. Cate froze, caught in his embrace, indecision running around her brain. Run, stay, run, stay. She’d almost decided to stay when she heard Gram come down the stairs. Pulling away from Eric, Cate bent over the turkey to hide her flaming face.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity. The onions bobbed gently in a saucepan, a mountain of potatoes was peeled and mashed, chairs collected from various parts of the house, and the table was set with Gram’s grandmother’s rose-patterned china. Eric slipped home to collect Aunt Ida and the house was crowded with guests.

Cate’s brother, Mark, and his fiancée, Anna, arrived just in time for dessert. Cate was just returning from the kitchen, a pumpkin pie balanced on one hand, apple pie on the other. Mark and Eric had been reminiscing about long summer days playing kickball during the day and card games in the evenings.

“Cate, remember the last time Eric was here for Thanksgiving? I left my pie on a chair when I went to get some milk and you sat on it. Never saw you so mad in all your life. And you thought Ricky—I mean, Eric, did it.”

Cate froze in the doorway, her eyes glued to Eric’s face.

“Oh no! You didn’t do that really did you, Mark?” Anna shook her head. “You’re always putting things down where they don’t belong. Can you believe he left his sunglasses in the freezer?”

Cate felt the heavy pie slip and she overbalanced to compensate. Suddenly, the weight was taken from her as Eric grabbed both pies and set them safely on the table. Without a word, he turned back to Cate, took her by the arm and led her out of the dining room.

“Where are they going?” Mark demanded, as the gathered company heard the front door open and close. “They’re going to miss dessert.”

“Excuse me a moment, everyone. I’m getting too old to sit here and my bones are aching. I think I’ll just walk a bit,” Aunt Ida explained as she stood up.

“Let me help you, Ida. Anna, will you serve the pies? Mark, there’s a bowl of whipped cream in the refrigerator.” Gram smiled graciously at the rest of the guests. “We’ll be right back.”

The late November afternoon was gray and swirls of snowflakes drifted down. Standing at the front window, Gram twitched the lace curtain aside just enough to allow Aunt Ida an unobstructed view.

“That went quite well, if I do say so, Ida.”

Aunt Ida nodded. “Summer wedding, do you think?”

“Could be. Now tell me again about your great-niece, Isabelle. My sister’s grandson, Jason, is just about her age...”

© 2007 by Susan Atwood