Kate laughs. “It’s the annual staff party. We’re picking up the cake.”
“Let me snap a picture.” They pose for her, and she holds up her phone, capturing them. “Thanks again, Robert, for helping us find Bud. Travis and I are headed there as soon as I get out of this costume.”
“Happy to help! Let me know how it goes.”
Lauren looks at their picture as she walks to her car, hoping that she and Travis will still have a sense of fun when they’re Robert and Kate’s age. When she gets home, she takes off the costume and makeup and jumps in the car with Travis for the drive to Drake County. On arriving at what she hopes is Bud’s home, Lauren rings the doorbell. There is no answer. She looks at the address at the side of the door again, making sure they are at the right place. She rings the doorbell again and waits. “I should have asked Robert if there was a phone number for Bud.”
Travis tries to peer through the small window at the top of the door to see if he can spot anyone inside. Lauren looks at the door that isn’t opening. “I guess I should leave a note?” He nods and she walks to the car for some paper. “All I have is a napkin!”
“It works,” Travis says.
She thinks for a moment and writes, Dear Bud, I hope you are the farmer who used to sell milk. I am trying to track someone down who used to be a customer of yours, and I’m hoping you can help. She writes her phone number and her name and opens the storm door, letting it close against the note, leaving half of it sticking out. “Now the waiting game begins,” she says.
“That’s a horrible game,” Travis says, walking to the car. “In the same category as the quiet game. Moms must have made up both those games.”
She glares at him as she opens the passenger-side door. “I have a great idea, why don’t you play the quiet game on the drive home?”
“See!” Travis says, sliding behind the wheel. “It’s always the mom who suggests these awful games.” Lauren giggles as he turns around in the driveway and heads for home.
TWENTY-TWO
November 1972
John tries to concentrate on making the third table leg. He never dreamed this project would take so long but knows that if he had more time in the shop, it would be nearly complete by now. He pushes the wood through the table saw and can hear the doctor’s words in his head over the noise of the saw. “A setback.” That’s what Dr. Levy said a few days ago. Joan thought it was a virus at first. Her mom had been sick and there was word, as they’re often is, that there was “something going around.” But according to the doctor, this had nothing to do with any virus. “We found more cancer,” Dr. Levy said. “You’ll need another surgery to remove more of the lung.” What little air there was in Joan’s lung exhaled in despair. “I know this is a tremendous setback, Joan, but we need to remove it.” Joan’s eyes filled with tears. Not another surgery. Not this close to Thanksgiving and Christmas. John grabbed her hand and looked at the doctor. “But I can’t perform the surgery until you get your weight up.” Joan glanced up at him. “You need to eat high-calorie, high-protein meals. Think cream, butter, steak, chicken, turkey, eggs, half-and-half, sour cream, cheese, olive oil,” he said. “Do you cook?”
Joan tried to smile. “I’ve been learning, but all this has…”
“She does cook,” John said. “She’s a great cook.”
“Good. Eat lots of veggies, especially tomatoes, carrots, onions, and garlic,” Dr. Levy said. “Eat plenty of apples. Put some blueberries and walnuts on yogurt.”
Joan’s face looked sick. “The very thought of all those…”
Dr. Levy nodded in understanding. “I know. But you need to gain weight.”
“How much?” Joan asked.
“At least eight pounds. More would be best.”
“We’ll stop by the grocery on the way home,” John said, concerned.
Joan looked at him. “I am eating, Dr. Levy. It just seems that no matter what I eat, it doesn’t stick to me.”
Dr. Levy leaned against his desk. “The cancer cells are fighting hard against you, Joan. You need to fight against them harder. Can you do it?”
“She’s the Wrecking Ball,” John said, looking at the doctor and trying to make Joan smile.
“She’s what?”
“The Wrecking Ball, Champion of 1972. She will jab and punch and kick cancer’s butt!”
“Kicking’s against the rules,” Joan said, correcting him.
“If you’re fighting cancer,” Dr. Levy said, playing along, “you use whatever method of defense you have.”
For a reason he can’t describe, John shuts off the saw, turns off the lights in the shop, and walks back inside the house. He senses that something isn’t right and enters the kitchen from the garage. The lights are off, the kitchen is dark, and he finds Joan lying on the sofa as the kids play together on the floor. He sits next to her on the couch and squeezes her shoulder. “Don’t give up.”
She is confused. “I thought you were going to work on the table for a while.”
“It’s close to dinnertime and the lights are off in the kitchen.” She looks at him, perplexed. “It’s a setback, Joansie. Don’t give up. Please.” She begins to shake her head. “Today’s the day.”
“John…”
He raises his hand to stop her. “You need to gain weight, and I’m going to the kitchen to make you chicken alfredo with lots of cream.”
She reaches for his hand. “You don’t know how to make chicken alfredo.”
“That’s why I’m calling your mom. Alice will be over here like that,” he says, snapping his fingers. “The two of us are going to put weight on you.” He jumps up and runs from the room, returning in moments with the blue satin boxer’s robe she wore on Halloween, and lays it over her. “When dinner’s ready I want you to wear this to the table.” He kisses her and leaves the room.
John reaches for the phone on the wall in the kitchen and dials the number. He knows that Alice will help him cook one meal, eight, twenty-four, or a hundred and two! Whatever it takes. They’ll cook together, and Joan will gain weight and he’ll get fat. He’ll do it. Whatever it takes.
November 2012
Days have gone by, and Lauren still has not heard from Bud. “He could be out of town,” Gloria says, nibbling on a cookie. “Maybe he goes to Florida for the winter.”
“Oh, great!” Lauren says, reaching for a cookie from the tray that was left on Gloria’s desk. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“Why do you need to find him anyway?” Gloria asks.
“I’m hoping he can help me solve a mystery.”
Gloria takes the final bite of her cookie. “Like the mystery of who keeps leaving these yummy treats in my office?” She reaches for another cookie. “What did the note call these again?”
Lauren reads it. “Truffle cookies.” She looks at the cookie in her hand. “So moist.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to get fat eating all these treats,” Gloria says. She cranes her neck to see if Miriam is in the hallway. “As soon as I say something like that, big-mouth Miriam has something smart to say.” She leans in close to Lauren, whispering, “Do you think I’m getting fat?”
“Not yet.” Lauren pops the last bite of cookie into her mouth as she leaves Gloria’s office.
“Not yet?” Gloria calls after her. She looks at the cookie and wonders if she should finish it. She shrugs, shoving the last bite into her mouth.
Lauren walks into the tutoring room and picks up the reading book she will be going through with Jenson today. At ten, he still struggles with sounding out words. She feels the baby kick and puts her hand on her stomach.
“Everything okay?” Andrea asks, entering the room.
Lauren smiles. “Sure. The baby has been so active recently. Come here.”
Andrea steps to her, and Lauren reaches for her hand, placing it on her stomach. “Wow! Football player? Soccer? Maybe doing ballet?”
“Sometimes it feels like all three at once! For some reason, the
baby decides to be very active while I am trying to sleep!”
Jenson bounces into the room and says, “Hey! What’s going on?”
“Come here, buddy,” Lauren says. She puts his hand on her stomach and his eyes bug out.
“What is that?”
Lauren and Andrea laugh. “That’s my baby. Remember when your mom had your baby brother?”
He nods. “I wanted her to have a frog,” he says, disappointed.
Lauren rears her head back, laughing. “Grab your book and look over page twenty-two for me. Then we will go through it together.” He walks to a cubicle and Lauren turns back to Andrea. “I have a weird question. Do you happen to buy milk from a local farmer?”
“Miss Andrea, am I supposed to be back here with you, or am I supposed to be in the big room playing?” Chyna says, sticking her head inside the room.
“You’re supposed to be back here,” Andrea says. “I have your books. Come on in.” Chyna bounces past Andrea and Lauren to a cubicle and Andrea follows, stopping to look back at Lauren. “I go to the farmer’s market every now and then. Why?”
Lauren waves her hand in the air. “No big deal.”
TWENTY-THREE
November 1972
John and Alice help Joan to prepare the Thanksgiving meal. Despite their best efforts to make high-fat meals, Joan has gained only three pounds, not enough for Dr. Levy to remove more of her lung. “This meal alone should put on the five extra pounds you need,” John says, kissing her cheek.
“This stuffing can do that alone!” Alice says, pouring butter into a bowl with crumbled cornbread, bread, celery, onion, and spices.
“My favorite!” Joan says, reaching into the bowl for a taste. “I haven’t had the chance to make it.” Her voice carries a hint of sadness, which strikes Alice’s heart. “I should have started using your recipes years ago.”
“You’ll make it,” Alice says. She’s not talking about the stuffing, and John and Joan both know it. She stops mixing the ingredients together and pushes the bowl in front of Joan. “Today’s the day! You make it for Thanksgiving this time, and I’ll take over the potatoes.” She reaches for the potato that Joan is peeling.
Joan stands quiet, looking at her mom. “Did John tell you to say that?”
Alice looks at John and he shrugs. “Say what? You can make the stuffing?”
Joan looks at John. “‘Today’s the day.’”
His eyes widen. “I didn’t catch that.”
Alice is confused, beginning to peel the potato. “What’s the big deal about ‘today’s the day’? It’s a pretty common phrase.”
Joan begins adding more ingredients to the stuffing. “John says it to me as in ‘today’s the day God is healing you of cancer.’”
Alice stops peeling and looks up at both of them. “Really?” For as long as Alice has known John, there hasn’t been a smack of God talk or about religion or spirituality of any kind from him or Joan, and this surprises her.
“Yeah,” Joan says, stopping her work. “What do you think about that?”
Alice is quiet, trying to keep tears from forming, but they rim her eyes anyway. She looks at Joan, smiling. “I think that today’s the day!”
November 2012
Lauren is carrying Christmas decorations out of the storage room when her cell phone rings in her pocket. The children are outside, waiting in the pickup line with most of the volunteers. She reaches for her phone, answering it. “Hello.”
“Is this Lauren?”
It is a woman’s voice that Lauren doesn’t recognize. “Yes.”
“This is Kathy Waters. You left a note on my father-in-law Bud’s door.”
“Right!” Lauren says, bubbling with excitement as she reaches with one hand for another small box of decorations.
“I wanted to let you know that he’s been in Arizona, visiting his brother, but while he was there Bud became ill and his trip home is delayed until he’s better. He hasn’t seen your note. Can I help you?”
Lauren continues to pull decorations from the shelves. “I don’t know. This is going to sound crazy, but I found a lot of recipes inside a table that I bought, and some of the recipes mention buying milk from Bud. I’m hoping he can remember who these recipes belong to because I don’t think their owner meant to give them away with the table.”
“Huh,” Kathy says. “I don’t know if he’d be able to remember someone or not. My father-in-law is elderly and not in the best physical shape anymore. He sold the farm years ago. My husband flew out this morning to be with him in Arizona. When we’re able to bring him home, I will tell him to call you.”
“Thanks,” Lauren says. “And I hope your father-in-law gets better soon.”
“Thanks! I do, too.”
Lauren hangs up and realizes she has done everything that she can do to find the owner of the recipes. She hates to think that someone has lost them forever, but there’s nothing more she can do. She is opening the boxes of the decorations when Gloria, Miriam, Dalton, Heddy, Amy, Stacy, and Andrea finish with afternoon pickup and step back inside. “Same areas as last year, Gloria?” Lauren asks.
“Whatever you think best,” Gloria says.
Each box is marked with the location where the decorations were used last year: front window, entry doors and check-in, bulbs for tree, tutoring room, reading center, Gloria’s office, etc. “All right!” Lauren says. “Grab a box and decorate a section. Dalton, can you get the tree out of the storage room and carry it to the front entry? We’ll have the kids make decorations this week for the tree, but here’s a box of bulbs for it.”
Gloria reaches for a box. “Come on. We can get this done in thirty minutes or so. Many hands make light work!”
Miriam scoffs. “Hurry up, everyone, before Gloria pelts us with more of her Southern phrases.”
Gloria walks across the big room to the reading center. “That’s not southern, Miriam.”
Miriam picks up a box for the front windows. “If it’s not British, it’s Southern. Everything American sounds the same to me.”
“And everything British sounds goofy,” Gloria says, opening a box. “Tiggety who! What does that even mean?”
Miriam pulls decorations from the box in a huff. “It’s tickety-boo, Gloria, and I can assure you that things are not tickety-boo right now.” Gloria laughs and hands her a reindeer decoration for the front window ledge.
Lauren loads a classic Christmas CD into the player and turns it up, drowning out Gloria and Miriam. “Christmas spirit, people!” She puts on an elf hat and wraps tinsel around her neck as she decorates Gloria’s office. When she finishes, she walks into the entryway, where Miriam is putting up the final evergreen swags across the wall at the top of the doors. Dalton, Heddy, Gloria, Andrea, and Amy are putting their empty boxes back into the storage room as Lauren turns on the switch for the lights draped over each doorway. “Woo-hoo!” she says, looking at the room. “Just a little Christmas cheer does wonders for a room! Come on! Let’s take a picture.” They squeeze in together in front of the reindeer cutouts on the wall and smile as Lauren takes a selfie. She raises her arm to take another one but stops, clutching her stomach, bending over.
“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, next to her.
“What is it, babe?” Gloria asks, putting her hand on Lauren’s back.
Lauren stands up straight. “I don’t know. That was more than a kick. It—” She doubles over again and Dalton steps to her side, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“We need to get you to the doctor,” Andrea says.
“I really think I’m fine. Agh!” Lauren says, groaning in pain.
“You’re clearly not fine,” Miriam says.
“I’ll get my car,” Andrea says, running for the front doors.
“I’ll get your bag out of your locker,” Gloria says to Lauren. Lauren groans in pain again, and Miriam helps Dalton get her through the doors and to Andrea’s car. Gloria opens Lauren’s locker and reaches for her bag, hanging inside. She
notices something in the top cubby of the locker, but there isn’t time to think about it. It will have to wait until later. She hurries the bag outside and gets into the backseat with Miriam. “We’ll call as soon as we hear something,” she says, waving to Dalton and Heddy.
TWENTY-FOUR
November 1972
Since Thanksgiving, Alice has been living with Joan and John. When Joan has enough strength, she helps Alice in the kitchen; when she is unable, Alice takes food on a tray to her inside the bedroom or in the living room. “We have to make sure Mommy gains weight,” she says to Gigi and Christopher, setting a tray down on Joan’s lap with a plate filled with a chicken salad sandwich and a cup of butternut squash soup.
“You still want her to get fat?” Gigi says, sitting on the sofa next to Joan.
Alice smiles. “The doctor wants her to gain weight.”
“Dear God, please make Mommy fat,” Gigi says into the air as she bounces off the sofa to play with the LEGO bricks that are strewn across the floor with Christopher.
Joan is quiet as she looks at the food. “Mom, I…”
Alice sits down next to her. “Just a few bites? Please?”
The Christmas Table Page 10