by Holly Jacobs
She glanced at Mal, and he smiled at her description of their relationship, hoping that reassured her that he thought it was a fair description.
“Kennedy forgot to add that in addition to being my friend, she’s also going to be the mother of my child.” He turned to Pap and said, “Sorry. We meant to announce it at dinner. I know you already knew.” Before his grandfather could protest, Mal added, “Or at least suspected, but we wanted to make an official announcement.”
Pap walked over and hugged Kennedy. “I’m thrilled. I’m going to be a great-grandfather. Did I say thrilled? That doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m beyond thrilled.”
Senior stood there, stunned into unfamiliar silence.
In for a penny, in for a pound, Mal thought and added, “And in the interest of honesty, I’ve asked Kennedy to marry me, but she’s said no. I plan to ask again, and I won’t be back in Pittsburgh until things are settled here, sir.”
“What have you done?” his father finally asked. “I would have thought you’d have learned from my mistakes. I came here on a case and met a girl I thought I couldn’t live without, so I married her and brought her home to Pittsburgh with me. I thought love trumped everything. I should have known better. Valerie wasn’t interested in being an attorney’s wife or living in the city. She missed this ridiculous small town. But by then, I was trapped. Tied to her and this place because of you.”
Mal was accustomed to his father’s shoot-from-the-hip blunt ways, but try as he might, he couldn’t manage to avoid his father’s direct hits—they still hurt after all these years. “Gee, thanks, Dad.”
“That’s not what I meant, Malcolm.” His father sighed. It was a sound of pure frustration. “I simply meant your mother and I were never suited for each other. I think we did really love each other once, but our differences were too great. She couldn’t understand my need to work, and I couldn’t understand . . . her. I never really understood anything about her. The only thing that held us together for the five years we managed was you.”
“Aka, the mistake.” His father looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Mal cut him off. “Senior, I think we should stop talking about the past. It’s only going to lead to trouble.” He shot Kennedy a look and she smiled. “We’ll concentrate on the present and the future. And at the present, this turkey is almost ready. Kennedy, why don’t you set a place for my father? Pap, why don’t you take him in the dining room before he puts his other foot in his mouth.”
Pap led the uncharacteristically compliant Senior out of the room.
Mal turned to the mother of his child. “Kennedy, I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“I do. I shouldn’t have announced the baby that way. My father does have a way of putting me on the defensive. It’s a great trait for an attorney, but he can’t seem to turn it off outside the courtroom, and it’s not quite the great trait in a father.”
“It’s fine. You were bound and determined to announce it one way or another, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You wouldn’t have announced it?” he asked.
“No. People in town have accepted the fact that their unwed mayor is pregnant. I don’t think we need to complicate the issue by telling them their golden boy is the father. I’d hoped to tell you about the baby, then have you head back to Pittsburgh and get back to your own life and leave me to the baby.”
He placed the turkey on his grandmother’s platter. “I think I’m insulted that you think I’d walk away.”
Kennedy sighed. “That sounded harsher than I meant. It’s just that . . .” She paused.
Mal was getting used to Kennedy’s silences. As a lawyer he understood the need to sort out your arguments, but he didn’t want to argue with Kennedy. He actually preferred her when she occasionally let some uncensored comment escape. He might not like what she said, and it might even sting, but at least it gave him a bit of true insight into her—into the woman who was going to be the mother of his child.
She finally continued, “Maybe your father summed it up. Your parents loved each other, but they were too different. Their love couldn’t bear the weight of those differences. I think we’re friends—or at least on the way to being friends. If love couldn’t make their marriage work, then what chance does almost-friendship have?”
And with an attorney-worthy bit of summation, she’d hit the nail on the head. She was right about that, so why didn’t he care that she was right? Why did he want to ask her again, right now, to marry him?
And why did he wish she’d say yes?
“Kennedy, I—”
“I’d better go set your father’s place,” she said as she fled.
Kennedy wasn’t sure what Malcolm had been about to say, but she had a feeling whatever it had been was best left unsaid. Facing his father was preferable. She set the plate and silverware down in front of Malcolm’s father.
“How are you feeling?” he asked politely.
“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”
There was an awkward pause, and then he asked, “When are you due?”
Her hands fell to her stomach. The gesture had become more and more common because her stomach was so huge there was nowhere else for her hands to rest. “I’m due in a few weeks.”
“And you just let my son know now?” There was censure in his voice.
Pap cleared his throat. “I think we should all remember that this is a holiday. And holidays are about families. Like it or not, that’s what we are. Senior is the father of my grandson, and Kennedy, you’re the mother of my great-grandson, and a good friend to boot. This baby is going to tie us all together as a family from this point on. And I refuse to let him ever feel as if he, or she, is responsible for any fights between us.”
“I agree,” Malcolm said as he walked into the room with a turkey on a platter. “We might not be a traditional family, but the four of us are a family. We’re all tied to an unborn baby—a baby who didn’t ask to be born. And we will all put the baby’s needs and wants first. We will never make him or her feel as if they are anything but a joy to all of us. And if anyone”—he looked at Senior—“can’t abide by that one, very important rule, then they should get out. And get out now.”
His father looked as startled as Kennedy felt by the ferocity in Malcolm’s voice.
Mr. Carter said, “I—”
But Malcolm interrupted him. “Right now, the only appropriate discussion is how amazing my turkey is, and possibly a list of things we’re thankful for. You can all think on that and put together a list as I bring in the rest of the dishes.”
Kennedy watched Malcolm make half a dozen trips to and from the kitchen. His expression said, more clearly than words, that no one should offer to help, much less talk to him.
She looked at his father, whose anger was palpable. She had a feeling Malcolm Carter III was not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner, and he wasn’t overly fond of the experience.
Finally she looked at Pap, who grinned and winked at her.
When all the serving dishes were on the table, Malcolm sat down.
“I’ll go first,” he said. “I’m thankful that I’m going to be a father. It’s something I didn’t plan and I’ve hardly had time to adjust to, but I’m thrilled. I’m thankful that my child will have a mother like Kennedy. Someone who works hard for what she wants and has an innate kindness. I’m thankful to be sharing this meal with everyone I love. I’m thankful that a simple plate of oatmeal cookies finally made me feel that I’d come home.”
Kennedy wasn’t sure what had prompted her to make the cookies for Malcolm, but she was suddenly glad that she had.
Pap said, “I’m thankful that while I might be old, I’m still young enough to appreciate a fine woman when I see one and snap her up.” He winked at Kennedy again. “And I’m thankful that because of
my age, I realized that as you get older you never find yourself wishing you had more time to work, you find yourself wishing you had more time for the people in your life. I’m also thankful that my grandson came home to take care of business and that Kennedy will help him as much as she’s always helped me. Finally, I’m very, very thankful I’m going to be a great-grandfather.”
Everyone looked at Kennedy. She’d never done anything like this with Aunt Betty during the holidays. Her parents hadn’t done this at Thanksgiving, but to this day she could remember them being happy about the smallest things. Her father would show up with daisies and her mom would act as if he’d given her a diamond. She’d buy him a new shirt and he’d act very much the same.
She’d asked her mom about it once, and she’d said, If I can be thankful and happy about the smallest things in my life, imagine the joy I feel over the bigger things, like having you as a daughter. Life’s too short not to appreciate all the moments. She missed her parents so much, even after more than a dozen years. In a few more years she’d have lived half her life without them. And she felt a wave of kindredness with Malcolm and Pap.
She cleared her throat, trying to push back all the emotions that sat so close to the surface, and managed to say, “I’m so thankful that the baby’s healthy and will be here soon. And I’m thankful to be here . . . to feel like I’m part of a family for the first time in a long time.”
They waited as if they wanted her to say more, but Kennedy was done.
Everyone turned to Senior. “I’m thankful to be having dinner with my son and his family” was all he said.
Malcolm’s sigh was audible. But he smiled and said, “Let’s eat.”
Somehow Kennedy got through the dinner. It was a shame that it was so long and arduous, because under other circumstances, she’d have enjoyed it very much. Malcolm was a good cook. Kennedy dutifully put bite after bite in her mouth. She wished Malcolm’s father were anywhere but here.
Everyone except Mr. Carter tossed out a few conversational gambits, but they all faded or simply fizzled almost as soon as they started.
When the meal finished, Kennedy managed to resist the urge to clap with joy.
“Go sit down in the living room, Kennedy,” Malcolm said. “The guys are going to clear and do dishes. Your only job today is to rest. I’ll call you for dessert.”
“Normally I’d argue, but yesterday was exhausting, so I’ll meekly go kick up my feet.”
And while yesterday was busy, Kennedy acquiesced more because she welcomed a break from Mr. Carter.
She went into the living room and sat down on the couch she’d sat on a thousand times with Val. Malcolm’s mother had a collection of old teacups. She had loved having a reason to make tea and drink out of her fancy cups.
Kennedy hadn’t had a good cup of tea since Val had died. She could blame it on the pregnancy, but the truth was, having tea was something she did with Val. She couldn’t bring herself to do it solo.
Mondays were the worst days. Kennedy would be in the middle of making a flower arrangement and think, It’s Movie Monday, and then remember it wasn’t. Or she’d hear movie reviews on the radio and think about telling Val about which ones sounded good. And every time she remembered that she’d never have another Movie Monday with Val it was like a punch in the gut. She hadn’t gone to a movie in the theater since Val’s death. She just couldn’t face going without her.
Kennedy’s hand strayed to her child. Val’s grandchild. Her parents’ grandchild. The baby would never know any of them.
Kennedy looked around the room, her hand still protectively covering her unborn baby. There were so many pieces of Val here.
Kennedy remembered buying the red throw on the back of the recliner. She’d given it to Val for a birthday. Malcolm’s mom loved things that were soft, and this was like butter. Kennedy struggled up off the couch and ran her hand over it as she passed by the chair on her way to the mantel and the pictures that lined it. She’d seen them a million times. Malcolm as a baby. He wasn’t on a bearskin rug, but rather on a plaid blanket that was still folded at the end of his boyhood bed. Pap and Val dancing at the Center. Pap and his wife on their wedding day, posed in front of the falls. Pap, Val, and Malcolm on his high school graduation day.
Kennedy picked that one up. She thought again about that awk-weird graduation, Malcolm craning over his shoulder to look for his father.
She knew he was watching because she’d watched, too. She’d been keenly aware of his disappointment. She’d shared it in a way. Aunt Betty had been there for her, but she’d wanted her parents there as much as Malcolm had wanted his dad. She’d felt a certain kinship with him. She knew what it was like to want what you couldn’t have.
Even after Mr. Carter finally showed up, he hadn’t sat with Val and Pap. And later, he’d kept his distance.
She noticed something she’d never seen before in that graduation picture. There she was in the background. She was sitting in a folding chair, looking at the family as someone snapped the picture.
That was pretty much the story of her life. In the background. Always one step removed from everyone.
She put the picture back and her hands fell to her stomach again. The baby gave her a satisfying kick.
Soon she’d have a family again. She hadn’t felt she belonged to anyone since her parents died. Oh, Aunt Betty was family, but she had looked at Kennedy as more of a burden—a burden she had to bear. And once Kennedy grew up, she’d looked at her as help, and later yet, as a colleague.
“Kennedy, are you okay?”
She whirled around and found Malcolm staring at her from the doorway. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
Malcolm came over to the hearth and looked at the picture. “I miss her so damn much.”
“Me too. I was thinking that I hadn’t been to a movie since she died.”
“Movie?” he asked, standing next to her and looking at the pictures.
“Your mom and I had a standing date on Mondays. Movie Mondays, she called them. We saw wonderful ones, and sometimes we saw really bad ones. We gorged ourselves on popcorn until we were stuffed. But afterward we’d still go out to dinner, complaining the whole time about how full we were, and we’d discuss the movie. And we laughed. That’s what I remember most about Val . . . her laughter. I miss it.”
“Me too,” he said, gently touching the picture of his mom as a girl at the falls behind the Center. She was wearing overalls and a Huck Finn hat and had a fishing pole slung over her shoulder. She’d told Kennedy that she hated fishing but had loved going to the creek with her father. “I never knew about your movie dates.”
“We spent a lot of time together. She was my best friend.” Kennedy had worried early on that her friendship with Val was an offshoot of her girlish crush on Malcolm, but soon that worry wasn’t even on her radar. She loved Val for all the reasons everyone in town loved her—because it was impossible not to. She loved Val for simply being Val. Their May-December friendship might have seemed odd to some people, but maybe they each filled a void. What they had was different from a mother-child relationship—not more, but certainly not less. Friends was the best description Kennedy had, though she wasn’t sure it truly reflected what they’d had.
Malcolm studied her a moment, then nodded. “Are you up for dessert? I’m sorry about my father. I know he’s a hard man, but—”
She interrupted his apology. “Malcolm, what he is, what he says, it’s on him. You don’t ever need to apologize for either. And I’m tougher than I look. I can handle your father.”
He smiled. “So much of who he is makes him a great attorney, but sometimes that gets in the way of him being . . .”
Kennedy thought about helping Malcolm fill in the blank by saying a human being, but that sounded cold, so she said, “It gets in the way of him being warm and cuddly?”
Malcolm laughed. Ge
nuinely laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s a description no one has ever used for my dad.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him as he led her back to the dining room.
Kennedy thought about wiggling away from his touch, but this once, she sensed they both needed to feel connected to someone else, so she let it be and let him lead her back to the dining room.
Mal watched as Kennedy finished her pumpkin pie, then said, “I really need to go now. Tomorrow is going to be crazy, and I want to nap today in preparation for it, because there will be no napping for a few days.”
He was sure she did need to nap, given her condition. But he was equally sure she was ready to get away from his father. Frankly, he didn’t blame her.
“Thanks for coming,” he said as his father scowled.
Pap stood as well. “Hold on, Kennedy, I’ll walk you out.” He smiled at Mal. “You are still one of the best cooks I know.”
“I learned from the best,” Mal said.
“You did.” Pap joined Kennedy in the doorway. “Don’t get up. We know our way out, don’t we, Kennedy?”
She smiled and linked hands with his grandfather. “We’ll be fine. Thanks again for dinner, Malcolm. It was wonderful.”
He heard their voices murmuring as they went toward the front door, though he couldn’t tell what they were saying.
Moments later the door opened, then shut.
His father sat there, saying nothing.
“Thank you for coming,” Mal said stiffly.
“You’re going to give up everything you worked for, aren’t you? You’ll throw away your career and the position you’ve earned because of a fling with the girl next door?”
“It’s a sabbatical, sir. I’m not walking away from anything.”
“I see how you look at her. Every time she moved her hand to her stomach, you melted. You want to win. And you think getting this girl to marry you will be winning, but it won’t. Marrying someone because you ‘should’ never works out. Not for you. Not for Kennedy. Not for the baby.”