by Annie Jones
The glass door slid open with a whoosh! Crisp fall air flooded into the warm, damp kitchen.
Collier stepped forward. “Can't this wait until after dinner when we can sit down and discuss it calmly and rationally?”
Petie escorted Nic right on by without batting an eye.
Their youngest sister hurried to catch up to them. “Don't think you're going to leave me out of this, then.”
“Me, too! I want to come, too.” Willa leaped in the air.
“Stay and help Jessica watch the dinner,” Nic ordered over her shoulder as Petie gestured for her to go through the door first.
“Mom, it's November in Chicago.” Sweet, practical Jessica already had Willa by the hand. “You don't really plan to go outside now, do you?”
“This is between me and my sisters, sugar.” Petie did not look back at her daughter.
Everyone, even the closest kin, knew that no one but the three of them had any say in what went on between the Dorsey sisters.
Wally blurted out an ugly belly laugh. “Is this what you Southern folk call getting taken to the woodshed?”
Petie and Nic stopped in their tracks.
Collier whipped her head around so fast she risked a sprained neck. She pulled up short. Save for a last minute side step, she would have collided with her sisters.They stood in the open doorway for no more than a few seconds, giving old Wally boy the deadeye.
The room went silent again, except for the crackle of Willa's paper flowers as she bounced up and down beside Jessica.
Then, without so much as a huff to acknowledge the absolute and utter out-and-out rudeness of Wally s intrusive remark, the three sisters made their exit onto the cold porch.
“What about the call?” Park dared to stick his head out the sliding glass door.
Nic couldn't help but liken the sight to a man voluntarily putting his head in the guillotine.
“What about the call?” Petie let go of Nic, folded her arms, and narrowed her eyes.
He looked at his watch. “Well, it's nearly time.”
Ever since they'd begun the tradition of sharing Thanksgiving at Petie's a decade ago, The Duets had called at twelve-thirty on the dot. Collier had gone so far as to plan to serve the meal at one o'clock to give everyone a chance to say their hellos before they ate. Nic's announcement had shot that plan straight out of the water.
A bracing wind blasted against their backs.
“What should I tell your aunts?” Park frowned.
“Just hand the phone to Mother.” Petie rolled her eyes. “Might as well let them get all their fussing at one another out of the way right off the bat.”
“Okay, but—”
“And do let us know when they call, won't you, sweetheart? Tap on the door or something.” Petie waved her husband back into the house. “We won't be long out here.”
“We'd better not be.” Nic wrapped her arms around herself. “It's cold.”
“Just like my debut at making Thanksgiving dinner will be if we—if you two—go on and on about this.” Collier brushed her hand back through the short layers of her new haircut, the one she had made sure everyone knew some New York hairstylist assured her gave off the aura of power and confidence. Then she looked toward her cooling culinary efforts with a pout on her face worthy of a spoiled three-year-old.
The glass door rumbled along its track then clunked shut.
Petie folded her arms, like Mother warming up to a full-fledged hissy fit, and turned on Nic. “Have you completely taken leave of your ever-lovin' mind?”
“Before you get all in a lather over this, at least do me the courtesy of hearing me out.”
“Courtesy? You have the nerve to stand there and throw the word courtesy in my face? After you've ruined my Thanksgiving dinner?”
“It's my dinner.” Collier glanced back at the activity inside the house. “We're just having it at your house because no one in this family would ever bring themselves to come to New York City.”
“That's not the issue now.” Petie slashed her hand through the air to cut off Collier, then laced her arms tight again. “The issue is—
“I did it for Willa.”
Collier focused on Nic.
The rigid knot of Petie's arms relaxed, just a bit. “How so?”
“There's this program. I can get her into it, but it won't be cheap. I've already used the money I'd saved for the trip home as a deposit. That's why I can’t go this year.”
“What kind of a program?” Collier stepped forward. “You're not going to send our baby away are you?”
“It's a residential program, yes.” Nic lowered her gaze.
“But...” Collier strangled on the next word then held up her hands in a sign of resignation.
Collier had only been fifteen when Nic brought the little cherub of a child, Willa, to live with Mother and Daddy and her in the house in Persuasion. Nic's youngest sister had loved that little girl from the moment she laid eyes on her.
And when the trouble came a couple years later, when they knew things were not as they should be with the baby, Collier had loved her even more. Because she had instinctively seemed to know even then that sweet Willa would need more love than an ordinary child.
Petie gave a tight shiver. “I know you're trying to do what's best for Willa—”
“I am doing what's best for her.” Nic moved her gaze from one sister to the other then back, her eyes clear and unblinking. “Public school is not working for her. They are overburdened and understaffed for kids with special needs. I have to think about her future. I have to think about how she will survive in this world should anything happen to me—”
“It won't,” Collier insisted.
“And if, heaven forbid, it should, there are plenty of people who love her and would be ready to step in and—”
“And what?” Nic raised her head. Even when the wind tossed the long coils of her brown hair, laced now with threads of palest silver, she felt a stillness about her resolve that defied the November chill.
Neither Petie nor Collier said a word.
Behind them, Park appeared at the glass door, pantomiming talking on the phone.
Petie both acknowledged him and kept him at bay with her raised hand.
Nic sighed. She shuffled a few steps inward, closing the circle of intimacy between the three sisters. “Petie, Willa is a full-time commitment now. She may well be one for the rest of her life. Much as I love my family, I can't assume that y all would be ready, willing, and able to do whatever it takes to care for her forever.”
“I would,” Collier said softly
Nic put her hand on her sister's wrist, giving a gentle but firm squeeze. “I know you would, Collier. Or at least, in your heart, you think you would, but—”
“I would.” She slid her hand into Nic's and returned the squeeze.
“Me, too. In fact, with my kids gone now I—” A light came over Petie's face, then just as quickly faded. She took both of her sisters' hands. “I'm here for you always, Nic, you know that.”
Park tapped on the door, making everyone jump or tense up. No one made a move to go inside.
“For Willa's sake, I have to say this,” Collier whispered. “Can it really be best for Willa to be away from her family this Christmas, the last holiday before you send her off to—?”
“Don't make it sound like I'm packing her off to an institution.”
“I wasn't! I wouldn't!” Apology rang in her tone. “I only meant, well, isn't there some way you two can still come down for Christmas and New Year's at least?”
“Can't afford it, sugar. Not now.”
Park's rapping on the glass turned to a resounding thump- thump-thump.
“Well, if it's just money you need...” Collier held her hands up.
Just money? Nic smiled at the simplicity of the younger woman's perception. “Just money? Like you have gobs to throw away on a sentimental whim?”
Petie gave Nic a hard look. “You could always—”
“Spare me Mother's speech about tracking down Willa's no- account biological father and wringing child support out of him. You two know what it would cost me financially, emotionally, mentally, and even spiritually to drag myself and my precious daughter through a situation with no good outcome. Even if I could find the man, what are the chances he would help? What kind of mess might I be inviting into my child's life?”
“Then Park and I will pay for the trip.”
Collier let her breath out in a long whoosh that formed a moist cloud in the air.
“I can't let you do that. Willa and I will just have a quiet holiday at home.”
“Alabama is your home.” Collier sounded wistful. “You love that house, Nic, as much or more than any of us.”
If Nic had an answer to that, she never got the chance to share it.
The back door came screeching open, and Park thrust his head, shoulder, and even ventured a foot outside. “Y'all better get in here. I can only gather so much from this cockeyed, one-sided conversation, but from this end of things, seems your aunts have got your mother all worked up over something to do with the house. And the big picture is not a pretty one.”
“Where is she?” Petie led the charge into the house.
“Upstairs on the extension in our room.” His profile to his wife, he kept one ear toward the TV droning in the den. “This won’t take long will it?”
“I'll try to keep your inconvenience to a minimum.”
Now there were some words Petie ought to paint on a board and tack up over her doorway, Nic thought, as the motto of her life, or what her life had become these last few years.
Petie stepped around her husband and started for the stairs.
Her sisters fell in line behind her.
“Collier, why don't you go on and tend to your dinner?”
“But I—”
Petie gave her baby sister a pat on the cheek that ended any argument, then faced Nic. “And you know what you could do that would really help about now?”
“Call ahead and see if there is a group discount at the nut house in case we all need to check in by day's end?”
“Tempting an idea as that is...” Petie pressed her hand to Nic's back and gave her a gentle shove. “Why don't you get the girls around and make sure the table is set proper. Silver in the right place, ice in the tea glasses, that kind of thing.”
“What about—”
“And tell the men to wash up. That'll keep them busy while I'm going to try to salvage what's left: of...this lovely family gathering.”
“I still think—”
“You want to handle The Duets and Mother at the same time?”
“Ice in the tea glasses, you said? Anything else?”
“You know any prayers for making this family behave like God's beloved children and not like the refugees in the last lifeboat from the ship of big fools?”
“I'll improvise.” Nic winked then laughed.
Petie trudged up the carpeted stairs, her voice trailing behind her. “To think, I had looked forward to this day like a child waiting for Christmas morning. What a fool I was to hope this celebration would unfold as beautifully as I'd imagined.”
That was it for Nic. As long as she could remember the Dorsey sisters were there for one another. She was not going to let her sister deal with her disappointment or the family difficulty alone now. “Hold up. I've changed my mind. I'm coming up there with you.”
Petie paused in front of her wedding portrait hung between paintings of the kids when they were children. She made a striking image standing before her own image looking as tired and unsure in real life as she had looked vibrant and ready to take on the world in her portrait. “Nic, you don't have to...”
“I know, but what kind of sister would I be if I sent you into the fray alone? We're family, sugar. We're stuck with each other through thick and thin.”
“Thick and thin, sickness and health, Mother and her sisters- in-law.” Petie held out her hand as Nic jogged up the stairs to meet her. She gave Nic's hand a squeeze, then nailed her with a knowing look. “And money management and misguided ideas, we are in it for the long haul for all of it, you hear?”
“Let's deal with Mother and The Duets first.” Nic pushed on ahead. “And leave the rest to the Lord—and the people directly involved—to sort out. You hear?”
Petie didn't answer, and the way she didn't answer told Nic that she heard but had no intention of paying the veiled demand any heed.
Nic would've stopped on the spot to make sure her sister understood that she had made up her mind about this issue. She would not go to Alabama this Christmas. Neither those proverbial wild horses nor her big sisters mule-headed stubbornness could drag her there. But before she could say so, their mother’s voice intruded.
“No, no, no, no, no! Now I mean that, Nan and Fran. You, too, Bert and Lula. No!”
“Mother, put that phone down. I'm coming to take care of everything.” Petie marched into her bedroom, her hand outstretched from the get-go to take the receiver.
“Just a minute, honey.”
“Mother, I love you and I love Daddy's sisters. But the mix of you all together is about as volatile as a firecracker in a fresh cow pie. And there ain't nobody in this family can run fast enough to get out of the way of that...fallout. So let me handle this.”
It did Nic good to see Petie's old fire resurface. She held in her grin, though, out of deference to their mother.
“Fine. If you're going to start talking manure, I'll gladly let you handle it.” Mother thrust the phone toward her oldest daughter.
“Thank you.” Petie took the receiver and affected a voice so syrupy Nic figured she'd have to wipe down the mouthpiece afterward to keep bees from swarming to it. “Hello, darlings, this is Petie now. Ya'll hang on for just a sec while I tell Mother something, then I'll be right back to listen to every little thing you've got to say.”
Not one hair on Mother's bob so much as fluttered when she spun on her heel, but that did not mean she was retreating unruffled.
Petie cut her off at the door, the phone pressed to her chest to keep the aunts from hearing. “Oh no, you don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Don't go down there to stir up sympathy toward your side in this, whatever it may be. We've had enough drama for this Thanksgiving already, thank you very much.”
“What are you driving at, sugar?”
“If I were driving anywhere, Mama, it would be away, far, far away.” She managed a smile and to kiss her mother on the forehead.
Nic knew exactly how her sister felt.
“But seeing as we are all stuck here, my goal is to get through the rest of this day without any further life-altering declarations.” Petie and Mother both shot Nic an accusing glare.
Nic feigned intense interest in the knickknacks on her sister's nightstand.
“You promise, Mother, not one word?”
She pursed her lips and acted out locking them tight.
“Good. Maybe we can get through the holiday then with some measure of civility, gentility, and whatever other ility is called for.”
“How about senility?” Mother's eyes glittered with self-satisfaction. “They have really lost it this time.”
“You've been saying that ever since I can remember. After all these years, what could they possibly have left to lose?”
“How about the house, for starters?”
“They've lost the house?” Nic blinked.
“Apparently you do not fully grasp the concept of no more life- altering announcements, Mother,” Petie spoke through clenched teeth.
“We own the house.” Nic cleared her throat to chase away the hint of panic in her tight voice. She had staked far too much of her daughter’s future on that house and what would happen with it. She did not find her mother's joking about it one bit amusing. “They just look after it while we're away. How could they have lost it?”
“It's not lost as in gone, but j
ust ask them what they've done. They might as well have lost it, and it's not something you're going to straighten out on the phone, either. Whether you want to or not, Nicolette, you and your sisters are going to have to go down there and sort this out in person.”
Four
Nobody listened to Sam. Or talked to him, for that matter. The regulars at Dewi's nodded and muttered greetings whenever he came in, but they never offered an invitation for him to join them over coffee, or shared any of the twice-told gossip that passed for news around the place. The church ladies had brought by some ham and a couple congealed salads in recycled whipped cream and margarine tubs, not their usual good plastic dishes with their names on the lids in permanent ink. Their gestures, Sam understood, only skirted the most basic level of good manners. It served to remind him that no one had asked him to come and no one expected him to stay long.
In the town where he had been born and raised, he remained an outsider. He'd thought that would change when he got settled into a place, started letting everyone know why he had come back and what he hoped to accomplish.
A blue-and-silver truck pulled in next to his battered pickup where he waited outside Dewi's. The door slammed so hard, Sam felt it through his worn seat springs.
“You just gonna sit there on your brains or you coming inside?” Lee Radwell, a fellow cottage kid who now owned the gas station stood on Dewi's porch, glaring through the windshield at Sam.
“Hello, Lee.” Sam rolled down his window. “You inviting me in to join the boys for coffee?” Sam knew better. Of all the people who held his past against him, Lee was the worst.
Lee grunted his contempt at Sam's suggestion. “Just saying them parking spaces are for paying customers.”
Sam chose not to point out how those paying customers often sat in Dewi's all day spending nothing but the price of a bottomless cup of coffee. “Not to worry, Lee. I'll gladly give up my spot if somebody comes along who needs it.”
“Too bad it ain't that easy to run you out of the pulpit.”
“I’m not running anywhere, Lee.” Sam shrugged, his shoulders rasping against the worn fabric of his truck’s seat. “I wasn't called to take the easy path. I wasn't called only to walk through friendly doors. I came here to help make things better for everyone, even those who don't want me, and I will be staying for a while.”