“Getting back to last night, Lynn, what was on your mind the most?”
“Oh, nothing in particular. You know how I get when we’re going to be entertaining. There’s so much to do and I want everything to be perfect.”
“Isn’t Maggie coming over early to help you with the preparations?”
“Well, yes, but there’s just so much she can do. Her heart is in the right place, but I have to watch what she does. She tries, I’ll give her that, but her mind seems to be miles away. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel right about turning over my family’s secret recipes to her.”
“Is that all that’s on your mind? It doesn’t seem as if Maggie’s lack of culinary skill would be enough to lose sleep over. After all, she helps you every year. By now you should know what you can trust her with. I would think that you would be more concerned about everyone getting along.”
“Well, I am, a little bit. Yesterday I read an article on how to avoid family arguments on Thanksgiving. The author pointed out that there’s something about Thanksgiving Day that brings out the worst in people. His viewpoint is that every family is dysfunctional in some way and that every family member has an Achilles heel of one sort or another. It’s just the nature of things when people get together, for them to push buttons. Sometimes you hit a sore point without even knowing it. When you get a small group like this together it doesn’t take too much to get someone riled up. The author thought that it might be that there were no presents involved to act as a distraction as there is on Christmas and at birthdays. His second idea was the lack of activity, too much sitting around, which results in idle conversation, which in turn often leads to hurtful words. The biggest culprit on his list was alcohol. In his view, nothing fueled ‘differences of opinion’ more than an elevated blood alcohol level. He pointed out that it only took one argumentative person to over-consume to set things off. He concluded that it was sort of a catch twenty-two. I think we’re just going to have to play it by ear.”
“Maybe you should stick to a festive punchbowl and forget to put in the punch. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds as if you’re more concerned about today than you’re letting on. Who do you think will be the main perpetrator?”
“You know our kids; each has managed to stir things up in the past. It could be any one of them and once they get started, they won’t back down. Unfortunately, they all have issues.”
“Did that magazine writer of yours recommend anything else to help us get past the Thanksgiving dinner blues?”
“Yes he did, matter of fact. Some of his suggestions are rather obvious, like he says if an argument starts, you should try to change the subject. Now, that’s a joke. Try to do that with our gang—fat chance. Some of the advice makes sense, though. We need to keep them entertained. He suggested that we have something going on in more than one room. That’s good advice since we have TV in the living room and out on the porch. Between the parade and football, there will be enough to watch if that’s what they want to do. You can set up the corn-hole game in the backyard. They all enjoy playing that, and of course we have the pool table and the ping pong table downstairs. We just need enough things for them to do. That’s going to be your job. I’m putting you in charge of entertainment.”
“I realized yesterday that I still don’t know much about Richard’s fiancée, but when I asked Richard about her, he was very vague. They’ve only been going together for six months; she moved in with him a month ago. The only thing I know about her is what we learned last month when we had dinner with them at his place. She seems like a very nice person. Let’s try to get her to talk about herself a little at dinner. Maybe that will help keep things peaceful. I plan to serve dinner around two-thirty. Richard and his fiancée will be here at noon. I have no idea when Wilson will get here, but it will probably be around noon also. That leaves two and a half hours that we need to keep them entertained and out of trouble.”
“Well, we’ll have to play that by ear, I guess.”
“Do you remember the time that Richard and Wil got into it over the last croissant?”
“Oh god, yes. How could I ever forget that day? Out of spite, Richard put the whole croissant in his mouth and Wil got so angry that he stabbed Richard’s hand with a fork. Fortunately he didn’t cut the skin, but we were worried there for a few minutes.”
Smiling, Ron said, “Well, I suggest that you make extra croissants today.”
“Don’t worry; there’ll be plenty of everything. Now, can I make you anything for breakfast?”
“No, don’t bother. You’ve got enough to do today. I’ll just have a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal.”
“I guess I’ll have the same.”
They finished their coffee and cereal at the same time. Ron gathered up the dishes. “I’ll clean up here. You need to get dressed.”
“What, in my best ‘going to kitchen’ clothes? That won’t take too long. The bird is a little over twenty pounds and I want to get him cleaned, stuffed, and in the oven by nine. I’m going to slow roast him today.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“Getting back to the alcohol situation, the punch bowl without any booze is probably not a good idea. It’s sort of saying that we don’t trust them. Offer them beer or wine after they settle in and then wait for them to ask for refills. That’s about all we can do without being too obvious. I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable. After all, we invited them over here.”
Marilyn returned to the bedroom, took a quick shower, and sat down at the makeup table to apply some eyeliner, mascara, and eyebrow pencil. She could always do the rest later. Right now she just wanted to look presentable for when Maggie arrived. She went to the closet, picked out a pair of slacks, and put on a cotton top that was roomy and cool; something that would provide some comfort from the heat of the kitchen.
As she walked by the full length mirror on the closet door, she glanced over her shoulder and gave herself a quick approval. She made a quick call to her daughter and then headed on down to the kitchen. There was so much to be done.
Chapter 3
Margaret was already up, brushed, and enjoying a cup of coffee when her mother called. Maggie, at 5’7” and 119 lbs., would by most standards be considered a good catch. A curvaceous blond, she had no trouble turning the heads of the young, unattached doctors and even some of the married ones; however, her easy-going nature made her vulnerable to men wanting a good time rather than a serious relationship. It was a major process for her to sort out the difference.
Maggie moved out of the family house two years before when she became engaged to Tom Easton, a sales manager for a large Ford dealership in Wallington. They moved in together, and it was a whirlwind romance with lavish gifts of jewelry, trips, and a new car. Maggie was looking forward to a big wedding a few months out when one day, having had a change in her shift, she returned to the apartment to find Tom in bed with their neighbor. Totally heartbroken, she sought shelter with a fellow nurse. She returned the ten thousand dollar engagement ring, but kept the car. Her father tried to get her to move back home, but she felt too embarrassed. Instead she got her own apartment just minutes away from work, making visits home even more infrequent and mostly only around holidays.
Maggie knew it would take a very special man to overcome the pain she suffered from Tom’s betrayal. He had not appeared on the scene as yet. Meanwhile, as the search continued, there was no lack of male companionship in her life.
“Hi, Mom!”
“I didn’t call too early, did I?”
“No. I’ve been up since five -thirty. I just finished an hour of Tai Chi and had a light breakfast. What’s up?”
“I was just wondering what time you were coming over.”
“I was planning on getting there between nine and nine-thirty, unless you need me sooner.”
“Oh, no dear, that will be just fine. I wonder if you would do me a favor, though. Will you stop at the Corona Mart on the way here and pick up a package
of refrigerated croissants, their store brand? I think they come in a twelve pack.”
“Sure, I pass by a couple of them on the way over. I know they’re open all day today. Are you sure that’s all you need? I’ll be glad to pick up anything else.”
“Well, now that you mentioned it, you could also get a large can of cranberry jelly. I don’t care what brand you get. I just want an extra can for leftovers during the week. I’m baking a twenty-pounder this year, so there’s bound to be plenty of leftovers. I hope everyone will want to take some home.”
“I’ll take care of everything, Mom. I’ll get a few of those plastic storage containers too. You know, I’m really looking forward to meeting Richard’s fiancée. What’s her name again? Terry?”
“Theresa. We met her once. She seems like a real nice girl. She moved in with him.”
“Well, that’s a big step. I guess they’re serious about being together.”
“Richard hasn’t said anything about it. He’s very hush-hush about her. Maybe they’re planning to make an announcement today; who knows. It would be the perfect opportunity, although sometimes couples like to wait until Christmas or New Year’s to announce their engagement.”
“That would be nice. How long have they been going together?”
“About six months, as far as I know. I think she works in the office at the hospital where Richard has his practice.”
“Well, I’ll see you a little after nine, then. Love you, Mom.”
“Bye, dear.”
Once again, her mother ignored her “love you.” Maggie was raised in a family that was uncomfortable expressing their love for one another. She was certain the love existed. She could tell by the way her parents raised her and her two brothers, but she could not remember a single instance when either her mother or father expressed that love with a simple “I love you”; not even on greeting cards. Maggie’s attempt to introduce a verbal expression of love was always a miserable failure. I’ll never understand people. Why is it so hard to say “I love you”?
Maggie clicked off the cell phone and reached for her coffee mug. She started thinking about Thanksgiving Dinners past. I sure hope things go well today. I hate seeing Mom getting upset after all the work she does. I’ll try to check my sensitivity at the door today, but I know that I can count on Richard for a zinger or two. Maybe, with his fiancée there, he’ll be at his best behavior. If he starts with me, though, I’m not just going to sit there and take it. Fiancée or not, I’ll put him in his place. I don’t think he’ll start anything, though. I’m sure he won’t want Theresa to think she’s marrying into a dysfunctional family.
Then there’s Wil. We used to be so close, but all that’s changed now. I remember as a kid we used to hang out together. Richard was always aloof, but Wil was special to me. Hell, we even practiced kissing with each other when we were teens. Once, he even had a mental lapse and put his hand on my breast. I remember at the time I had all I could do to act nonplussed by the situation.
Everything was going good for him until he came home for Christmas during his last year at college and got involved with the neighborhood thugs, the Abbott brothers. That’s when he got into drugs. When I visited him in jail, he told me he wasn’t using; just selling for them. He swore to me that he wouldn’t see the Abbotts when he got out and that he wouldn’t ever sell drugs again. I believe him.
She left her apartment at eight-thirty and headed straight for the Corona Mart.
Chapter 4
The alarm in the bedside radio went off, blasting a Beatles song into the silence of his studio apartment. He slapped the off switch and rolled over on the pillow and went back to sleep. Twenty minutes later he was awakened by the neighbor’s dog barking in the hall. He looked at the clock and decided it was time to get up. He straightened the sheets and picked up the bar at the end of the sofa-bed and returned it to its dual purpose position as a three cushion couch. His living quarters were small, but functional.
Wilson Arnold Symington was named after his great grandfather, Wilson Charles Symington, a military hero in the European Theater of Operations during WWII. Not many leaves from that branch of the family tree fell down on them, except they did find some papers that showed that the thrice decorated army captain had earned the Medal of Honor, the Distinguished Service Cross, and a Purple Heart. No other member of the Symington clan ever served in the military and Wilson intended to continue that tradition in spite of his heroic namesake.
He made a cup of instant coffee and ate two half stale powdered donuts. This was what he called his preliminary breakfast. Usually for his real breakfast he relied on coffee cake and scones fresh from the oven and fresh brewed gourmet coffee in the break room at work, provided by the kitchen at the Wallington House. It was one of the perks he appreciated.
It was nice having a holiday off, even if it meant he would have to go over to his parents’ house to endure four or five hours of scrutiny. This was the first family get-together since his release. I guess I deserve whatever happens. I was the one that screwed up. I’m the bad boy in the family. I’m sure I’m an embarrassment for them, especially in a town this small. Well, that’s water under the bridge now. I just hope Richard doesn’t start in with me. I swear, if he does, I’ll tell the family a few things I know about him, including his own drug use. For a short time he supplied Richard with some high-grade hash. We’ll see what Mom, Dad and his fiancée think about him then.
Wilson realized that he was getting himself worked up over something that might not even happen. That was a bad habit he had and it kept him in a constant state of angst. He played and replayed scenarios in his head; carrying on conversations that seldom took place in reality. This form of play acting, however, was a small part of the troubled psyche that was Wilson Symington. Even more troubling was a game he played at the neighborhood pub whenever he was bored. The rules were simple. All that was required was to consume as many drinks or beers as he could before someone, a bartender, or a friend, commented that maybe he had had enough. The record was twenty-three cans in a period of three hours, after which he passed out.
That was then. Right now, Wilson had a more serious problem; what to wear. He was supposed to pick up laundry from the cleaners on the way home yesterday, but he had to work late and they were closed by the time he got there. He considered stopping at the neighborhood Target store to buy some slacks, but he didn’t have enough cash and his credit card was maxed-out. So now he stood looking into the wardrobe trying to decide between a faded pair of khaki slacks and a pair of cargo pants that were fresh from the cleaners. Wilson knew his parents weren’t sticklers for dress and he didn’t give a damn about what anyone else would think. He opted for the cargo pants and found a tan two pocket shirt that looked presentable. Standing in front of the closet mirror, he eyed his six-foot, one hundred seventy pound stature and decided that what he had on would have to suffice.
The ride to his parents’ house would take about an hour, so he had three hours to kill. He picked up the remote and started flicking channels, finally settling for the History channel and a documentary about WWI.
At eleven sharp he left his apartment; his big adventure about to begin.
Chapter 5
Richard Walter Symington rolled over in bed and smiled as he spied the beautiful face of his fiancée on the pillow next to him. I’m a lucky man, he thought. It was six months, now since they met at a party at the hospital where they both worked. One year out of residency, Richard was a staff OB/GYN; Theresa, a supervisor of the records office.
Theresa was a redhead, in appearance and by temperament. She could be a real spitfire when provoked. Richard had only experienced that once and that was enough for him. As he watched her sleeping, he found it hard to believe this angelic looking creature could erupt into a spewing volcano.
She was of average height and weight with pale white skin populated with about a dozen strawberry seed-sized freckles, expressive sapphire eyes, and shoulder length, fiery re
d hair. Most men would define her as pretty, but Richard considered her the most beautiful woman in the world and didn’t spare any opportunity he had to tell her so. I’m a lucky man to have bagged this one. I can’t wait to see what our children look like. I sure hope she likes my family.
He rolled over to look at the clock and as he did, Theresa began to stir. As she opened her eyes, she blinked a few times and asked, “Is it time to get up yet?”
“Just about; it’s eight o’clock.” He leaned over and kissed her. She smiled and did a big stretch.
“Which of us gets the bathroom first?”
“Why don’t you go ahead while I make us some coffee?
“Okay, I won’t be long.”
“Take your time. I’m going to put on the TV. The parade doesn’t start until nine but there’s a pre-parade special on.”
Richard lived under the large six foot plus shadow of his father. He had intended to follow a program of Pediatric Cardiology at medical school but eventually gave in to his father and entered the University of Vermont, School of Medicine in Burlington to become an OB/GYN. Although he applied to his father’s alma mater he did not receive an invitation from them. He never asked his father why he didn’t exert any influence to get him admitted to Yale; he always found it was best not to question his father’s intentions.
His eventual choice of schools made Richard the target of his father’s barbs. First he was constantly reminded that his school was rated nineteenth on the list of top Schools of Medicine, while Yale was rated number six. When his grades on a subject were higher than those his father had received for a corresponding subject, his father would point out that being a better school, Yale’s standards were higher. He applied the same logic when a grade was lower. Richard almost escaped scrutiny when he took a course that was not available back in the eighties, however, even when a one-on-one comparison wasn’t possible, his father questioned why the course was even required, usually adding the comment, Tuition is high enough without making students take these pantywaist courses.
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