My Thanksgiving Faux Paw

by Renee George

  "Yeah, spill," Willy added.

  Ruth didn't say anything, but she looked eager.

  "I was thinking about Thanksgiving when I was a kid, and bam, I was there," Babe said.

  "Was Aunt Erma Jean complaining about the noise? Was Dad passed out on the couch? He never lasted more than a few minutes once the meal was over."

  Babe forced a slight smile. "I didn't get that far."

  "Jude was there," I said. "And you, Chav. You guys were having a tickle fight."

  "Tickle torture." She grimaced. Her eyes grew melancholy. "Jude and Babe used to get me all the time. Which Thanksgiving?" she asked her brother.

  "The last one before you moved to California. The last one we were all together."

  "Oh." She smiled sadly. "That was a good Thanksgiving."

  "The best," he agreed.

  I patted my husband's hand. "Your mom really knew how to cook for an army."

  He was quiet for a moment then said, "Wait. How do you know? And how did you know about the tickle fight?"

  "When I touched you to try and break the memory link with Jack, I was somehow pulled in. Did you see either Jack or me when you were in the kitchen with your mom?"

  "I didn't. It was all very clear. Really like I was there, that it was happening right then and not twenty years ago." Babe laced his fingers with mine. "It was nice seeing my brother again. Experiencing my family before we'd lost each other."

  "I could see Jack when we visited my wedding. What's the difference between Babe and me?"

  "I have a theory," I told them. "Remember when we connected psychically because of Brother Wolf when those psychos were stalking you?"

  "You guys have colorful lives around here," Jack said.

  "You don't even know," Willy agreed.

  Chavvah nodded. "I remember. Brother Wolf showed you and me, through your vision, my past and my present."

  My throat felt thick as I thought about her spirit guide showing me Chav, beaten and broken, lying on the ground. She'd been tortured all for the pleasure of hunters. I shook the image from my mind. "He allowed you to see my vision, to share it with me. Maybe when that door opened, it stayed open."

  "And maybe because you and Jack share the same psychic bloodline, you got to share his vision!" Ruth said enthusiastically.

  I pointed at her. "Give that girl a cookie."

  Ruth rubbed her hands together. "You know I love a good cookie."

  "A fortune cookie," Willy said. "Get it, because you guys are psychic. Fortune telling."

  "We get it, girl." I shook my head. "It's just not that funny."

  "Yes, it was," she said on a giggle.

  I smirked. "The teensiest bit."

  "Okay, Jack. We've done your experiment. Now, it's time for you to answer my question. What are you doing here? Why come find me?"

  Ruth's phone vibrated on the counter. She checked it. "Ed wants to know if we are still having dinner here today. If not, he'll take the kids to the Blonde Bear."

  "We are eating here," I snapped. I pointed at all the food in crockpots. "Crap, the stuffing is in the fridge still. It needs to go in the oven."

  "Do you want the guys to bring the children back?" Ruth gestured to my brother. "I mean, you already told Jack about us."

  "Fine." I sighed then glared at Jack. "Don’t freak out if our kids go furry and run around on four legs."

  "Is that something that happens a lot?"

  "Yep."

  Chav opened the fridge and pulled out a foil-covered pan. "I'll get the stuffing going. Willy can take care of the mashed potatoes, and Ruth will do the gravy."

  "We need to get the turkey out of the cooler and get it heated up, too," I said.

  "We'll handle it," Chav told me. "You and Jack have a lot to talk about. So, you go do that, and we'll do this." She turned the oven on to get it preheated. "Go. Talk to your brother."

  Chapter 6

  I took Jack out back for privacy. Plus, Baby Jude was nearly four now and was going through a "why?" phase. I didn’t want to introduce him to his supposed uncle until I knew I could trust Jack. Wait. What? Was I actually beginning to accept I had a brother?

  "Please tell me you have dragons," Jack said. He was staring at the fire blackened grass.

  "They do make great pets," I said.

  His eyes bulged. "You've got to be kidding."

  "Of course, I'm kidding." I rolled my eyes. "There's no such things as dragons."

  "Until about half an hour ago, I didn't think there was any such things as shifters and werewolves."

  "Fair point." I gestured toward some bench seating Babe and I had set up under a large silver maple. Unfortunately, this late in the year, the leaves that were left on the tree had already gone from vibrant orange to a dead brown. Babe had spent the day before raking up scads of the fallen leaves. "Let's sit over there."

  Jack was wearing his jacket, but he gave his arms a quick rub then put on his gloves after we sat down.

  It was fifty degrees out, but I felt comfortable enough in my sweater. Since December, I had been changed. A wedding gift for Chav from Brother Wolf. He'd told her that he wanted to make her happy, and he knew that having me in her life was a good start. He didn't turn me into a therianthrope. That was a gene you had to be born with. However, he granted me the long life of one, which meant that my body adapted to cold and heat better than an average human, I was more resistant to colds and flus, and my aging process had slowed way down. Thank heavens. I was already a decade older than my husband, and I had worried more than once about what our lives would be like forty years from now. His second gift to her was the gorgeously cheerful Rory. Though, if he'd only been doling out one gift that day, I would have gladly given up a long life so that she could have her baby.

  I pivoted on the bench to face Jack. "This is the last time I'm going to ask. Why are you here? You said you had a warning, so give it to me."

  "Mom was diagnosed with cancer."

  "I'm sorry," I said. I had to admit, if only to myself, that a part of me hurt hearing the news. "How bad is it?"

  "She has something called multiple myeloma in her right thigh bone," Jack said. "She's been fighting it with chemo, steroids, and blood transfusions for almost a year now."

  "Is it working?"

  "The cancer has started to spread into her hip."

  "Is there any way to stop it?"

  "The doctors are looking for a bone marrow match. Unfortunately, I was only a thirty-eight percent match, and they need at least fifty percent for a transplant." He sighed. "If they can't find one, they will have to amputate. Even then, there is no guarantees they can get all the cells."

  I frowned, more sad than angry. Rhonda had found a way to try and use me again. "Is that why you came here, Jack? Rhonda wants my bone marrow, so she sent you to guilt me into it?"

  "I told you, she doesn't know I'm here. When I brought up trying to find you, she said no."

  I don't know which was worse, feeling used or feeling as if I didn't matter. "She is still the selfish Rhonda I remember."

  "You know how I found your picture?" He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. "She was in so much pain that I was searching for her pain pills in her bedside stand. Your picture was in there. She never forgot you. I think she doesn't want to reach out because she's...."

  "Stubborn, prideful, a terrible mom," I supplied.

  "Ashamed," Jack said. "I think she's really ashamed. When I asked her about you, I'd never seen her look so miserable, and she's on some really strong chemo, so that's saying a lot." He took his hands out of his pockets and took off the glove on his right hand. "Look, you strike me as the kind of person who would go to great lengths to help someone in their time of need. If it helps, think of Mom as a stranger."

  "I don't have to think of her as a stranger. She is a stranger. I don't know this person you keep talking about. She isn't the same Rhonda who let me raise myself because she couldn't be bothered."

  Jack's eyes crested wit
h tears. "Can I show you my mother? I know you hate her, but I love her. I don't want her to lose her leg." He took a steadying breath. "Or worse. Die."

  "Fine. But just because I'm looking doesn't mean I'm saying yes to anything."

  "Agreed," Jack said. He held out his hand.

  I took it.

  "Jack!" a woman yelled. "Can you come down and help me?"

  Jack and I were sitting on the edge of a full-sized bed in a clean bedroom. There were inspirational quotes on the walls, like "Be the best you and you will always be the best."

  Jack looked at me. "Mom loves inspirational quotes."

  "She was always spouting that kind of crap when I was growing up." I rolled my eyes. " What year is this?"

  "This is thanksgiving last year, before her cancer diagnosis." He stood up. "Come on."

  When we exited his bedroom, I could smell the combined scents of turkey and fresh baked apple pie. "The desserts smell good," I said.

  "Mom can't bake to save her life." Jack laughed. "But she knows how to buy really great scented candles."

  "That's the Rhonda I remember," I said, smiling despite myself. I felt nervous, and vision me was experiencing sweaty palms. "Is this normal?"

  He chuckled. "There's not a damn thing normal about any of this. I'm making it up as I go along. I've never walked my own memory quest. Until a few seconds ago, I wasn't sure it was possible."

  "That's so reassuring."

  We passed the open door of a hallway bathroom and two closed doors before we walked through a family room with two recliners, a couch, end tables, a coffee table, and a large screen television over a fireplace mantle. Near the mantle was a built-in bookshelf. with framed pictures placed across one shelf. "Can I go look?"

  "I don't know," he said. "I went right to the kitchen when she called, but I'm not sure what rules we're following now."

  I let go of his hand to make my way across the room.

  *****

  "Well, now we know that I can't break from the memory," I told Jack as we sat next to each other on the bench in my back yard. "Let's try again. This time, I won't veer from the memory."

  He took my hand again.

  *****

  We passed through the living room under an arch into the kitchen. Rhonda, her hair cut shoulder length with natural waves, looking very much like the picture I'd seen on Jack's phone, lit up when her son walked into the room.

  "Come here and help me," she said.

  "Sure, Mom. What do you need?"

  "Can you get the cakes out of the freezer so they can thaw?"

  "Cake for Thanksgiving?" I asked.

  "Don't judge," Jack said to me. His mother didn't seem to notice. Which meant, he could talk outside the memory, but it didn't have an effect on how things played out. "Pepperidge Farm Fudge cake is really good, and Mom stacks it so it's nice and tall."

  "But for Thanksgiving?"

  "Mom's not a great cook," he said, pulling the boxed cakes from the freezer side of the refrigerator. He put them on the counter. It was weird, because I could still feel myself holding his hand, but I could also see him acting through the memory.

  "You want me to take them out of the boxes?" he asked.

  "That would be nice." She leaned over and kissed his offered cheek. "You're a good kid."

  He grimaced. "Where's Dad?"

  "You know your father," she said. "He's at the rescue mission, serving Thanksgiving dinner." She looked at a clock on the wall. "He said he'd be done by four and it's a little after now, so he should be home any minute."

  She stirred some kind of sludge in a pot. It smelled like feet.

  "What is that?" I hissed.

  "Oyster dressing," he said. "It's gross, but tradition."

  I shuddered as Rhonda used a tasting spoon to take a bite. "Some traditions should be retired."

  Rhonda began to hum. I blanched, feeling sicker than when she ate the oyster stuffing, when I realized it was "You Are My Sunshine," a song she used to sing when she would put me to bed.

  "I can't," I said. I tried to let go of Jack's hand, but he held on.

  "Wait, Sunny. Dad will be home soon. In a few minutes, he will walk in the door. Just wait."

  "This hurts too much. Don't you understand that Jack? No." I shook my head. "How could you? You've had this ideal childhood with all its bad oyster stuffing and chocolate cake holidays. You don't know the kind of pain they put me through. This isn't the Thanksgiving I remember, and I am sorry, but I can't watch them give you what they could never give me."

  "Show me," he said. He took both my hands. "Show me how bad it was. Make me understand."

  *****

  The pungent scent of patchouli incense and the slightly skunky aroma of pot filled the space around me. I felt strange and slightly panicked as I looked around. There was a nylon screen around my afghan covered bedroll. Crystals hung down on fishing line, causing a twinkling of lights that mimicked the stars on my makeshift walls.

  "Ruth was right. It really is pretty," Jack said. "When are we?"

  I looked at him, fighting down the panic and anxiety churning in my gut. "How old do I look to you?"

  "Fourteen or fifteen," he said.

  I groaned.

  "What?" he asked. "What is it?"

  "This is the harvest festival when I had my first psychic vision."

  Chapter 7

  "This is a yurt!" Jack exclaimed.

  "Yep," I said sourly. "It sure is."

  "How freaking cool! You really lived in a yurt."

  "So cool," I told him. "I just loved the lack of privacy, especially being able to hear Rhonda and Jerry having sex just a couple of thin flaps away was a highlight of my childhood."

  "That's revolting," Jack said.

  "Welcome to yurt living, my friend." Yurts are round tents, and ours had been sectioned off for two semi-private sleeping areas and one communal space with three bean bags and handwoven rugs. Incense was burning in a small brass holder. "Take a good look. It's a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live here." At least, I never had.

  "I don't know," Jack said. "It's interesting."

  "Says a guy who never had to hear his mom moan his dad's name."

  "Again," Jack said. "Revolting."

  "Come on. My fourteen-year-old self wants to get on the on the move."

  "It's a strange sensation, right? My vision self, kept wanting to move with the memory, even when I was talking to you." Jack walked with me out the front flap into the wild and whacky. "That man's not wearing pants," he said in a harsh whisper.

  A guy with greasy tangled hair, a poncho and no pants, was pouring himself a cup of coffee from a campfire kettle outside a small tent. His ill-fitting boots were covered with mud. "That's Pervy Pete," I said. "He takes free-balling to new levels. He's relatively harmless. I just keep a healthy distance."

  Jack stumbled a little as we gave Pete a wide berth. "When did your vision happen?"

  "Soon, I think. I remember I'd gotten mad at Rhonda for making me take part in the harvest festival meditation circle in the morning. They thought positive thoughts could bring the rain, but it had been raining all week, and I was pretty much over the wet and the mud.

  My feet sloshed in sopping earth as we walked, but I noticed Jack's were nice and dry. He grinned. "Not my memory. Since I'm not really here, I'm not affected."

  "Lucky," I told him. "I'm cold and miserable."

  "Where are we going?"

  "There's a basket weaving group just up ahead." I pointed to a large rectangular shelter over a concrete pad. A dozen kids ranging from five to eighteen sat at picnic tables. A young man with blond hair and the bluest eyes waved at me. I smiled and waved back. I didn't want to, but the memory made me.

  "Who is that?"

  "Moonbell," I told him. "The boy who will, in a few years, crush young Sunny Haddock's heart."

  "Where are Mom and Dad?"

  "I can't remember," I said. At the time, I only had eyes for Moonbell. Even if
Rhonda and Jerry had been around, I'm not sure I would have noticed.

  I sat down in the spot Moonbell had saved for me. "Hey, Sunshine," he said. "I saved some husks for you."

  I wanted to tell him where he could shove his husks, but instead, I giggled. "You are so thoughtful, Moonbell." Adult me was gagging hard.

  Jack had a grin on his face that made me want to punch him. "Stop it," I told him. "I was fifteen-years-old."

  "Moonbell seems like quite a catch," he teased.

  "I thought so at the time."

  Speaking of Moonbell, he pushed his shoulder against mine. "You coming to the swinging bridge tonight?"

  "I don't know if I can. Rhonda wants me to go with her to the women's menstrual party."

  "Bummer," Moonbell said.

  "You meant minstrel? Like singers, lutes, mandolins," Jack said, his expression horrified.

  "Nope. You heard me right the first time. The women around here loved to celebrate their flow, if you catch my meaning."

  Jack winced. "I've not only caught, I've taken it off the hook, and I'm throwing it back."

  I laughed. "Good one."

  "Maybe you can sneak away," Moonbell said. "Once all that sweat and smoke gets going, no one will notice if you crawl out of the tent." He put his hand on my knee and smiled, his dimples deepening into a cuteness my fifteen-year-old self couldn't resist.

  "Okay," I said. "I'll sneak out after the miracle of life lecture."

  "Great," he said. "It's a date."

  My stomach squeezed and my heart fluttered. "It's a date." Ugh. I hated myself. I wished I could go back and tell young Sunny to kick Moonbell in his miracle of life.

  "Are you okay?" Jack asked.

  I was still smiling when I met his gaze. "Don't I look all right?"

  "It feels like you are going to break my fingers," he said.

  "Oh." I loosened my grip. "There’s just so many bad memories."

  "I don't see how. Everyone looks so peaceful and happy here."

  "Because everyone’s on drugs," I told him.

  "What happens next?"

  "Can we fast forward?" I was not in the mood to basket weave with Moonbell anymore.

  "Sunny!" A girl with ratty strawberry blonde curls and a smattering of freckles across her pert nose skipped up to our table.