“It won’t fit,” said Elmer.
Maureen stood with her hands on her hips. “It’s 11:47 p.m.,” she said.
“Is it?” said Iola.
“Decent people are asleep,” said Maureen.
“We’re decent,” said Elmer. “But the turkey will not fit.” He looked very serious. He was trying hard not to laugh.
Maureen slammed her door.
“Well, what are we going to do now?” said Iola.
“I have an idea,” said Beverly.
The four of them — Beverly, Iola, Elmer, and the turkey — got back in the Pontiac. They drove to Mr. C’s.
Beverly went around to the back. She knocked on the kitchen door. No one answered. She knocked harder, and the door slowly opened to reveal Doris.
“I was hoping you were still here,” said Beverly.
“Well, I was hoping not to be,” said Doris. “But here I am.”
“Can I put something in the refrigerator?” said Beverly.
Doris narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”
“The world’s largest turkey,” said Beverly.
Iola walked up and stood to the right of Beverly. She was holding her purse in both hands.
“Hello,” she said.
“Who are you?” said Doris.
“I’m Iola Jenkins. I’m the one who won the turkey.”
“This is Doris,” said Beverly.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” said Iola.
“Okay,” said Doris.
And then Elmer came staggering around the corner with the turkey in his arms.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Doris.
“I told you it was big,” said Beverly.
Doris stared at Elmer and the turkey.
“It’s heavy,” he said to her.
“It sure looks that way,” said Doris.
“Please?” said Elmer.
Doris opened the door wider, and Elmer walked into Mr. C’s.
“Come on over here with it,” said Doris. She opened the door to the walk-in refrigerator, and Elmer, grunting and sweating, went inside with the turkey.
Beverly looked around the kitchen. Charles was asleep on the floor. His legs were curled up, and he had an apron underneath his head for a pillow. His knit cap was still on his head.
Elmer came out of the refrigerator. “Thank you,” he said to Doris.
“I know you,” she said. “You work down at Zoom City.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Elmer.
“I’ve seen you. Handing out dimes so that the children can ride on that horse.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Elmer. He looked at Beverly, and then he looked away.
“Yep,” said Doris, nodding. “I know who you are.”
“We surely do thank you for the use of the refrigerator,” said Iola. “They said down at the VFW that the turkey is already thawed, so I suppose next I need to figure out how to cook it.”
Mr. Denby came into the kitchen. “Beverly Anne,” he said, “what are you doing here?”
Mr. Denby had on a striped pair of pajamas.
“Hello, Mr. Denby,” said Beverly.
“Who are all you people?” said Mr. Denby.
Doris turned to Iola and said, “You’re going to need a big oven to cook that bird.”
“I know it,” said Iola. “I’ve never cooked a turkey that big in my life. And truth be told, I am a little overwhelmed by the prospect.”
“Well, I can tell you what I would do,” said Doris. She beckoned to Iola. “Come over here and we will talk it through.”
“Will somebody please tell me what is going on?” said Mr. Denby.
Charles sat up. He rubbed his eyes and adjusted his cap. “I was dreaming about something good,” he said, “but I don’t remember what.”
“Maybe we should cook the turkey here,” said Elmer. “Maybe we need to cook the turkey and have a big Christmas dinner.”
“Christmas?” said Charles.
“What are you talking about?” said Doris.
“It was just Christmas down at the VFW,” said Iola.
“Let’s keep on having it be Christmas,” said Beverly.
“I do love Christmas dinner,” said Doris. “Mashed potatoes and gravy.”
“And stuffing,” said Charles.
“And pie,” said Beverly.
Elmer reached out and grabbed her hand, right there in front of everybody.
She let him.
The lights in the kitchen were bright.
“I love pie,” said Charles. “But you got to have fruitcake, too.”
Elmer swung Beverly’s hand back and forth.
“I don’t have everything I need here,” said Doris. “I’ll make up a list, and you all can go and get it.”
“All right, then,” said Iola.
Mr. Denby put his hands on top of his head. “Can this all stop?” he said. “I’m willing to pay you more, Doris. And you, too, Charles.”
“And give us sick days,” said Doris. “And do it all proper.”
“And give you sick days,” said Mr. Denby. “And, yes, do it all proper.”
“First,” said Doris, “we’re going to have Christmas dinner, and after that we can sit and talk about what’s fair. What do you think?” she said, turning to Iola. “Can we be ready by four?”
“Let’s say five. It’s an awfully big bird.”
“Five p.m.,” said Doris. “Mr. C’s stays closed again today.”
“Oh, no,” said Mr. Denby, “please.”
“Also,” said Doris to Mr. Denby, “you are in charge of pie.”
“And fruitcake,” said Charles.
“Where am I going to get a fruitcake this time of year?” said Mr. Denby. He pulled at his hair.
“You’ll figure it out,” said Doris. “Now, let’s make us a big list.” She pulled a stool up to the table. Iola sat down next to Doris.
Charles lay back down. He pulled his hat over his eyes.
“But where am I going to get a fruitcake?” said Mr. Denby in a small voice.
No one answered him.
And Beverly and Elmer stood in Mr. C’s big kitchen under the bright lights, still holding hands.
Beverly could not stop smiling.
Before she went to sleep that night, Iola came out to the porch and gave Beverly Elmer’s drawing.
“It will always have the crease, I suppose,” said Iola. “But it’s yours, and you should keep it, honey.”
Beverly stared down at the picture.
“What?” said Iola.
“Is that really how I look?” Beverly asked.
“Yes, darling,” said Iola. “That is really how you look. Beautiful, like that. Now take it. It’s yours.”
That night, Beverly dreamed that she was lying on the ground by Buddy’s grave — in the backyard, underneath the orange trees. When she looked up, she saw that the trees were bare. There were no leaves on them at all and no fruit.
Now we’ll have to cut them down for sure, thought Beverly. Now, there is no point.
She heard the rustle of wings. She looked up. Hovering above the dead orange trees was an angel. Her wings were brown, not blue.
She floated above the trees, looking down at Beverly and the grave.
“What?” said Beverly.
The angel shook her head. She kept opening and closing her mouth. She flapped her brown wings. Why weren’t the wings blue? Where was the lapis lazuli?
“What?” said Beverly to the angel again.
And then, in the dream, it started to snow — big swirling flakes.
The snow fell on Buddy’s grave, and on the branches of the tree, and on the brown wings of the angel.
The angel kept opening and closing her mouth.
“What did you come to say?” said Beverly.
But the angel didn’t speak, and soon everything — the trees, the grass, the grave — was covered in snow.
“What’s the message?” Beverly shouted. “Tell me!”
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The angel smiled down at Beverly.
The world was radiant with the light from the falling snow.
Beverly woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Iola talking.
She put on a pair of jeans and got up and went into the kitchen. A man was sitting at the little table. His hair was slicked back, and his shoes were shined. He was wearing a suit.
“Tommy,” said Iola, “this is Beverly.”
The man looked directly at Beverly. She looked back. Neither one of them said anything.
“Now, remember your manners. Both of you,” said Iola. “Tommy is my oldest son, honey.”
“Hi,” said Beverly.
“You’re the one driving my mother’s car?” said Tommy. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“Yeah,” said Beverly. “Because your mother asked me to.”
“You’re just a kid,” said Tommy.
“Maureen called Tommy and told him that something crazy was going on over here last night,” said Iola. “And now Tommy is worried. That’s all. He’s just worried.”
“That’s right,” said Tommy. “I’m worried.”
“There is nothing to worry about, honey. I told you. We all went to a dance at the VFW last night, and I won the world’s largest turkey. That’s all that happened.”
“Who are you?” Tommy said to Beverly.
“Honey,” said Iola, “I just told you. She’s Beverly.”
“This is the thing, Ma,” said Tommy. “I just don’t know if I can trust you. You’re letting strangers come into your house and live with you. I’m starting to doubt your decision-making skills.” He drummed his fingers on the table some more.
“I make excellent decisions,” said Iola. She looked very, very small. “Honey, today is our Christmas dinner. Don’t ruin it for me.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. Today is not Christmas. It’s August, Ma. Not December.” Tommy looked at Beverly. “You need to be out of here,” he said to her.
“No,” said Iola.
“In a week’s time,” said Tommy. “Or else I take the car.”
“You can’t do that,” said Beverly.
“Sure I can. This is my mother we’re talking about. I’m her son. Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? Huh? Who are you?”
Beverly just stood there.
“Who are you?” said Tommy. “Huh?”
Who was she?
She was someone who used to have a dog. She was someone whose father had held her hand. She was someone who had held Elmer’s hand and danced with him. She was someone who was friends with Raymie. And Louisiana — still — even though she was far away. She was someone who had written I am properly sorry five hundred times, and didn’t mean it once. She was someone who had written Iola’s name eighty-two times, and meant it every time. She was someone who had dug a hole and buried someone she loved. She was someone who knew what lapis lazuli was, and that you could grind it up and turn it into wings.
She was someone who wanted things to be different from how they were.
She was someone who wanted things to change.
“See?” said Tommy when she didn’t answer him. “You’re nobody.”
“Don’t say that,” said Iola. “Don’t you tell her that.”
Tommy spread his arms wide. “Ma,” he said, “I’m trying to take care of you. That’s all.”
“I can take care of myself. Your daddy would be so . . . so disappointed in you, Tommy. He would.”
“Yeah, well, Dad’s gone,” said Tommy. “I make the decisions now.”
Iola cried after he left. She sat at the little table with her head in her hands and cried and cried.
Beverly sat across from her. She said, “I don’t care, Iola. It’s fine. I can’t stay here forever anyway.”
“I care,” said Iola. “And I always knew that you was going to leave. I knew that would happen no matter what. It’s just that it was so much fun. Having you here was fun.”
Nod hopped up on the table and sat down in between them.
“You stupid cat,” said Beverly.
Nod started purring.
“I’m sorry,” said Beverly.
“So am I, honey,” said Iola. “But I guess there’s no point in sitting here crying all day, is there? Get me my purse. You and me are going to go shopping for Christmas dinner.”
They went to Muskie Market and walked down the aisles together. Iola pushed the cart. The lights were bright, and the air-conditioning and the freezers and the refrigerators made so much noise that you couldn’t hear the ocean, which was kind of a relief.
They got green beans and sweet potatoes and regular potatoes and celery. They got cranberries in a can and onions and bread. They got butter.
“I think I’ll make some ambrosia,” said Iola. “Do you like ambrosia?”
“What is it?” said Beverly.
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” said Iola. “I’ll just make it for you, and you’ll find out. Get me some of them itty-bitty marshmallows and some oranges. And maraschino cherries. And let me think on what else I want to put in there.”
She stood with her hands on the cart and stared out into space. Her glasses winked in the overhead light. She was so small.
Beverly put her hand on top of Iola’s. “I’ll come and visit you,” she said.
“Of course you will, darling,” said Iola. “I know that.” She kept staring off into space. She blinked. “Get me some coconut,” she said finally.
“Marshmallows, oranges, maraschino cherries, and coconut. Is that it?” said Beverly.
Iola blinked again. “And also pecans. I believe I’ll put some pecans in there. We need to make it the best ambrosia ever, just so you’ll know how good it can be.”
“Okay,” said Beverly. “I already believe it’s good.”
“Honey,” said Iola, “you will be amazed.” She looked up at Beverly and smiled. “It is just the best thing, the best and sweetest thing there is.”
They brought all the groceries to Mr. C’s.
Doris immediately set Charles to work chopping things, and Beverly went back to Mr. Denby’s office.
He was dressed and wearing a tie that didn’t have a fish on it. His hair was combed, and he was sitting at his desk and sorting through papers. The little fan was plugged in, twirling back and forth at his feet.
“Merry Christmas,” Beverly said to him.
“Right,” he said.
“Here,” said Beverly. She handed him the photo of the Denby family Christmas.
“What’s this?” He squinted at the picture.
“It’s you,” she said. “Being happy. It was in the safe. I took it. I borrowed it for a while. I’m sorry. I’m giving it back.”
Mr. Denby stared at the photograph as if he had never seen it before.
“Look how small Anne was,” he said finally. “And look, Margaret’s tooth is missing.” He reached out and touched each of the girls’ faces one by one.
“And that’s your wife?” said Beverly.
“Yes.” He put the picture down on the desk. He sighed.
“That’s when you were all in Pennsylvania together?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Denby. “That’s correct. Thank you for returning it.”
“Mr. Denby —” she said.
A scream came from the kitchen. It sounded like Iola.
“What now?” said Mr. Denby.
And then somebody was standing at the door to Mr. Denby’s office. It was a man wearing a ski mask and a tank top, carrying a baseball bat.
“This is a stickup,” the masked man said.
“A what?” said Mr. Denby.
“Jerome?” said Beverly.
“Yeah?” said Jerome, turning toward her.
“Is that a Wiffle bat?” she said.
“Yeah?” said Jerome. “So what? Give me all the money in the safe, or else I’ll bash your heads in.”
“With a Wiffle bat?” said Beverly.
“This doesn’t seem right,” said Mr. Denby.
“Hurry up, hurry up,” said Jerome. He waved the bat through the air. It made a swishing noise.
“Let’s all just be calm,” said Mr. Denby.
“I am calm,” said Jerome. “I’m real calm. Give me the money — all the money in the safe. Put it in here.” He held out a paper grocery sack.
“I have three daughters,” said Mr. Denby. “This money is not my money to give away.”
“That’s the truth,” said Doris. She was standing in the doorway to the office with her arms crossed. Iola was behind her, and behind Iola, Beverly could see Charles’s green knit cap.
“Give me the money!” shouted Jerome. He swung the Wiffle bat down on the orange chair. It made a sad-sounding thwack.
“Just give him the money, Mr. Denby,” said Beverly.
“But that’s not fair,” said Mr. Denby.
“Don’t you give him that money,” said Doris.
“Is that a Wiffle bat?” said Charles.
“I will hurt somebody!” shouted Jerome. “I promise I will hurt somebody.”
Mr. Denby turned to the safe. He picked up the stacks of bills and put them in the grocery bag that Jerome was holding out to him. “This is not right,” said Mr. Denby. “This is not right at all.”
Jerome turned around. “Move,” he said to Doris.
“No,” she said.
“Move!” He raised the bat.
Iola put her hand on Doris’s shoulder. “Step back, honey,” she said. “Let him go.”
Jerome went out the door of the office, and then he turned back and looked right at Beverly. He took off the ski mask. He said, “If you call the cops, I’ll come back here to this stupid fish place and break everybody’s bones. I promise you I will.”
And then he was gone. Beverly heard the kitchen door slam.
“Call the police!” said Iola.
“No,” said Mr. Denby.
“I’ll get him,” said Beverly.
Charles said, “You take the front door. I’ll take the back.”
Beverly went out the front door of Mr. C’s and into the bright light. She blinked. Jerome’s truck was sitting in the parking lot.
The engine was running, and Freddie was in the driver’s seat. She was looking at herself in the rearview mirror. She was applying mascara.
Beverly went over to the truck and knocked on the window. Freddie jumped.
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