by Pamela Morsi
He pulled her tightly into his arms. “It’s a lot less than you deserved, too,” he said. “That’s why I so want to give you more, at least while I can.”
25
Thanksgiving morning began early. Kendra awoke without her mom anywhere to be seen and let out a howl. Red hurried in to pick her up. The baby did not seem so consoled by the wild woman with the red hair, so Red went to the kitchen and heated water in the microwave to thaw out some breast milk.
Olivia and Daniel were in the room a minute later, sleep tousled and in mismatched pajamas.
“I forgot,” Olivia said. “I heard Kendra crying and I wondered why she would be here. I forgot.” The initial disbelief in her voice quickly morphed into guilt. “Kendra’s dad is hurt, Kelly is scared and I forgot.”
“You remember now,” Red said. “That’s what’s important.”
“But I forgot!”
“That used to happen to me,” Cam said.
He was leaning on the hallway doorjamb, already dressed in his jeans and shirt. Daniel ran over to him. Uncharacteristically, instead of high-fiving or fist bumping, Cam picked the boy up and held him. Daniel wrapped his arms around Cam’s neck as if holding on for dear life.
“What do you mean, it used to happen to you?” Olivia asked.
“When my mom was sick,” Cam answered. “She was really sick and for a very long time. We moved here to live with my grandmother. Still, some mornings when I’d wake up, like for a moment, I wouldn’t remember. I’d think things were the way they had been before.”
“Did you feel bad about it?” Olivia asked.
“Yeah, I felt terrible, terrible for a long time,” he said. “Finally I talked to my mom about it. Then I felt better.”
“What did she say?” Olivia asked.
“She told me those memory lapses were angel gifts.”
“Angel gifts?”
“What’s an angel gift?” Daniel asked.
Kendra’s crying quieted to hiccups and sobs as Red handed her the bottle of milk.
Cam carried Daniel into the living room and seated himself on the couch with the child beside him. He patted the cushion on the other side and Olivia went to sit with them, too.
“My mom said that God and all the angels in heaven understood how hard it is for a little kid to have to deal with really grown-up things. Things like someone being sick or hurt, someone leaving or even someone dying. That sometimes it just had to be that way, but nobody up there liked it.”
The children nodded, listening intently. Red was changing Kendra’s diaper but listening, too.
“So sometimes God would let the angels come down and sprinkle some forgetful dust on the child. So that when she’s just waking up or he’s in the middle of a great game, the boy or girl could forget, just for a few moments, and be just a kid again.”
“Cool,” Daniel said.
Olivia wasn’t so easily convinced. “I never heard of ‘forgetful dust,’” she said. “It sounds more like Peter Pan than catechism class.”
Cam shrugged. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “That’s just what my mom told me. She’s in heaven now, so she probably knows better than she did then. But it did kind of make sense for me. I mean, what other explanation is there? That I was a bad person because I forgot? I don’t think I’m a bad person. Do you think I’m a bad person?”
“No!” Daniel exclaimed.
“No, of course not,” Olivia agreed. After another moment to consider, she liked the idea better. “It does kind of make sense. I’ve been playing before and thought about yelling something out to my mom before remembering that she’s overseas. So this forgetting is kind of like that.”
“Yeah,” Cam agreed. “I think that it is.”
Kendra, now clean and dry, got set down on the rug and crawled over to the sofa to be near Olivia and Daniel, who were more familiar to her than the adults. She tried unsuccessfully to pull herself up at Olivia’s knee, so the girl picked up the baby.
Red went to wash her hands and face and whip her hair into a more controllable knot. When she returned to the living room, Kendra was snuggling closely to Olivia, perfectly content.
“Okay,” Red said. “How about some breakfast?”
“I want pancakes,” Cam announced.
“YES!” the chorus shouted in unison.
“Uh...well, yeah, I can probably make pancakes,” Red said.
Cam looked at the kids. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he said. “Maybe we should make the pancakes.”
“YEAH!”
As the horde descended on the kitchen, Red made herself useful by picking up, making beds and getting herself showered and dressed.
Daniel had just called out for her to “come and get it!” when the phone rang. It was Kelly. Red didn’t ask any questions, but the young woman poured out what bits of news that she had and asked about her baby.
“Kendra’s great,” Red assured her. “We’re getting ready to sit down to breakfast and I think she may get a piece of pancake to gnaw on with her cereal.”
“My parents are flying in about ten o’clock,” Kelly said. “And my in-laws will be here tomorrow. So, I’ll come back and get her in a couple of hours.”
“That’s fine,” Red said. “Sooner, later, whatever works for you. And keep me on your shortlist if you need someone to take care of her anytime.”
“I don’t know how you’ll take care of her. I worry who you’ll be able to get to take care of Daniel and Olivia.”
“It will all work out,” Red assured her. She was glad to hear Kelly sounding more like herself, more in control. Yesterday had really rattled her, but today she was back to being her calm and competent self.
“Don’t spend a minute worrying about me or the kids,” Red told her. “You need to concentrate on taking care of yourself and that fine husband of yours.”
Red hung up and walked slowly into the kitchen.
They were all waiting for her and the room was quiet. Pancakes set on every plate, getting colder minute by minute.
“That was Kelly,” she told them, to no one’s surprise. “She sounds fine and she’s going to be by in a few hours to pick up Kendra.”
The kids continued to wait patiently, big brown eyes looking up at her.
“Her husband has been evacked to Germany,” Red reported hopefully. “She actually talked to him for a minute, though he didn’t say much because he doesn’t feel real good. He was burned in an explosion. But the good news is that, as soon as he’s ready to be moved, they are going to bring him here to San Antonio to treat him at the BAMC burn unit. So they’ll all be together right here in town and we’ll get to see them and maybe help them.”
Olivia nodded solemnly.
“So Kendra’s dad is okay and he gets to come home?” Daniel’s question reflected a naiveté that Red was loath to dispel.
“Yes. He’s hurt and it’s going to take him a lot of time to get well, but he’s coming home.”
That was good enough for Daniel, who stuck a fork into his pancakes enthusiastically.
Olivia looked about to reprimand him, but gave a quick glance toward Red. Apparently taking her cue from her grandmother, the young girl, with the weight of the world back on her small shoulders, also dug into the pancakes.
The makeshift family cleaned up the kitchen together and the kids took turns in the shower.
“What are your plans today, beyond Kelly?” Cam asked. “I’m thinking the drive to the Valley to see Abuela is off.”
Red nodded. “It’ll be way too late to do that by the time Kelly gets here. And I really don’t want to be out of town, in case we’re needed.”
Cam agreed.
“I can go to Central Market. They’re probably open this morning and I can buy some Thanksgivingish something for us to eat,” he said. “Or, if you think you’re up to it, we can eat dinner with Aunt Phyl.”
Red rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to be beholden to her,” she said. “I don’t want her co
oking just for us.”
“She always cooks,” Cam said. “She fixes a big dinner every year and because we don’t have any family anymore, she invites strays.”
“Strays?”
“People who don’t have anywhere else to go on Thanksgiving.”
“Well, I guess we qualify,” she said.
“But we don’t have to go,” Cam assured her. “I don’t want to drag you over there if you’re going to be uncomfortable.”
Red sighed. “I’ll ask the kids,” she told him. “If they’re willing, I am.”
So that afternoon, after a very upbeat and optimistic reunion with Kelly, they all dressed in nice clothes to walk with Cam through the back gate between the two yards. Daniel was cowering a bit and held Red’s hand. Olivia was defensive, chin up, so like Bridge.
It turned out that defenses were not needed. Aunt Phyl might be a mean old battle-ax, but she was also the perfect Alamo Heights hostess, delighted to see them, eager for conversation and flawlessly cordial. Despite her late night of babysitting and the stress of putting on a huge holiday dinner, Aunt Phyl was fabulously groomed and wearing a dress with the kind of understated elegance that is never found on the rack.
The house itself, though not terribly large, was intimidating. The entry hall boasted a wide staircase. To the left was the front room, open and welcoming with a fire in the stone fireplace. The furniture was mostly antique, upholstered in brocades. The only kid-friendly place to sit was a couch, which was, regrettably, white. The music room directly across the hall had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a couple of delicate, uncomfortable-looking chairs and a grand piano in the center.
Cam led them into the front room. To Red’s relief, the children sat down cross-legged on the rug, leaving the white sofa available for someone else.
The assembled guests were an interesting bunch. There was a slightly smelly old man, the widower of a friend of a friend, who complained about something every time he opened his mouth. There were three older widows, as different as women can be. One was large, loud and flamboyant, and wearing a pink beret. Another quiet as a mouse, whose main interest seemed to be the activities of the children. The third sat alone, chain-smoking on the back deck. A young couple, new to the neighborhood, were of most interest to Olivia and Daniel. Their son, Magill, was seven. All three had seen each other at school, and were now grateful to have another kid for holiday acquaintance. Finally, the last to show up were two international students from the University of the Incarnate Word. This was their first-ever Thanksgiving and they were eager to participate in all the traditional customs.
The extralong dining-room table hinted at days when the family was much larger than it was now. It was covered by a delicate cream-colored cloth and set with sterling-silver and antique china.
When Red caught sight of it, her jaw dropped.
“It’s pretty, huh,” Cam said. “My great-great-grandmother was a buyer of all things beautiful. Almost everything in this house came down from her.”
“What about Daniel and Olivia?” she whispered to Cam. “What if they drop something?”
Cam shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Red. These are plates. I’ve broken more than one. Besides, ultimately, Aunt Phyl and I will both be gone and every stick of furniture, every piece of crockery will end up at some big estate sale. It’s just stuff. It really doesn’t matter.”
Red could only hope that his aunt Phyl felt exactly the same.
Fortunately, the dinner went without any breakage at all. The smoker came in from the cold. The grouchy, smelly man continued to grouse. The fawning would-be grandmother giggled with Olivia and the boys. And the woman in the pink beret fired questions at first one person and then another, until most everyone had revealed a few pertinent facts about themselves.
Red revealed the very minimum, but that seemed to be okay with the pink-beret lady, as she’d already figured out that Red was Cam’s girlfriend.
“And I like her,” the woman announced to Aunt Phyl, Cam and anyone else still listening. “She seems to have a good head on her shoulders.”
“Uh...thank you,” Red said.
“It’s about time you brought a girlfriend around, Campbell,” Pink Beret continued. “That girl from high school was the last one I remember. I was beginning to worry that you’d become one of those water-bed bachelors with a different woman every night.”
“No, ma’am,” Cam responded. “And I think water beds have kind of gone out of style, even for wild bachelors.”
“There are children at this table,” Grouchy Smelly Man pointed out.
The conversation quickly turned to the students, who were from Paraguay and Thailand, respectively. Most of the rest of the dinner was spent discussing holiday feast days in their home cultures.
When the diners, stuffed and sleepy, left the table for the more comfortable chairs of the living room, Red stayed to help with cleanup.
“I can get this,” Aunt Phyl told her.
“I can help,” Red replied with certainty. It was enough to accept this woman’s hospitality. She was not going to allow herself to be viewed as a mooch.
The neighbor offered to help, too, but she was almost immediately called away by her husband, who apparently needed her help in telling the story of their honeymoon trip to Costa Rica to the young man from Paraguay.
Clearing the table went along fine without conversation, but once the two women were working together in the kitchen, the silence was unpleasantly noticeable.
“These dishes are really pretty,” Red finally said.
“Thank you,” Aunt Phyl answered. “How was Kendra last night? Did she sleep well?”
The young army wife, her adorable baby and wounded husband was a subject that they both had an interest in and no conflict about.
Red let her in on the latest developments.
“Well, we’ll certainly have to keep that family in our prayers,” Aunt Phyl declared.
The silence lingered again, but Red had almost filled the dishwasher and she was hoping that she could then, in good conscience, make a hasty retreat. But Aunt Phyl still had something to say. She removed the neatly pressed apron she had donned and began drying her hands on it.
“I...I was wrong about your grandchildren,” the older woman said. “I suppose I’ve become unaccustomed to having their exuberance and energy around. I said some terrible things about them. And I was wrong. I apologize.”
“Okay,” Red said uneasily. She had the feeling that the apology wasn’t the end of it.
“I watched them at the wedding and here and of course, I talked to them some last night,” Aunt Phyl continued. “And despite what I said, they are nice, well-behaved children. You should be very proud.”
“It’s my daughter who should rightly be proud,” Red pointed out. “Up until a few months ago, I had almost no contact with Olivia and Daniel. Their behavior is a credit to her, not me.”
“Still, you must have at least raised her right,” Aunt Phyl said.
“I did my best at the time,” Red conceded.
“So there,” Aunt Phyl said. “We’re agreed that the children are lovely.”
“Yes, we can agree to that. Thank you, Miss Early.”
“You have to call me Phyllis or Phyl, everyone does.”
“All right,” she answered. “And then you’ll have to call me Red. That’s about all I answer to, except Grandma these days.”
“Very well, Red,” Phyl replied. “I’d be pleased to do that. But I’m going to be more honest with you now than you may want. I’m sure you are a person with fine qualities. Still, I don’t think you’re right for my nephew.”
Red said nothing.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Phyl said.
Red doubted that completely.
“You’re thinking that he is a grown man with experience in the world and a level head on his shoulders. I am merely his old-maid aunt. What could I possibly know about what’s best for him?”
“
No,” Red told her. “That’s not what I’m thinking at all. I’m thinking that this is another thing that you and I agree on. I am not the woman for Cam. I...I care for him too much to not want more for him than I have to offer.”
If Phyl was pleased with this revelation, Red didn’t stick around long enough to find out. She left the kitchen and made her way to the front room. However, most of the guests had moved to the music room where Cam and the three kids shared a crowded piano bench.
Grouchy Smelly remained in the front room alone and waved Red over to join him. She wanted to resist, but there was standing room only around the piano and she was ready to get off her feet.
With a wan smile, she took the chair at an angle to his own. “I don’t care for music,” the man announced to her. “Never did. I don’t see what people like about it. It makes me have to talk louder to be heard over the noise.”
Red was tempted to suggest that shutting up might be a cure for that, but she didn’t.
“Cam always plays something when he’s here,” Grouchy Smelly continued. “I can’t seem to stop him, so I quit even trying. Sometimes, though, I ask him to play Woody Guthrie. I know he likes Guthrie and he’s one musician that I can admire. Not for the music, it doesn’t seem like much. But for being a man’s man, a true American, not a Communist like his enemies used to say. Woody was always taking up for the little guy. That’s what’s stinking wrong with this no-account world. The good always die young. A fine fellow like Guthrie leaves this earth too soon, while the rest of the worthless guitar pickers in the world live on.”
Red cleared her throat and decided to try to keep the guy on a subject he liked instead of let him go off on another rant.
“I don’t know that much about Woody Guthrie,” Red admitted. “Of course, I know ‘This Land is Your Land’ and ‘Oklahoma Hills.’ And ‘Vigilante Man,’ I like that one a lot.”
Grouchy Smelly offered a hmm of agreement, so Red plunged on.
“I’ve heard performers I admire, like Willie Nelson and Ray Wylie Hubbard, talk about his influence on their music.”
