by Juliette Fay
“I said, ‘I’m really sure.’”
Tony guffawed and slapped the table. “Good girl!”
Dana grinned broadly, the satisfaction of her victory compounded immeasurably by his reaction.
“Dad?”
Startled, they looked up to see a tall young woman with auburn hair tied back in a messy bun. She had a strange smile on her face, as if she had happened upon something surprising and illogical, like finding a baby elephant happily grazing in her father’s dental office.
“Lizzie!” Tony jumped up. “I thought you were going to—”
Her expression switched quickly to exasperation. “Yeah, no,” she snorted. “He’s a jackass.” She glanced quickly at Dana and muttered, “Sorry.”
Dana waved away the apology. Didn’t she know as well as anyone about jackass boyfriends? She stood and offered her hand. “I’m Dana Stellgarten. I’m temping for Kendra while she’s out.”
Lizzie shook the hand but looked at her father. “Dad’s mentioned you.”
“Yes, well . . .” Tony said. “Abby’s flight lands at seven-thirty.”
“I know,” she said.
“All right, then.” He looked at her for a moment like he wasn’t sure what to do with her. “Are you heading back to the house?”
She glanced over at Dana, then at his sandwich. “Actually, I’m kinda hungry.” She pulled over a stool, sat down. “Can I have a bite?”
Tony gave Lizzie half of his sub, and Dana shared her pretzels and baby carrots. They talked about Zack.
“Loser,” muttered Lizzie.
Tony said, “Needs a beating, that boy.”
“Oh, yeah, Dad.” Lizzie gave him a knowing smile. “Like you’re the butt-kicking type.” She turned to Dana. “You’ve probably noticed by now that my father is the world’s biggest sweetie pie. Vin Diesel—not so much.”
“He’s very kind,” agreed Dana, surreptitiously watching a tide of pink rise up Tony’s neck. It was so cute, his daughter’s effect on him. “But he’s no pushover.”
Lizzie’s eyes rested on hers for an extra half second—an assessment, Dana realized. She’d made similar evaluations of Morgan’s and Grady’s friends countless times, to determine if they were nice enough and reasonably well behaved. To guess whether they might lead her children toward trouble or trampled feelings.
“Hey,” Tony said. “I’m sitting right here. At least have the decency to talk behind my back.”
“Huh. Like we couldn’t think up more intriguing subject matter,” Lizzie teased.
They finished lunch, and Lizzie left for her childhood home, “to sleep for, like, a million hours.”
“She’s wonderful, Tony,” Dana said after she’d gone. “What a smart, funny, lovely girl.”
He looked away, and she could tell he was suppressing a surge of visible pride. “She’s a pip,” he said. He shook his head, but a blissful grin surfaced all the same.
Cotters Rock Dental was closing at three o’clock that day, in observance of the Thanksgiving break. At five minutes to three, a woman walked in and waited while Dana scheduled an appointment with an outgoing patient. The woman was tall, maybe five foot nine, Dana gauged, and attractive, with short blond hair.
“I’ll be right with you,” said Dana. The woman answered with a short-lived smile and glanced away. She rooted in a shallow red clutch and pulled out lipstick, squinting into a compact mirror as she applied it. She smoothed an eyebrow.
Dana finished with the patient and said to the tall blond woman, “Thanks for your patience. What can I do for you?”
“Mm,” said the woman, a tiny noise that seemed to serve the dual purpose of giving the shortest possible response and generating an extra second for her to compose an answer. “I am here to see Dr. Sakimoto.” There was a barely perceptible accent, but Dana couldn’t place it.
“Well, we’re just about to close up for the holiday. Would you like to make an appointment?”
Another brief, manufactured smile. “No, I’d like to see him now. Would you get him, please?”
“Uh, okay. Can I tell him your name?”
The woman seemed to find this mildly impertinent and said, “He’ll know when he sees me.”
Dana didn’t like this. She sensed a surprise attack of some kind. But Tony would know how to handle it. Besides, there was an uncertainty that underlay the woman’s haughtiness, as she flicked a finger to smooth the other eyebrow. She seemed to have a case to make.
Dana went to get Tony and found him reviewing a chart with Marie. “There’s someone here to see you,” she told him. “Says you know her. Tall, bobbed blond hair, little bit of an accent?”
Tony looked startled for a moment. Then he handed the chart to Marie and took a breath. “Make a note to keep an eye on nineteen,” he said. “Please.”
They watched him walk down the hall to the waiting room. He meant to close the door behind him, but it didn’t latch properly. Slowly the door swung open again, and when it did, he was coming back down from tiptoes and the tall woman’s head was rising, her long neck uncurling itself back to its natural position.
“Is that . . . ?” Dana murmured.
“Yeah,” said Marie, writing on the chart. “She came in once before a couple of months ago. They met at a conference and hit it off. Tooth talk,” she said dryly. “So romantic.”
Martine. She was reaching out to hold his hands, speaking quickly. Dana couldn’t hear anything but a few emphasized words. “. . . want so much . . . would never . . . the thought of . . .” Tony nodded—in acquiescence? Dana wondered. Or is he humoring her? Tony nodded again and lifted her hand to his lips.
Dana’s chest felt strangely tight. Attempting to ignore it, she turned to Marie. “Have a happy Thanksgiving! Any plans?”
Marie handed Dana the chart. “I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” she said, and went down the hall to sterilize instruments.
Dana couldn’t stand there in the hallway anymore, but neither could she intrude upon their personal moment by walking toward them to her desk. She sidestepped into Tony’s office and leaned her back against the wall. He’s got his girlfriend and his daughters for Thanksgiving. That’s nice. She was not a person to begrudge the good fortune of others, even in the face of her own privations. But the hard press of self-pity against her chest would not subside, and she hated herself for it. Voices approached, and she slipped from the office before they could overrun her.
“Dana,” said Tony, catching up before she made it to the safety of her reception area. “I want you to meet someone.”
“Oh, of course!” she said, and set the dial to deferential-friendly. Tony introduced them, and they shook hands, Martine firing off one of her now-signature transient smiles.
“You are the single mother,” she said offhandedly, and Dana couldn’t help but recoil. Evidently Tony had told Martine about her, had indicated her marital status, and perhaps her dire financial straits as well. She couldn’t even look at him.
Propping the smile back onto her face, she said, “Yes, I suppose I am. You two have a really terrific Thanksgiving. Great to meet you!” And she practically dove toward her desk. There wasn’t much to do other than file the chart that Marie had handed her, shut down her computer, and put the answering service on. She didn’t bother to button her coat, and she jammed the scarf in her purse as she made for the door. Marie was just behind her.
“Doesn’t add up, does it?” said Marie as they emerged into the sallow late-afternoon light.
“Pardon me?”
“Tony and the French orthodontist. The Sophie Marceau of the dental set.”
“I didn’t really . . .” Dana was flustered by this unexpected verbosity from the chronically taciturn Marie. “I only met her for a minute.”
“Still, you can tell. There’s no balance.” Marie went to her car. She wasn’t given to parting pleasantries. Or, for that matter, any pleasantries at all.
When Dana got home, Alder’s VW Rabbit sat in the driveway
behind her mother’s Vanagon, as battered as a returning war veteran. She found Connie and Alder at the kitchen table, shelling and eating pistachios. Jet was sitting on the counter, banging the backs of her Chuck Taylors against the cabinets below and eating Bran ’N Flax cereal from the box.
“Hi there, sweetie,” Dana said to Jet, giving her knee a pat. She took the box from Jet, poured some cereal into a bowl, and handed it to her.
“My mom’s in rehab,” said Jet between handfuls of cereal.
“What?”
“Yeah, she’s been waiting for a spot, and one finally came open.”
“Oh, my gosh! Well, that’s a good thing, now, isn’t it?”
“Not gonna lie,” Jet muttered.
“Can she have Thanksgiving with us?” Alder asked. “She’s supposed to stay with her mom’s cousin, but he’s going to Buffalo to spend it with his wife’s relatives.”
“Of course she can.” Dana turned to answer her niece and noticed her hair—short and spiky, her original gingerbread color with the faintest hint of darkness at the tips. “Alder, you did it!”
“Yeah, it was getting kind of annoying. The ends were all split.” As if that were the reason. The old Alder! Dana had to hug her. She sat down at the table with them to make a shopping list for Thanksgiving dinner. It did not include a turkey.
“We do the traditional eggplant parmesan,” said Connie. “With soy cheese.”
“Fine,” said Dana, because she really didn’t care. There would be four of them for Thanksgiving. Not the same four who’d been there last year—Morgan, Grady, and Kenneth would be at Liberty Tavern in the Magic Kingdom, eating their turkey with Tina and Goofy.
Still, she thought. It’s a good group. And for that she was thankful.
CHAPTER 41
ALONG WITH THE SOY CHEESE AND EGGPLANTS, Dana bought a turkey for the McPhersons, as well as ingredients for all the other holiday-appropriate foods she could think of. She wished she knew what the McPhersons’ traditions were. Did they eat their sweet potatoes with marshmallows baked on top, as she had her whole life? Or would they find that utterly disgusting? She thought of calling, but didn’t want to bother them.
She got up early to put the turkey in the oven, and there was a facade of normalcy to it. This was what she did every Thanksgiving. She found herself pretending it was Morgan and Grady sleeping late instead of Alder and Jet.
Then Connie came down. “All you need is a cigarette hanging from your lip and bobby pins in your hair and you’re mom,” she said, slumping into a kitchen chair.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“That turkey stinks. How can you stand the smell of roasting flesh?”
“Because I can, Connie,” Dana said, holding the baster. “And this isn’t even for me, so let’s just change the subject before we get into a fight on Thanksgiving.”
“Whatever,” said Connie. Dana chose to believe it was conciliatory.
“I had a nightmare about Dad,” Connie said. “Do you ever get those? Like, you see him stepping in front of a speeding car or jumping off something really high?”
Dana opened the oven and slid the tip of the baster under the turkey, squeezed and released, letting the tube fill with juices. “Sometimes,” she said.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She basted the turkey slowly to keep from spattering the oven.
“Come on.”
“I said I don’t know.”
“You do too—you just don’t want to talk about it.”
Dana closed the oven door and stood up. “No. I don’t want to discuss nightmares about our absent father, or the fact that my kids aren’t here, or that my finances are in the toilet, or that I’ll probably be out of a job soon.” She tossed the baster into the sink with a clatter. “For godsake, Connie, will you give me one huge break—just for today!”
At noon Jet and Alder went with Dana to deliver dinner to the McPhersons.
“We’ve got a bunch of items here, so I brought some helpers with me,” she told Mary Ellen when she answered the door. Dana introduced the girls, and they began ferrying things back and forth from the car. “Also, I broke the rules just a little. We’re supposed to deliver everything in disposable containers, but I knew you’d want it to look nice, so I just plated it myself. And don’t you dare wash anything! I’ll come back later today to gather everything up.”
The McPherson kids sat in the living room, watching a movie. The older boy and Laura, the four-year-old, sat in the opposite corners of the couch, gazing intently at the TV. Dana said, “Hi,” and Laura gave a shy wave. The toddling boy who had tried to open the door for her about a month ago lay on his back between them, sucking his thumb. They were all dressed up—ties and jackets, a frilly dress for Laura. The older boy’s jacket was too short at the wrists.
“Isn’t that a handsome bunch! You all look beautiful,” Dana said to Mary Ellen, who was wearing a dress. A seam was beginning to pop at the shoulder.
“I just felt I had to,” said Mary Ellen with a little catch in her voice. “To celebrate.”
“Of course you did,” said Dana. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
Mary Ellen gave a tenuous little laugh. “Not much in the way of fancy clothes to choose from, though. I haven’t gone shopping in a while.”
Dermott shuffled into the room then, wearing a jacket and tie and a belt cinched tight, creating pleats in his pants where formerly there weren’t any. “Hey, it’s the Good Witch of Cotters Rock,” he said with a pallid grin.
“I was just telling your wife how wonderful you all look.”
Having finished setting up the platters in the kitchen, Alder and Jet came to stand with Dana. “Way better than us,” said Jet. “No lie.”
Alder was gazing at Mary Ellen. “Maybe you’d like a picture?” she asked.
“Oh, yes! We need a picture!” Mary Ellen left to find a camera.
Dermott continued his forward progression until he reached Dana and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “Blame me for this,” he murmured. “I’m the one who requested you.”
“I’m honored,” she said. “And it was pure pleasure, believe me.”
Mary Ellen came back and held out the camera to Alder. Then she arranged the children in front of the fireplace, with the toddler on her hip and Dermott next to her. “Say ‘Gobble, gobble,’” said Dana. But the older boy and Laura began to fuss with each other, and the toddler reached down and grabbed a handful of Laura’s hair. A look of despair came over Mary Ellen’s face as she tried to quiet them.
It could be the last picture of them all together, thought Dana, wondering desperately how to help.
“Hey!” yelled Jet, a bit more loudly than necessary, but it caught the children’s attention. “Say ‘Barbecued monkey guts’!”
The kids burst out in giggles, and Dermott with his arm around his wife’s waist gave her a quick tug toward him. Her chin went up as she laughed. The camera made its synthesized snapping sound over and over as Alder held down the button.
When the three of them returned home, Connie was taking the eggplant out of the oven, and though the soy cheese on top had browned in an unnaturally uniform manner, it smelled wonderful. “That’s it,” she said. “Everything else is already out.” She rested the pan on top of the stove for a moment, and Alder hugged her.
“Whoa!” Jet called from the dining room. “What the f—!”
“What’s the matter?” Dana hurried into the dining room with Connie and Alder close behind.
“There’s freaking marshmallows all over this orange stuff—it’s awesome! What twisted mind thought of that?”
By midafternoon the meal had long been over, but the four of them still sat around the table, slouching back in their chairs. They sipped decaffeinated coffee until it grew tepid and cream circles formed on the surface. Connie and Dana laughed about holiday meals of years past, when the kids were little and ruled by uncontrollable impulses to tip over the gravy boat, sta
nd on their chairs, mold their food like Play-Doh, or strip down to their diapers during dessert. Jet was uncharacteristically quiet, sitting sideways with her legs over one arm of her chair, occasionally fingering the last vestiges of sweet potato from the casserole dish. She listened with a surreptitious intensity, as if she could somehow absorb these stories into her own history.
The doorbell rang, and they all looked at each other for clues. It rang again, and Dana got up to answer it. On the front porch stood a young man in khakis and a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt with a brown spot on the breast pocket. His hair was dark and shaggy, and he flipped the bangs away from his forehead when he saw her coming through the window beside the door.
“Uh, hi . . .” he said when she opened the door. “Is Alder here? Happy Thanksgiving, by the way,” he added quickly. “Hope I’m not . . . Are you still . . . like, eating?”
At first Dana thought he might be a member of the Wilderness Club—maybe a boy who was just full enough of warm holiday feelings to get up the nerve to approach her niece. But the voice was familiar somehow.
“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too!” she said, holding the door open for him to enter. “We’re just finishing up—come on in.” She followed him through the mudroom, and it wasn’t until they were in the hallway by the dining room that the realization hit her like a sucker punch. She wanted to reach out and grab him, to yank him by his stained shirt right back out the front door. No! she wanted to say. Not one more step!
By then he was standing in the archway to the dining room, and all sound stopped. Then Jet said, “Who’s that?” and Connie said, “Ethan, you little shit,” and Ethan said, “Alder, please. Can we please just go somewhere and talk?”
Alder’s gaze was fixed on Ethan. “Why would I ever want to be alone with you?”
His eyes darted to the other women, then back to Alder. “Please,” he whispered.
Alder crossed her arms. She glanced at Connie and Jet. “Is it okay if you guys go?” she asked. “Dana can stay.” It was the slightest possible concession to him—one onlooker instead of three.
