by K. C. Wells
Micah shook his head. “Uh uh. Not until you share which movie you’re thinking of putting on.”
Dad’s smile morphed into something almost wistful. “Star Wars, Episode IV.”
Micah could live with that.
Greg was feeling nervous.
Not that he had anything to feel nervous about. He was only going to meet Naomi, after all. Why meeting Micah’s nineteen-year-old sister should bother him so much, he wasn’t sure, but he’d had butterflies in his stomach all day.
Micah and Joshua hadn’t helped matters. They’d started discussing the preparations for Thanksgiving, and Greg had asked if there was anything he could do to help, providing he could do it while seated. Joshua had glanced at Micah, before nodding.
“Now you mention it, there is an important task you can do.”
“Sure, name it.” Anything to stop feeling so useless.
Joshua’s eyes gleamed. “You can be the turkey plucker this year. Can’t he, Micah?”
Micah nodded solemnly. “I think so. That’s a really important task.”
“Turkey… plucker?”
Both of them nodded again. “Around here, we have to go out and catch the turkey first, but Micah and I will take care of that. Can’t really ask you to do that, can we? Not when you’re on crutches.”
“You have to catch the turkey?” Greg knew Wright was in the middle of nowhere, but surely not….
“Uh huh.” Micah smiled. “This is a big honor, you know. It takes years of training to be a fully-fledged turkey plucker.” Then his lips twitched, and that glint in his eyes suddenly made sense.
“You pair of—”
“Careful now,” Joshua admonished, grinning. “Insulting your hosts will result in significantly smaller portions tomorrow.”
Greg arched his eyebrows. “I can’t make up my mind whether that’s meant to be a threat or a promise.”
Micah guffawed. “You’re quick. I like that.”
Judging from Joshua’s grin, he liked it too.
“They’re here!” Micah called out.
Greg was yanked into the present, his butterflies going on a rampage in his belly. Joshua had gone to Gillette to meet Naomi’s bus.
Micah came into the living room and gave him a stern glance. “You look fine, she’s dying to meet you, and she doesn’t make a habit of eating people.” He grinned. “Well, she might nibble you a little.”
“You are not helping. Again.”
Micah opened his mouth, no doubt to say something witty, but was cut off when the door opened and a young woman with long, dark brown hair entered the room. She marched right over to the couch and stood beside it, staring down at Greg with ill-concealed interest.
“So you’re Greg? You don’t look like you got bashed.” She looked him up and down. “I thought you had a cast on your leg.”
Greg had to smile. “Amazing what a pair of sweats can hide, isn’t it?” She was so like Joshua: they both had the same brown eyes, the same blunt way of expressing themselves.
Then she smiled, and her eyes lit up just like Micah’s did. “Have these two been looking after you? Were you always this skinny, or is that how you’ve gotten after six days of avoiding my dad’s cooking?”
Greg was more than ready to defend Joshua. “I like your dad’s cooking. It’s good.”
Naomi stared at him, her mouth open. Then she swiveled to look at Micah. “You didn’t tell me he’d suffered a head injury too. Poor boy’s obviously delusional.”
Joshua snorted. “‘Poor boy’, she says, like you’re some little kid, when you’re almost Micah’s age.”
“It’s fine, Joshua.” Greg grinned. “I can take care of myself.”
Naomi studied him for a moment, her eyes shining. “Apparently.” She turned to Joshua. “I suppose you haven’t started preparing all the vegetables yet. I’m guessing you’re gonna leave that to me and Micah again.” She flicked her gaze back to Greg. “Having said that… you might make a pretty good kitchen assistant.”
“Whatever I can to do be of help,” Greg said with a smile. “But I’d recommend giving me tasks that don’t require movement. I’m pretty lethal with those crutches.”
“That’s okay,” she replied with a sweet smile. “I’m pre-med. I could always practice my bandaging techniques.”
Greg snickered and met Micah’s gaze. Micah gave him the thumbs up.
What on earth was I nervous about? Naomi was adorable.
Greg was suddenly looking forward to Thanksgiving.
Chapter Nine
Greg awoke to the wonderful aroma of roasting turkey. He glanced at the clock beside the bed. Seven-thirty? What time do these people get up in the morning? Hell, it was still dark outside. He lifted his leg off the bed and pulled on his robe, before grabbing his crutches. The painful throb down his thigh that accompanied his first steps told him the first order of the day would be his meds. He shoved the capsules into the pocket of his robe and hobbled out of the room, heading for the kitchen, the enticing aroma tugging him along.
God, that smells good.
The kitchen was a hive of activity. Naomi was in the process of basting the turkey, with Joshua standing beside her, watching intently. Micah was seated at the table, a heap of sweet potatoes and carrots in front of him, which he was peeling. In the middle of the table stood a delicious-looking pumpkin pie.
“You baked already?” Greg was seriously impressed.
Naomi whirled around to give him a friendly smile. “Good morning! Well, it was when I got up. And don’t be fooled by the pie. It was a store bought frozen one.” She went back to her basting.
“Aw, don’t tell him that, you’ll shatter the illusion,” Joshua moaned. “And watch what you’re doing. You’re dripping turkey juices onto the floor.”
“Shit wipes off, Dad,” Micah said, adding a peeled carrot to the pile.
“And you can watch your mouth.” Joshua glared at him.
“I can cope with a little swearing,” Greg told him. “And that’s the first time Micah has cussed since I’ve been here, so I think he’s doing okay.” He flashed Micah a grin, which Micah returned, his eyes sparkling. Then his leg throbbed again, and the urge to smile left him.
Micah’s eyes widened, and he pushed back his chair, lunging to his feet. “Hey. I think you need to sit down. Naomi, bring some cushions through, please?” He helped Greg onto a nearby chair. The throb morphed into a dull ache, and Greg didn’t even try to refuse Micah’s help. Micah filled a glass with water and handed it to him. “Got your meds?”
Greg nodded, and pulled them from his pocket. In the process, his robe loosened, revealing his torso.
Micah let out a hiss. “Shit, Greg. What the hell did they do to you?” Naomi approached, her arms full of cushions, and her mouth fell open. Joshua’s brow furrowed, and he pressed his lips together.
Greg closed the robe, tying it more tightly. “Trust me, the bruises looked much worse last week.” Now they were nothing but varying shades of yellow, but he knew the sheer number of them had to be a shock.
“I hope the police catch those bastards,” Naomi muttered as she placed the cushions on another chair. Joshua glared at her, but she glared right back at him. “Oh, come on. Tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing. Some people are just scum. I mean, who does that to a person? Beats the crap out of them, then leaves out in the middle of nowhere?”
Joshua sighed. “I apologize for my daughter, Greg. She used to be a sweet little thing before she went off to college.” He aimed another glare in her direction. “Where apparently, she’s learned some bad habits along with her studies.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Greg said firmly. “But can we change the subject? This is killing the Thanksgiving vibes around here.” Carefully he lifted his leg onto the chair, wincing.
“Take your meds,” Micah said in a stern voice. “Now.”
Greg arched his eyebrows. “Yes, Dad.” He popped two capsules into his mouth and swallowed half
the water. “That better?”
“Much. And you can sit there until they take effect. It’s still way too early for you to be on your feet a lot. Didn’t the doc say it would be a couple of weeks before you’d be mobile?”
Part of Greg was touched by Micah’s concern. He really was looking out for Greg, had been since Greg had arrived in their home. But at the same time, Greg hated the feeling of being useless. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”
“I may let you mash the potatoes later.” Micah grinned. “But only if you’re a good boy and do as you’re told.”
Greg lifted one of his crutches. “I can reach you with this, and I’ve got a good aim. Just saying.”
Micah laughed. “Want some coffee?”
“That would be great. And that turkey smells amazing.”
Naomi chuckled. “Wait till you try the stuffing. My mom’s recipe. Now that’s amazeballs.” Her smile faltered, and Joshua rubbed her back.
“How about I make us some breakfast, now that we’re all awake?” Micah stared at the kitchen table. “If we clear some of this out of the way first.”
“Do we have any of that sausage gravy still in the freezer?” Naomi asked. “And biscuits? Or did you two eat them all?”
Greg’s stomach rumbled. “Biscuits and gravy?” He hadn’t had those for breakfast in a long time.
Joshua grinned. “I think we have a winner. I’ll put the vegetables into water, and you two can make breakfast.” He winked at Greg. “Seeing as my cooking is so awful.”
“You can make the eggs. They’re usually edible.” Micah dodged the towel that Joshua flicked toward his ass.
“Do you see what I have to put with?” Joshua said with a sigh.
Greg thought they were all wonderful.
“Where’s Greg?” Naomi asked as she covered the cooked turkey with foil.
“In his room, asleep. I think those pills knock him out.” Micah had helped Greg to his room, and before he’d even covered him with the comforter, Greg had fallen asleep.
Naomi checked the pans on the stove. The vegetables would be the last part of the meal to be cooked. The cranberry sauce was made, the sweet potatoes were ready to be roasted… They’d done really well.
“She’d be proud of us, you know,” he said quietly.
Naomi turned to look at him and Micah noted the gleam of tears. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Micah didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into a tight hug, their cheeks pressed together. They didn’t do this. Grief was a luxury to be denied when Dad was around, because they had to keep it together for his sake. They had to be strong for him, so tears were for when no one was around to see them. Right then Dad was safely ensconced in his office, and therefore out of sight.
“I miss her so much,” Naomi whispered. “Especially now. God, the first thing I remembered this morning was how Mom used to wake us up with hot chocolate at Thanksgiving.”
Micah snickered. “Only because she knew that was the fastest way to get us out of bed.”
Naomi laughed quietly. “True.” She held him against her, arms wrapped around him. “Do you think about her?”
“All the time.” It didn’t help that Christmas was almost upon them. “Maybe having Greg around will make things easier for Dad this year. You know, give him something to occupy him.”
Naomi pulled away, her forehead creased into a frown. “Are you saying Greg will still be here at Christmas? Just how long is he staying with us? And while we’re on the subject, wanna tell me why Dad invited a stranger to come stay with us? Was he just being a Good Samaritan?”
“Hey, I was going to ask him to stay, only Dad beat me to it.”
“But why?” Naomi cocked her head to one side. “What is it you’re not telling me?”
Before Micah could figure out how to respond, Dad walked into the kitchen. “Any coffee left?”
Naomi drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Tell you what. I’ll make you some fresh coffee, if you give me some answers.”
“Naomi, please, don’t.” Micah’s stomach churned.
She whirled around and glared at him. “Don’t what? Try to work out what’s going on?” She turned to stare at Dad. “Well? Wanna tell me why you invited Greg to stay?”
“He’s got a busted leg, and he needs time to heal.”
“Uh uh.” Naomi folded her arms across her chest. “Not buying it. You two are hiding something, and I want to know what it is—and why you think you need to hide it from me.” She frowned. “I’m nineteen. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“That’s debatable,” Micah muttered, and she glared at him. He couldn’t tell her. That had to be Dad’s decision.
“It’s okay, son. Naomi’s right. She’s an adult now.” Dad sighed. “I guess I thought there were some things about her dad that she didn’t need to know just yet.”
Naomi paled. “Dad? You’re scaring me.”
“Dad, just let her read the letter. It’s for the best.”
Dad nodded, and left the room. Naomi watched him go, standing so still, her arms by her sides. Micah put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right, there’s nothing to be scared of. Greg had a letter on him, addressed to Dad. It was from Greg’s dad, who died a month ago, and it was his last wish that Greg deliver it.”
Naomi stared at him. “This sounds serious. Not to mention intriguing. They knew each other? Since when?”
Dad re-entered the kitchen and handed her the envelope. “There are some photos in there, of me and Greg’s dad, when we were seventeen. Before I met your mom.”
She stared at the envelope. “I think I’m gonna read this in my room, if you don’t mind.” Before they could say a word. Naomi walked out.
Dad swallowed. “What if—”
Micah rubbed his back. “You were afraid to let me know, and look how that turned out. What makes you think Naomi will be any different?”
“She’s just a kid.”
Micah opened his eyes wide. “How old was Mom, when you two first started dating?”
“Eighteen.”
“And when you asked her to marry you?” Micah already knew the answer.
“Nineteen.”
Micah smiled. “Nineteen’s not so young, is it? And Naomi’s had to grow up a lot since….” He knew how alike Naomi and Mom had been. She had Dad’s way of expressing herself, but her temperament was Mom through and through.
To his surprise, Dad pulled him into a hug. “I know I don’t say this enough, but you two… I couldn’t have gotten through the last two years without you.”
“This is what families do, right?” Micah’s face brushed against Dad’s scratchy chin. Then he broke free of the hug. “I’ll make the coffee. And we can start dinner soon, once Greg wakes up.”
“Let him sleep. It’s good for him.” Dad smiled. “You know what’s weird? Greg seems to have slotted into our lives like he just… belongs there.”
Micah knew what he meant. Just over twelve days since he’d found Greg, and yet it felt longer. Greg was easy to talk to and fun to be with. There was a lot they didn’t know about him yet, but being with him felt… good.
“Wow.” Naomi stood in the doorway, the letter and photos in her hand. She stared at Dad. “I… don’t know what to say. Except… wow.”
Dad frowned. “Good wow or bad wow?”
She shook her head. “Still trying to get my head around the fact that my dad is bi. Not that it’s all that big a deal.”
“It… isn’t?”
Naomi widened her eyes. “Jeez, Dad, do you know how many of my friends are bi or gay? I mean, really? In my Biology class alone, we’re talking gay, bi, trans, asexual…” She smiled. “Sometimes I feel like I’m in a minority.” She held out the letter. “This is so sad.” Naomi gazed at him inquiringly. “I gotta ask though. Did Mom know?”
“I asked the same question,” Micah murmured.
“And I’ll tell you both, only, not today, okay?” Dad sighed heavily. �
�I’m sorry, it’s just that… the timing’s not right. Let’s just have the best Thanksgiving we can manage, all right?”
Micah knew his dad was having a hard time, what with the anniversary so close, but he was growing tired of the evasion. Not that he’d say a word. Micah could bide his time. “Sounds good to me.”
“Dad?” Naomi smiled. “Let Greg stay as long as he wants, okay? I know it’s weird, but it sorta feels like he’s family.”
Micah couldn’t have been prouder of her than he was in that moment. “I second that.”
Naomi flashed him a quick smile, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah, I thought you might.”
“What does that mean?” Micah gave her a hard stare.
Naomi opened her eyes wide. “Nothing. Now, how about some coffee?” She chuckled and went to set up the coffee pot.
Micah groaned inwardly. Little sisters were a real pain in the ass, especially ones who read more into situations than was clearly there. He had an idea what she was implying, but he wasn’t about to challenge it.
There were some arguments that were to be avoided, especially those he knew he’d lose.
Chapter Ten
Greg sighed contentedly. “I can’t remember the last time I ate so much.” He rubbed his very full belly. “I don’t think I could eat another thing.”
“Not even a wafer-thin mint with your coffee?” Micah asked with a sly grin.
Greg groaned. “Right now, there isn’t even room for coffee. That and a mint might be the two last straws.” He smiled to himself. He hadn’t had Micah down as a Monty Python fan. It was good to know.
Naomi beamed. “Then we did a good job. Thank God for dishwashers, because the thought of all those pots and pans…” She shuddered.
“This is where we explain that Naomi has a phobia about rubber gloves,” Joshua said in a loud whisper. “Almost to the point of being pathological.” He snuck a glance in Naomi’s direction, grinning.
Naomi scowled. “Now tell him the truth.” When Joshua started laughing, she turned to Greg. “I was maybe five or six. My dear brother blew into a white rubber glove, tied it off, then stuck it on the end of a pole and lifted it up to my bedroom window. I saw this ghostly white, boneless hand floating outside, and became hysterical—at least, that was how Mom described it.”
