by Chris Cannon
“Look at that,” Zoe said.
I tuned back into reality and glanced in the direction she pointed. Fat, white snowflakes swirled through the air, obstructing the view out the kitchen window. “Were we supposed to have snow today?”
“The weather report said a chance of flurries,” Zoe’s grandmother said as she mixed together the cream of mushroom soup and green beans for a casserole. “I think they may have underestimated.”
Jack entered the kitchen wearing Minion pajama bottoms and a navy T-shirt. I’d hoped finding him attractive in his PJ’s would be a one-time aberration. Nope. He was sleep rumpled and adorable and hot, and that was just wrong.
“Are you going to complain about my bed head again?” Jack asked.
“No. And speaking of—I haven’t forgotten that you lost that bet.” Come on, brain, think of something else to say. I pointed at his pants. “But I never figured you for Minion pajamas.”
He shrugged. “I think they were my white elephant gift last year.”
“I won those,” Zoe said, “but they were too big for me, so I gave them to Jack.”
“That’s right,” Jack said. “I offered you my Chia cat, but you weren’t interested.”
“Those things are creepy,” I said. “My grandma used to grow them on her kitchen windowsill. They gave me nightmares.”
“You’re afraid of Chia pets?” Jack laughed. “Here I thought you were this kick-ass girl who wasn’t afraid of anything.”
Jack thought I was kick-ass? Since when? “Normally, I am a superhero, but those Chia-things are freaky. It didn’t help that my grandmother painted faces on the animals, and she always gave them mean eyes and pointed teeth.”
“I used to be scared of your grandma.” Jack poured himself a bowl of cereal.
“Join the club,” Zoe said.
“She was a little intense,” I said.
Jack took his cereal into the living room.
“You and Jack seem to be getting along better,” Zoe’s grandma said.
I froze for a second and then went with, “He’s a pretty decent guy as long as Zoe and I don’t interrupt his naps.”
“Why don’t you girls get started on the pumpkin bread?”
“Sure.” Zoe stood up and went to gather ingredients. Technically, I didn’t need to come over this early, but sitting in my empty house, which on a normal day didn’t bother me, did feel lonely on Thanksgiving. I’d never say anything to my parents, but I didn’t understand why they continued to work all the holidays. When I was younger, I knew they’d needed the money. And it’s not like we’d become rich since then, but we were comfortable, or at least that’s how I saw it. Broken-down appliances aside, I didn’t understand why they never made the effort for us to spend time together on special days.
My cell beeped. I checked text messages. My mom needed me to run back home and make sure she’d plugged in the Crock-Pot or she and my dad wouldn’t have anything to eat when they came home tonight. I showed the message to Zoe. “Looks like I have an errand to run.”
“Want me to go with you?” Zoe asked.
“Nah, stay and make the pumpkin bread. I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed my coat and scarf, making sure to zip my coat all the way up before heading out the door. The air had a cold metallic smell I associated with winter. The snow was starting to add up. It looked like we had an inch or more already.
My old truck was pretty good in the snow, so I wasn’t worried. As I drove to my house, the peaceful fat snowflakes disappeared and were replaced by the ping of sleet hitting the roof. Crap. I hated sleet. Snow was pretty and magical. Sleet was scary and ugly. I slowed down and put on my brights. If some idiot came barreling from the other direction on this two-lane back road, I wanted him to see my truck so he wouldn’t hit me.
My cell beeped, but I didn’t stop to check it. Driving in bad weather wasn’t my favorite thing to do. But I’d hate for my mom and dad to come home to a meal of Pop-Tarts on Thanksgiving. The drive to my house took twice as long as it should have.
The sleet and snow mixture created a sheet of ice that coated the trees and my driveway. I parked right up next to the house, hoping to avoid some of the sleet. I’d just run in and turn the Crock-Pot on and then dash back out. Hopefully, the ice wouldn’t have time to build up on my truck.
I stepped out of the truck, carefully planting one foot and then the other. The driveway was slick. Holding onto the truck, I wobbled my way around the front end and across the sidewalk toward the front door.
The porch steps were slippery. I should probably salt them before I went back to Zoe’s. In the kitchen, I found the Crock-Pot, full of ingredients with the cord dangling off the counter. I plugged it in and texted my mom, Mission accomplished.
She texted back a smiley face. I went to the pantry to find rock salt for the steps. Half a bag sat next to the flashlights and the wind-up radio my dad had purchased for when the power went out.
I filled up the coffee can we kept in the bag and carried it back out the front door with me. I sprinkled the salt as I slipped and slid my way back to the truck. If the weather continued like this, I’d probably stay the night at Zoe’s.
…
Jack
I was salting the front porch when Delia drove up the driveway and parked. Her entire truck was coated with ice. Why had she gone out in this? She opened the driver’s side door and climbed out in slow motion.
“Are you okay?” I called out.
“Just trying not to fall.” She made her way to the front steps and latched onto the banister.
“I salted those, but they might still be slippery,” I warned.
“I hate this ice crap. Snow is pretty. This stuff sucks.”
“Agreed.” She made it to the porch without falling down. “Good job.”
“Thanks, I try.” She headed for the door, and then she flailed as her feet went out from under her, and she tilted backward like she was going to fall down the steps.
I dropped the rock salt and grabbed her, yanking her hard toward me to keep her from tumbling backward. She hit my chest with a thump and a few muttered curse words.
She looked up at me, her brown eyes huge. “Thank you.”
It didn’t seem like she was in a hurry to move away from me. Holding her like this felt oddly comfortable. I realized if I leaned down just a little bit, I’d be in the perfect position to kiss her. Wait. Where is that thought coming from? I needed to snap back to reality. “Are you all right?” I loosened my grip but didn’t let go.
“Yes.” She gave a nervous laugh and moved back a step, holding onto my arm. “That was one of those life-flashing-in-front-of-my-eyes moments.”
“What’s going on?” Zoe said from the front door.
“Delia tried to do a backward dive off the porch.” I moved toward the doorway, bringing Delia with me and letting her go once she reached the welcome mat.
“I can’t believe how slippery it’s gotten.” Delia released my arm and went into the house. She glanced back at me, her cheeks red. “Thanks again.”
I nodded and went back to flinging salt on the porch and steps. Once I was done, I headed into the kitchen, where my mom was making hot tea.
“Want a cup?” she asked me.
“Yes.” I inhaled the smell of fresh pumpkin bread. “Tell me the pumpkin bread is done.”
“I went with pumpkin muffins.” Zoe pointed at the muffins still in the tin on the stove. “But yes, they’re done, and they should be cool enough to eat.”
I picked the biggest muffin in the tin and took the cup of hot tea my mom offered me. “I can’t believe how slick it’s gotten out there.”
“I hate to think of my parents driving in this weather,” Delia said.
“Do you know where they went today?” Zoe asked.
“I think my dad’s in town, but my mom was driving to a couple of nursing homes that aren’t close.”
Worrying about people getting into car accidents was now one o
f my family’s special skill sets. I wasn’t going to lie and tell Delia her parents were going to be fine, because who knew if that was the truth? Maybe I could distract her.
“What’s the deal with those ornaments you’ve been painting?” I asked.
“I was going to sell them at the Christmas Flea Market, but they didn’t turn out like I wanted them to.”
“You could draw people’s portraits or make them into caricatures like they do at the carnivals,” I suggested.
“That’s a great idea,” Delia said. “I could just take some supplies and post a few examples of my work.”
“And while they’re having their picture drawn, I can tempt them with homemade Christmas cookies,” Zoe said.
I noticed my mom and grandma were smiling at each other like they’d done something sneaky. “What?”
“Nothing,” my mom said. “I’m just glad to see all three of you in the same room, having a civil conversation.”
“I think the separate car idea really did help your relationship,” my grandmother said.
Personally, I thought it had more to do with Delia and her sparkly lip gloss, but I nodded like I agreed.
“I think working together at Betty’s helped, too,” Delia said. “I was able to see Jack as a person rather than as Zoe’s brother.”
That didn’t make much sense. “I’m still Zoe’s brother.”
“I know, but you’re multidimensional now instead of being slotted into one flat category.”
“How can a category be flat?” I asked, just to annoy her.
“It’s an analogy that works in your favor,” Delia said. “Just go with it.”
“Fine.” I grinned and drank my tea.
The timer on the oven beeped. My grandmother grabbed her oven mitts. “I believe it’s turkey time.”
My mom scooted away from the oven to give my grandmother some room. She was smiling. I glanced around and realized everyone in the kitchen looked happy. Maybe our holidays weren’t doomed to be sad forever.
Chapter Eleven
Delia
Sitting at Zoe’s kitchen table, I stared at what was left of Thanksgiving dinner on my plate. I groaned and wrapped my arms around my waist. “I’m never eating again.”
“We haven’t had pie yet,” Zoe said.
“I have to take a break before I can eat pie.”
“You’re assuming there’ll be pie left when you come back,” she said.
“That’s just mean.” I picked up my plate and carried it to the sink. Everyone else was still sitting at the table. “Want me to make coffee?”
“Yes,” Zoe’s grandma said. “Pie without coffee is just wrong.”
“Pumpkin pie without whipped cream is wrong,” I replied.
“It’s already made up and in the fridge,” Zoe said.
I peeled a new paper coffee filter from the stack inside the cabinet and added it to the coffeemaker. Then I dumped in the coffee grounds, eyeballing the amount.
“You’re supposed to use eight tablespoons,” said Jack.
“That’s the boring way to make coffee,” I replied.
I pushed the button and waited to hear the sound of coffee percolating and dripping into the carafe. Nothing happened.
“It helps if you add water,” Zoe called out.
Right. “I blame the turkey. It’s putting me to sleep.” I filled the water reservoir and then yawned and leaned against the counter. “I’ll just nap until it’s done.” I was only half kidding. I swear I’d eaten my weight in turkey and stuffing and homemade macaroni and cheese.
When the coffeemaker stopped making noises, I opened my eyes. “Who wants a cup?” There was a chorus of “me’s” from the kitchen table, so I grabbed five mugs and poured. Then I grabbed two mugs in each hand and delivered them to the table before going back for my own coffee and the whipped cream. There was a slice of pie waiting on my place mat when I returned. I added a giant glob of whipped cream to my pie.
“You sure that’s enough?” Jack asked.
“I like a two-to-one whipped cream to pie ratio.” I passed the bowl of whipped cream and dug in.
I listened as Zoe and her family talked about different things, content to eat my pie and observe. They may have lost two members, but they were more a family than mine ever was. Jack smiled and laughed, which I realized I hadn’t seen him do a lot recently. It looked good on him. Earlier when he’d grabbed me on the steps to keep me from falling and held onto me for a moment, it had felt right, which was frightening.
My cell buzzed. I checked the text, and my stomach sank.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.
“My mom says it’s gotten so bad out that she plans on staying at a motel rather than trying to drive home when she finishes her shift. On a positive note, the motel is attached to a diner, so she can still have Thanksgiving dinner.”
“What about your dad?” Zoe asked.
“Mom said his shift ends in a few hours, and he plans to drive home and enjoy turkey tetrazzini for one from the Crock-Pot.”
“He’s welcome to join us,” Zoe’s mom said. “And it goes without saying that you’re staying the night.”
“Thanks. I planned on it. I’ll call him and see if he wants to come over.” I stood and walked into the living room to make the call.
“Hey, Delia. Tell me you’re safe and sound at Zoe’s,” my dad said by way of a greeting.
“Hello to you, too, and yes, I am. You’re invited to come over here for dinner later if you want.”
“Tell Zoe’s family I appreciate the offer, but I decided to pick up some extra hours since no one else wants to get out in this weather.”
“You’re not driving anywhere, are you?”
“Nope. I’m staying right where I’m at. I may sleep an hour or two in the on-call room before I come home.”
That sounded like a lonely way to spend the holiday. “Maybe next Thanksgiving, we could all stay home together or all come over here?”
“As long as no major appliances commit suicide, I think that might be a good idea.” He sighed. “I never used to mind working the holidays, but this weather has made me reconsider.”
Disappointment turned my stomach, or maybe it was that last bite of pie. It might be immature, but I wanted him to want to stay home to have a family dinner, not because of the sucky weather.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart,” Dad said.
“Sure. I’ll bring home some leftovers.” I hung up and went to stare out the living room window. Sleet coated the trees and my truck, giving everything an odd glass-like appearance.
Zoe joined me. “Everything okay?”
I nodded. “They’re both safe.”
Zoe’s cell buzzed, she checked the screen, and her face lit up, which could mean only one thing.
“It’s Grant,” Zoe said and then zipped across the room and up the stairs.
Mentally, I rolled my eyes. While I was happy that Zoe was so in love, it sucked that my own romantic life was nonexistent.
Jack exited the kitchen and stopped next to me to peer out the window. “The ice is cool in a creepy sort of way.”
“As long as you don’t have to drive in it.” Something moved out in the yard and then ran under my truck. “What was that?”
Jack moved closer to the window, exhaled, and fogged up the glass. He wiped the condensation away with his sleeve. “Is that a rabbit? Why isn’t it hunkered down in a burrow somewhere?”
“Maybe it’s a baby, and it’s lost.” I walked over and grabbed my coat off the hook where I’d hung it to dry. Jack must have had the same idea, because he grabbed his coat at the same time.
“You’re not going out there,” he said.
I laughed. “I’m going to go with the childish, yet effective, ‘You’re not the boss of me’ line.”
“If you fall, who’s going to catch you while I’m trying to scoop up a half-frozen rabbit?”
He made a good point, but I wasn’t going to let that st
op me. “We’ll both go out there. I’ll stand on the porch and hold a box that you can put the rabbit in after you catch it.”
“Okay.” He walked back into the kitchen and returned with a plastic storage container with a towel inside.
“What do you think you’re doing with my good tea towels?” Jack’s mom asked.
“Rescue operation,” I said. “For a small furry creature hiding under my truck.”
“Wait,” his mom said. She went to the bathroom and returned with a bath towel that was frayed on the edges. “Use this instead, and be careful.”
I opened the door and tested my footing on the doormat. Not too bad. I put my left hand on the wall and held the box in my right hand. Once I’d cleared the doorway, Jack came out, taking slow measured steps to the porch stairs. He grasped the railing with his gloved hand; when his foot hit the first step, he flailed and latched onto the railing with his other hand.
“Careful,” I called out.
He snorted. “I’m working on it.” Once he made it down the front steps, he skated over to my truck and crouched down. He reached under, and something whined.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Jack pulled out something covered in brown fur and held it to his chest. “I’ve got you.” He took smaller steps coming back to the house like he was making the effort to be more careful.
“Bring the box to the edge of the stairs so I can pass this little guy off to you.”
Doing as he asked, I inched my way forward and grabbed the railing, squatting down and holding out the box so he could reach up and put the animal inside.
He set a small furry critter in the box. “I think it’s a puppy.”
Whatever it was, it was shivering like crazy. It’s eyes were matted shut with frost. “Poor little guy.” I folded the towel over him and then waited for Jack to join me on the porch. “You carry him,” I said. “I don’t want to fall and hurt him.”
“We got this.” Jack put his arm around my lower back. “You hold him, and I’ll hold you.”
Warmth blossomed in my chest. I had no idea Jack was such a good guy.
