Happy Thanksgiving BryonySeries Fans with an Excerpt from "Staked!"

For a day that celebrated the joys of feasting on animals, a surprising amount of people crowded Living Water Worship Center. A woman wearing a bulky fur coat and heavy make-up scooted closer to the elderly man on her left in a futile attempt to make room for them.

          

“Go ahead,” Brian whispered to Steve. “I’ll take Ellie and Fawn and look for another seat.”

           

 Deanna resisted John-Peter’s nudges to get into the pew first, but since he refused to cozy up to the giant raccoon, he grabbed Deanna’s arm, pushed her into the seat, and quickly slid beside her. Steve squeezed next to him and blocked further movement.

           

“That was a dirty trick,” Deanna mumbled.

          

 John-Peter grinned open-mouthed at her and then said, “Shh. The music is starting.”

           

 An off-key guitar band opened the service. John-Peter gazed about the bare white walls and tried to ignore the grating twangs. Steve closed his eyes, smiled, and tapped his foot. Deanna squirmed restlessly and jabbed her elbow into his ribs.

           

 “Sit still,” John-Peter hissed.

            

“Make me,” she hissed right back.

             

At the song's completion, everyone clapped, and the guitarists immediately began another. Deanna yawned loudly, and John-Peter slid his finger in her mouth. She slapped his hand and whispered angrily, “You messed it up.”

           

 “Cut it out, Deanna.”

             

“You’re not my boss.” She yawned again, this time wider and louder.

           

Finally, the pastor assumed the podium. For the next forty-five minutes, the man recounted every food-related story in the Bible, beginning with The Garden of Eden and continuing through Peter’s vision of the unclean animals. Deanna’s eyes drooped. John-Peter stifled his own yawn and accidentally bit his tongue.

            

“But all the food in the world will never satisfy our hunger for God, who made everything that sustains us.” The pastor raised his hands. “Let us all stand and sing our thanks to God.”

            

The nauseating smell of dead fowl assaulted John-Peter’s stomach the moment Ellie opened the front door. Even the garlic from the mashed potatoes couldn’t mask it. Cindy walked from the kitchen and noticed his discomfort.

            

“Whew, it’s hot in here.” She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Brian, can you open the window by the sink? It’s stuck.”

           

 “Cindy,” Darlene called out. “I can’t tell if that lentil loaf is done.”

            

Brian kissed Cindy on the cheek and started up the stairs.

            

“How was church?” Aunt Cindy asked. 

            

 “Packed. But the girls behaved themselves.”

            

After they had all gathered around the table and Steve had begun the blessing, the front door blew open.

           

 “Sorry I’m late,” a red-faced Kellen said as Cindy rushed from the table to take his coat. “My flight was delayed.”

           

 Brian said, “Ellie, let Uncle Kellen sit by Aunt Melissa.”

           

 “I wondered what happened." Melissa looked up as Kellen assumed the vacated seat and unfolded his napkin.

            

 “Arthur was supposed to call," Kellen said, huffing between words.

           

  “He did call when you were taking a shower,” Darlene passed the platter of turkey to Kellen. “I forgot to mention it.”

            

 John-Peter carefully observed Kellen's pouring of gravy over everything on his plate. Kellen stopped in mid-stream and stared back. “Is there a problem?”

           

 "Your face is bloated and blotchy.”

           

 Kellen puffed the air from his cheeks as he set down the gravy boat. His hands were ruddy and swollen; the veins were engorged “It’s a little warm in here, that’s all.”

           

 Brian opened another window. Kellen picked up his fork. Steve cleared his throat. Melissa nudged Kellen. He raised blood-shot eyes as red as his lapel rose, noticed Steve’s folded hands, and laid the fork against the plate.

            

Steve bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, we give you thanks and praise for bringing us here today to celebrate your bountiful goodness.”

             

John-Peter studied the lentil loaf Aunt Cindy had sliced. A little dry, but not bad for a first attempt.

            

“And we thank you for providing us with family, people we can love and who love us. We ask you to continue blessing us in the coming year so we can once again join together to give thanks. Amen.” Steve reached for the cranberry sauce. “How’s that? The food didn’t even have time to get cold.”

            

The phone rang.

           

 “You sit,” Brian said to Cindy. “I’ll get it.”

            

“There’s pineapple in the sweet potatoes, Grandpa,” Deanna said.

           

“Well, it’s a good thing I like pineapple.”

            

“I helped make them yesterday, before you guys got here.”

           

“Then I’ll have to take an extra helping.”

            

John-Peter gestured his fork at Ellie’s plate. “You haven’t touched your Brussels sprouts.”

            

 “Brussels sprouts are pukey.”

            

Brian reappeared, looking grim. “Melissa, it’s for you.”

           

“We’ll wait to go around the table,” Darlene said.

            

John-Peter had hoped this year they might skip the "I’m thankful for…” ritual his grandmother always insisted they perform. Be thankful for what? His best friend was in love with a marionette; he was related to no one in his deceitful family; and his doctor just told him (DELETED. SPOILER).

          

“More turkey, Kellen?” Brian said.

            

Melissa sat back down, biting her lip to keep from crying.

            

“It’s Carol,” she said, picking up her napkin and placing it on her lap. “They’re not sure what happened. The aid who brought her dinner tray found her unconscious so they called an ambulance.”

            

“Thanks, Brian,” Kellen said, taking three large slices and then checking his watch. “Do you want to fly back with me tonight, Melissa?”

            

She shuddered and rested her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

            

Darlene interrupted. “I’ll be fine driving alone. I'll have Steve and John-Peter to keep me company.”

            

“Grandpa,” Ellie said. “We have two kinds of pie tonight: pumpkin and apple."

           

 "Make up your mind, Melissa," Kellen said. "I haven't got all night."

            

“Maybe I should go," Melissa said. "I’ll go call the hospital and tell them I’ll be there tonight.”

           

Steve pushed away his plate and patted Ellie’s hand. “Your grandmother won’t let me eat two pieces.”

            

“You probably shouldn’t have one,” Darlene said.