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.
