by white votive candles for the centerpiece and set with gold-rimmed china and tall crystal goblets that sparkled in the candlelight. Charlie and Evelyn had brought a bunch of white and gold Christmas crackers to the party, a gift sent by Charlie’s sisters in Ireland, and put one next to each place setting.
Charlie demonstrated how to pull on the strings to open the cracker. The resulting pop made everyone jump, and the sight of Charlie wearing a pink paper crown on his head made everyone laugh, easing the tension. For a few minutes the room was filled with sounds of popping paper and the sight of adults looking silly and pleased in their own paper crowns, showing off the cheap plastic trinkets they found inside the paper tubes.
Margot filled goblets with champagne. Charlie carried the turkey in from the kitchen and placed it on the sideboard, carving knife at the ready. Though it was his daughter’s table, Werner instinctively placed himself at the head of it. When everyone was seated, he bowed his head to bless the food, but his wife laid a hand on his arm.
“Werner, perhaps Reverend Clarkson should say the prayer?”
He looked at me, frowning. We were all members of the same denomination, but Werner Matthews seemed uncomfortable with the idea of a female minister. He’d barely talked to me all day. It didn’t bother me; I’d run into that sort of thing before and would again.
“Please, Mr. Matthews,” I said, bowing my head slightly, “you go ahead.”
After Mr. Matthews prayed, Charlie carved and served the bird while the rest of us passed bowls and platters from hand to hand, filling our plates until there wasn’t room for so much as an additional cranberry. The turkey was a little bit dry, but that didn’t seem to make any difference to anyone but Charlie, who grimaced slightly when he took his first bite. Everything else was delicious. Now that the food was on the table, Margot’s father was more relaxed, which seemed to come as a relief to Margot.
He was an interesting man, bristly, but clearly dedicated to his family and just as clearly used to being in charge of everything—his business, his wife, and his daughter. Margot was forty, a woman with a home of her own and a successful career, yet her father spoke to her and of her as though she were still a girl, a good girl and the apple of his eye, but a girl just the same. And Margot responded in kind, deferring to his opinions.
I wondered if she was aware of how her personality altered in the presence of her father. Was that the price of being her father’s favorite, a price she had decided was worth paying? Or had she and her sister, as so many siblings do, simply fallen into the roles assigned to them when they were born—good child, bad child, rebel, saint?
Being an only child does have some advantages. For me, there was no jockeying for position or need to curry favor, no fear of losing parental approval. I was always my father’s favorite, the tablet upon which he inscribed all his hopes and unfulfilled expectations. It’s something of a mixed blessing. Those tablets are heavy.
Still wearing his purple paper crown, Werner sawed a chunk of turkey breast into bite-sized pieces while talking to his daughter. “I gave your car a once-over before I came inside, honey. You need new tires. The tread is low on the back right side. It’s dangerous to drive on a tire like that, especially in this weather.”
“I know, Daddy. But I’m thinking of getting a new car, so I didn’t think it made sense to replace the tires now.”
“A new car?” Werner frowned, reached for the cranberry sauce, and heaped the last of it on his plate. Without being asked, Lillian got up from the table and carried the bowl into the kitchen, presumably to refill it. “What’s wrong with the car you’ve got?”
“Nothing, but it has a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. And it’s not great in snow. I was thinking about looking for something with four-wheel drive.”
Werner speared a piece of turkey with his fork before carrying it to his mouth and nodded, all for keeping his daughter safe. “Well, you make sure you call me before you go buying anything. Remember what happened when you bought that Pinto wagon.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “Dad,” she said quietly, “that was twenty years ago.”
“Biggest lemon on the lot,” he said, going on as if he hadn’t heard her, grinning and turning to address himself to Charlie. “Needed a new transmission. And that dealer knew it too. That’s why he gave her such a ‘deal’ on it. He sure saw her coming.” Werner chuckled and chewed. “Didn’t he, Bunny?”
Margot looked down at her plate and nodded.
“So you just make sure you call me before you sign anything this time,” he said, pointing his fork at Margot.
“Yes, Dad.”
“I can drive down, give it a test drive for you, and help negotiate the deal—make sure they don’t stick you for any of those crazy ‘extras’ and dealer fees.”
“I’d hate to make you drive all the way from Buffalo just to—”
Werner beamed and patted his daughter’s hand. “I’d go to the ends of the earth to help my little girl. You know that.”
A ringing sound, like an old-fashioned alarm clock, came from the kitchen. Margot jumped to her feet just as her mother came through the kitchen door holding a full bowl of cranberry sauce in one hand and Margot’s cell phone in the other.
“That’s probably Mari,” Margot said, smiling with relief.
“Hope she’s just late and not lost,” Werner said, addressing his comments to the table. “Or broken down somewhere. Wouldn’t surprise me. She drives an Audi.”
He rolled his eyes meaningfully and then, seeing that Margot had covered her ear with her hand so she could hear what the caller was saying, lowered his voice.
“Or she did the last I heard. She only lives a few hours south, but she can’t be bothered to come see us. And she never invites us down there, not even for Olivia’s kindergarten graduation. Never calls unless she wants something. I told her about buying an Audi, didn’t I, Lil? Those things are always breaking down and they cost a fortune to fix. I told her over and over, but would she listen?”
Lillian, who was only half listening to him, her attention (and mine) being divided between her husband’s monologue and Margot’s phone conversation, which was filled with too many long pauses and short responses to be a chat between sisters, frowned.
“Sweetheart,” she said, clamping her hand over her husband’s without looking at his face.
Werner put down his fork, looked at his wife with surprise and then at Margot. By that time, we were all looking at Margot.
“Yes. All right. We’ll be right there.” Margot ended the call and turned to face her parents. Her eyes were wide and her face drained of color.
Lillian rose from her chair. “What is it?”
“There was an accident. Black ice, the policeman said. Mari skidded off the road and went over an embankment. He didn’t know how long she’d been there before they found her. He found Mari’s phone on the floor and saw I was the last person to call ….”
Werner got up and stood next to his wife. “Where are they now?”
“In an ambulance. Two ambulances. One for Mari and one
