her own ‘orphans’ dinner. When Meredith made her weekly call home, Charlie would tell her to invite her friends. She’d leave messages for Brad at the fraternity house and on his cell phone. Sooner or later, he’d call back. Although Craig had pretty much dropped out of their lives since the divorce, she and the kids were a tight-knit group. Once, when she had commented that Meredith’s then boyfriend seemed aloof, Meredith had said, “Mom, we’re a hard clique to break into.”
This Thanksgiving she’d go all out. No pumpkin pie in a box from the freezer case; no canned yams in syrup. She’d make everything from scratch. With the holiday two weeks away, it wasn’t too soon to get started. Her shopping list looked like a page in the phone book, tiny scrawls filling the page.
As she drove to the grocery store, she couldn’t help notice large HOLIDAY SALE signs in almost every store window. When did they start having sales before Thanksgiving? There was still Halloween candy on the supermarket shelves. This was the time of year when merchants could charge whatever they thought they could get away with. This was the time of year they made most of their annual profits. Why markdowns now?
The supermarket was warm and welcoming. An abundance of vegetation filled the produce section, pyramids of bronze yams, dimpled oranges, shiny apples, plump bags of cranberries, and an enormous tub of rotund pumpkins, small and large. Christmas music wafted through the aisles. Charlie wondered if the idea was to subliminally seduce shoppers into spending. She didn’t need inducement today. She ordered the largest turkey she could fit in her oven -- twice the size of her usual bird. She’d pick it up two days before Thanksgiving. As she steered her cart up one aisle and down the next, checking off her list, her spirits rose. By the time she reached the check-out stand, she had to put one hand on top of her groceries to keep them from tumbling out of her cart.
Charlie arrived home to find the Realtor’s card jammed in the door. On the back Sheila had written “Call me.”
“Right,” Charlie thought as she tossed the card in the trash.
She had half the bags emptied when the phone rang. Sheila, no doubt. Charlie let the machine answer, but when she heard her daughter’s voice, she grabbed the receiver before Meredith clicked off. “This is the first chance I’ve had to call,” Meredith said. She was stuck in traffic on the 110 in Los Angeles calling from her cell phone. “I hate to tell you this, Mom, but I can’t make it home for Thanksgiving.”
Charlie hoped she hadn’t heard right. Cell phones sometimes sounded garbled.
“I have to work Friday.”
“It’s not Thanksgiving without you.” Charlie thought fast. “You don’t have to work on the holiday do you? Come for the day. I’ll pay for the plane ticket, and we’ll eat early.”
“Why don’t you come here? I won’t have time to cook, but we’ll go out. ”
Shoot. Charlie looked at the piles of food on the kitchen table. “Brad will be disappointed if you’re not here.” Despite Brad’s laid-back approach to life and Meredith’s driving ambition, the two were close. If nothing else worked, playing the ‘Brad’ card might persuade Meredith.
There was a moment of silence. Meredith cleared her throat. “Didn’t he tell you? He’s going to Dad’s.”
“He’s what?” Charlie’s breath stopped as if she had leapt into icy water. “No,” she said, getting her voice under control. “I didn’t know.”
“Dad called me, too. Out of the blue. I told him no way would I go. ”
Charlie couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat. Craig knew how much this holiday meant to her. This was his revenge for her refusal to cave in. Brad could never say no to his father. He probably was flattered to be asked. He obviously felt too guilty to call her. He could always count on Meredith to pick up any balls he dropped.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Meredith said. “I assumed you knew.”
“That’s okay,” Charlie tried to keep her voice light.
“Come to L.A. We’ll have fun.”
“Thanks sweetie, but I can’t leave the dogs.” Finding a sitter for three elderly canines was harder than finding a babysitter. And she couldn’t kennel them. They’d think they were being abandoned again.
“You and your dogs,” Meredith sighed. “I know you’re disappointed, but I promise to come home next year.”
Home next year! What home? Where would it be? Charlie had not felt so alone since Craig moved out. The mountain of food loomed ominously. Thank God she hadn’t brought the turkey home. As it is she’d be eating cranberries and yams for awhile. A long while.
The next morning Charlie sat at her kitchen table, Gunther’s chin on her knee, drinking her third cup of coffee and gazing glassy-eyed at the real estate ads, trying to concentrate. Her world was falling apart, and she was scrambling to reassemble it. She envied Lucky who was chasing a squirrel across the yard without a care in the world. Finally, she picked up the phone and dialed Laurel’s number. “Do you have room for another orphan? And can I please, please, please bring something?”
Thanksgiving Day was as sunny as Charlie’s mood was dark. This was her first Thanksgiving without her children ever. Brad had phoned the day before and promised to come home for Christmas, but Charlie felt her family slipping away. They had a right to their own lives. Still, she felt as if she were alone on an atoll in the middle of the Pacific, watching them sail off to sea.
At least she wouldn’t be alone. Laurel always had an interesting assortment of “orphans.” Charlie balanced the pumpkin pecan pie on one arm and rang Laurel’s doorbell. Laurel’s front door was half hidden by a huge wreath, a fiery ring of crimson, rust, and amber leaves, probably the ones Laurel had gathered on their walk. Laurel packed a mean glue gun.
Laurel opened the door and practically pulled Charlie inside. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She took the pie from Charlie reluctantly. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”
Charlie shrugged. “Yes, I did.”
Laurel hung Charlie’s coat in the hall closet and ushered her into the living room. Wes was in the living room, holding a tumbler of Scotch. But where were the other guests? Wes offered her a drink, but before she could answer, Laurel interrupted. “Shall we eat?”
Charlie was confused. “Am I the only orphan?”
“We’re keeping it small this year.”
“Not Zora and Nathan?” Charlie asked.
Laurel shrugged. “They cancelled. Said something had come up.”
“What came up was I’m not at Power House any more,” Wes muttered.
Laurel narrowed her eyes, signaling him to drop the subject. “Dinner,” she called down the hall. Justin ambled from his room. He’d grown a foot since Charlie last saw him, and his cheeks had lost their baby fat. He even sprouted a hint of facial hair. As he eased his lanky frame into a chair, he flicked a lock of hair off his forehead.
Laurel’s table was as festive as ever: white damask cloth, gold-rimmed plates, crystal wine glasses. The centerpiece appeared to be a turkey made out of a large pumpkin, a gourd attached for a head. Ears of Indian corn fanned out to form a tail. Red gloves, their
