My mother, the micromanager who’d have had Thanksgiving dinner planned a month in advance, didn’t wait for an answer. I watched her flounce from the kitchen and told myself not to be upset. She lived in a different world.
Dad’s timing, as he settled in the other chair by the fire, made me suspect that he’d been waiting for her to leave. “Are you really over Mars or is that a line you gave your sister to shut her up?” His square brow furrowed in concern.
Dad looked young for a retiree. His dark hair hadn’t thinned much and he’d kept himself in good shape.
“It’s true.” I took a deep breath and mustered up a strong voice and a big grin. “I’ve moved on.”
“You two finally come to a decision about the house?”
“Thank goodness that’s over. It’s all mine now.” I wasn’t about to mention that my savings had dwindled and I’d given up my rights to Mars’s retirement funds. No point in worrying Dad. “I think Natasha still wants to buy it from me . . .”
The picture of Aunt Faye that hung over the fireplace slid to a slant.
Dad looked around. “That’s odd.”
I swallowed the last bite of pancake. “Happens sometimes. Something about the draft from the fireplace, I think. Anyway, it’s not for sale and especially not to Natasha.” My home was the one thing she couldn’t have. I loved the creaky old place with odd drafts that made pictures move and original peg-and-groove floors that canted so anything dropped on the floor in the living or dining room rolled toward the outer wall. And I adored life in Old Town Alexandria, just across the river from Washington, DC. The historic houses and brick sidewalks made it feel like a village instead of a suburb.
I would replenish my savings soon if I could resist the temptation to add a bathroom or renovate the existing one and a half baths. Who was the idiot that started the green-and-black-tile craze? It never was attractive.
It wasn’t as though I didn’t have a decent income as an event planner for A Capital Affair, but I’d taken a hefty mortgage to buy out Mars’s interest in the house.
In a flurry of questions about the best routes to Saks and the airport, Mom reappeared with Hannah, collected Dad, and hurried them out the front door. I watched them from the stoop. A chilly fall wind blew colorful leaves up around them like an image in a snow globe.
Dad’s blue Buick pulled away from the curb and Nina Reid Norwood, who lived across the street and one house over, jogged across to me.
On the day Mars and I moved in, before the movers managed to bring in one piece of furniture, our new neighbor, Nina, barged in carrying a wriggling black-and-tan hound puppy. Mars and I immediately adored the puppy with one freckle on her nose who happily followed us up and down the stairs. We adopted sweet Daisy the next day. Nina later confessed that adoption had been her goal but she wanted to check us out first.
Nina’s husband, a renowned forensic pathologist, traveled constantly, leaving her plenty of time to help homeless animals. The daughter of a professor of pathology, Nina met her husband at a backyard barbecue hosted by her parents. She claimed the serious young doctor was just the antidote for her first marriage to a man who never met a woman he didn’t like.
She must have been right. I’d never heard her utter one negative word about her current husband, although she had plenty to say about his mother.
On the sidewalk, Colonel Hampstead sang “Walkies, walkies!” and waved as he walked his bulldog, MacArthur. His ever present walking stick tapped along the brick walk.
I whispered to Nina, “Do you think he has anyplace to go for Thanksgiving?”
She gave me a sad puppy-dog look.
“Colonel!” I sprang after him. “Would you care to join us for Thanksgiving dinner?”
The grateful look in his eyes told me everything.
“You can bring MacArthur if you like.” I bent to pet him. “You like turkey, don’t you, fella?”
“MacArthur and I would be delighted to accept your kind invitation.”
Shivering, I told him I’d call about the time and raced back to the house.
In her North Carolina drawl, Nina said, “My mama would die of a conniption right here and now if she could see me standin’ on the neighbors’ lawn talking in my bathrobe.”
I had no doubt that she would. Nina had a voluptuous figure, and even in the November cold, she didn’t mind showing a little cleavage. Maybe Mom was right about married women and flannel. Nina’s quilted silk bathrobe was certainly more seductive than my jammies.
We dashed inside and Nina warmed her hands by the fire while I poured more coffee. I made a point of putting extra sugar in mine.
“So how’s it goin’?” she asked.
“They’re making me crazy already.”
“They’re supposed to. That way you don’t miss them so much when they leave.”
“I just wish the stuffing contest wasn’t the day before Thanksgiving. It’s putting a big crimp in my preparations for the grand feast.”
Nina accepted a cup of coffee from me. “My mother-in-law has informed me that she expects place cards à la Natasha. Now, assuming I had the time, which I don’t, or the inclination, which I don’t, why on earth would I make place cards out of moldy old moss and dirty leaves?” She straightened Aunt Faye’s picture. “At least you don’t have to put up with your in-laws anymore.” Still standing, Nina asked, “When is Daisy coming back?”
A peculiar question. Neither Mars nor I could stand giving her up, so we shared custody. “After Thanksgiving.”
Nina stared into her coffee. “Last night while you and your family were out at the charity dinner, Francie called the police about a Peeping Tom.”
“What?” Francie, the elderly woman next door, was prone to unusual behavior.
“I’m afraid so. They found some evidence of an intruder behind her house and she swears she saw him in your yard, too.”
I hadn’t noticed anything disturbed. Then again, I hadn’t looked. “I’m sure it was a fluke. He probably won’t be back.”
“I hope not. I’d just feel better if Daisy were around when your family leaves.”
She turned as though she was going to sit. Instead she craned her neck and walked around the table to the bench in the bay window. “I swear I just saw someone sneaking around the colonel’s house.”
TWO
From “Ask Natasha” :
Dear Natasha,
I have no idea how to decorate my home for Thanksgiving. Pumpkins and gourds seem tired. Any suggestions?
—Lost in Louisa
Dear Lost,
Create a nut garland to add that special touch.