"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you." I turned to leave the kitchen.
"You're darn right you will. We've got at least twenty people coming for Thanksgiving tomorrow. You're doing the pies, and then you'll scrub the floors. Your brother will get his own fist of chores."
For a moment I contemplated bringing up the chem test I needed signed since I was already in trouble--but decided not to push it. Mom can get pretty elaborate with chore assignments when she's aggravated. "Okay," I said. "That's fair."
"Set your alarm for five forty-five!" Mom called as I headed toward the stairs.
Seriously, like I needed another reason to curse my impulsive decisions at that moment.
Chapter Nine
Thanks Giving
ALMOST THREE AND A HALF YEARS AGO
"I could never paint like that," I said as I looked over the project Daniel had set out to dry on the kitchen counter.
It was a painting of my father's hands slicing a green apple for Daniel's birthday cobbler. The hands looked lifelike--gentle, kind, and steady. The self-portrait I'd been working on seemed so flat in comparison.
"Yeah, you can," Daniel said. "I'll teach you."
I crinkled my nose at him. "Like you could teach me anything."
But I knew he could. This was my first reattempt at oils in almost two years, and I was about ready to give it up all over again.
"Only because you're so darn stubborn," Daniel said. "Do you want to learn how to paint better or not?" I guess so.
Daniel pulled a Masonite board from his supply bucket under the kitchen table. The board looked like a mess, smeared with a dozen different colors of oil paint. "Try this," he said. "The colors come through as you paint. It gives more depth to your work."
He coached me as I started my self-portrait over again. I couldn't believe the difference. I loved the way my eyes looked with flecks of green and orange coming through behind the violet irises. They looked more real than anything I had ever painted before.
"Thank you," I said.
Daniel smiled. "When I get some more, I'll show you this really great trick with linseed oil and varnish. It gives the most amazing quality to skin tones, and you won't believe what it does for your brushstrokes."
"Really?"
Daniel nodded and went back to work on his own portrait. Only, instead of painting himself like Mrs. Miller had assigned, he was painting a tan-and-gray dog, with eyes shaped like a person's. They were a deep, earthy brown like his.
"Daniel." Mom stood in the kitchen entryway. Her face was pale. "Someone is here to see you."
Daniel cocked his head in surprise. I followed him into the foyer, and there she was. Daniel's mother stood in the doorway. Her hair had gotten a lot longer and blonder in the year and two months since she'd sold their house and left Daniel with us.
"Hi, baby," she said to him.
"What are you doing here?" His voice crackled like ice. His mother hadn't called in months--not even for his birthday.
"I'm taking you home," she said. "I got us a little place in Oak Park. It's not like the house, but it's nice and clean, and you can start high school there in the fall."
"I'm not going with you," Daniel said, his voice climbing in anger, "and I'm not going to a new school."
"Daniel, I am your mother. You belong home with me. You need me."
"No, he doesn't," I practically shouted at her. "Daniel doesn't need you. He needs us."
"No, I don't," Daniel said. "I don't need you." He pushed past me, almost knocking me over. "I don't need anybody!" He ran past his mother and out into the yard.
Mrs. Kalbi shrugged. "I think Daniel just needs some time to get adjusted. I hope you will understand if he doesn't see your family for a while." Her eyes flicked in my direction. "I'll send for his things later." She closed the door behind her.
THANKSGIVING MORNING
I woke up early to the sound of wind battering my window. I shivered and shook in my bed. Daniel was right. He didn't need anybody. I'd been fooling myself in that garden. Daniel didn't need my lifeline. He didn't need me at all.
I palled my comforter over my shoulders and hunched into a ball, but no matter what I did, I couldn't find warmth in my bed.
The clinking of flatware in the distance was evidence that my mother was already setting the table in anticipation of today's Thanksgiving dinner to end all dinners.
I decided to get an early start on making amends for yesterday's absence and lurched out of bed. The sleepiness in my brain vanished the second my feet hit the frigid hardwood floor. I scurried over to the closet and pulled on my slippers and robe and then made my way downstairs.
Mom had two of the tables from the parish's social hall pushed together so they stuck out into the foyer from the dining room. They were draped with pressed linen tablecloths the shade of maple leaves, and she was setting places for at least twenty-five with her best china and crystal goblets. Festive floral arrangements and candles adorned the table instead of the usual papiermache pilgrims I'd helped her make when I was nine.
"Looks nice," I said from the last step.
Mom almost dropped a plate. She steadied herself and placed it on the table. "Hmm," she said. "I don't need you up until a quarter to six to get the pies started."
Obviously, all had not been forgiven yet, I sighed. "I was awake anyway." I rubbed my hands together. "You could stand to turn up the heat, though."
"It will get plenty warm in here when the ovens get going and this place starts filling up with people. We've got a crowd this year. I'm doing two turkeys." She placed silverware around the table as she spoke. "But that means the pies need to be done by eight at the latest. I bought fixings for two of your caramel apple pies and a couple of spiced pumpkin. Your dad is making his famous crescent rolls, so we need to time those just right."
"Thank goodness for two ovens."
"Like I said, it will get plenty warm in here."
"But can't we turn up the heat for a few minutes?" I peeked through the window curtains and was actually surprised that the lawn was still bare and dead and not blanketed with snow. "Aren't you afraid Baby James will freeze to death or something?"
Mom almost laughed. "It's not that cold." She came up and swatted me on the butt. "Go get an early start on those pies. Or if you're so cold you can go work up a sweat helping Jude clean out the storage room."
"The storage room?"
"Somebody might want a tour of the house." I raised my eyebrows. "You don't have to show them the storage room."
Mom shrugged. "Jude was up looking to get his penance over with an hour ago, and we both know that your father is the only male in this family who can cook."
"Oh." I didn't bother to point out that she could have had Jude set the table because she was repositioning the floral centerpieces to be exactly the same distance apart. "Is April still coming?"
"Yes. Didn't she tell you?" Mom gave me an inquisitive glance.
"Seems like she talks more to Jude these days than she does me." I knew it was petty to be bothered by April and Jude hanging out--but I couldn't help it.
Mom wrinkled her nose. "I guess that explains why he seems so anxious lately." She clucked her tongue.
"I guess so." I fingered the tie of my robe. "April is a good person."