Part 18 (1/2)

I haven't talked to Helen since I returned to Paradise Falls. I think the last time we spoke was even before the water park trip, before I left town. I walk over to her as she tugs on an oven mitt, take the other one and pull it on my own hand.

”I'll get that.”

She stands up straight and looks at me.

Helen is taller than either of her daughters, thinner in build and her hair is a dark honey color, not jet black like Alexis and May's; they got that from their father. I barely remember him- we didn't talk much, but he always seemed to like me, even during that attached at the hip phase where I spent every free moment of my fourteen year old life with his daughter.

Helen never treated me with more than cool distance, and as far as I knew, my father looked down on her. She worked as a waitress when Alexis was little and took on a second job at the auto parts store after her husband died.

I wasn't sure why she didn't like me. I thought maybe it was because my family has money, or she was just leery of having a boy around her daughter, although in those days I didn't think of it in those terms.

Today she's dressed as I would expect my father's wife to dress- a flowing, floor length floral pattern dress, frilly ap.r.o.n, minimal makeup and her hair loose, hanging to her shoulders, held back only by a pink barrette. She looks like someone's idea of a fifties housewife Halloween costume.

Without a word, she slips the glove off her hand and pa.s.ses it to me. I tug it on and lift the turkey onto the hot pads she left out on the counter.

”It has to rest,” she says, flatly. ”Will you help me serve?”

”Sure. How have you been? We haven't really talked.”

”No,” she says, curtly. ”We haven't.”

Without further comment she muscles the big stock pot off the stove and dumps it into a colander, tosses the potatoes back in and pours in milk to mash them. I stand there with my arms folded.

”You can help with the stuffing.”

I nod and fluff the pan full of stuffing with a fork, and pour it out into a serving dish. It's the stuff in a box, nothing fancy. Besides the potatoes, there's some baked sweet potatoes and real cranberry sauce bubbling in a smaller saucepan. In spite of myself, my mouth starts watering at the smells. The turkey looks d.a.m.ned good, too. The skin is a nice crackling brown.

Looking at it, I feel my stomach sink.

There was a time when I enjoyed this. This big Sunday meal was the highlight of my week. My mom could cook; she could put a trained chef to shame and make anything, even stuff like beef wellington and souffles and everything.

As Helen stands there mas.h.i.+ng the potatoes in grim silence, the kitchen as it is fades from my sight and is replaced with the kitchen from my mind. Bright and airy, sunlight streaming in as Mom sweats over some part of the meal.

A twinge in my gut snaps me out of it as I realize that Alexis never ate with us before I left town. Mom said yes, Dad said no, family only. I wanted her to eat dinner with us so bad, especially after she lost her father. There was room for her, but she wasn't invited. She never asked me about it, either.

So, when I carry the big bowl of potatoes out into the dining room, it's a bit of a shock to see her sitting there next to her sister. Lance walks in the room just as I do and our father shoots him an annoyed look as he sits down next to May and pulls up his chair.

”You're late.”

Lance shrugs. ”Yeah, sorry about that.”

He gives me a look of his own as I walk back into the kitchen and carry out the stuffing in one hand and green beans in the other. By the time I head back, Helen has finished slicing the turkey and gives me the serving platter, then follows me out with the b.u.t.ter in the gravy.

G.o.d it all smells good.

My stomach twists as I sit down facing Alexis and picture that pot of coffee sitting on the counter, the last time I saw my mother. I shoot my father a glance before I can stop myself and sigh when I remember how this works. Every plate and bowl will be pa.s.sed from person to person.

n.o.body says grace, or anything like that. My father serves himself, pa.s.ses the turkey to Lance, and the dishes start going around. They come to me last and I pile up a heaping portion of everything, leaving enough so anyone can have seconds.

After years of Navy food, I don't care where it comes from, I'll take a home cooked meal. My father breaks the silence with the sound of a knife on his plate and everyone at the table digs in.

May attacks her plate and Alexis elbows her, to slow her down.

”Alexis, would you pa.s.s the salt?”

She gives me a sharp look, picks up the salt shaker like she plans to stab me with it, and slaps it hard on the table in front of me. I shake some out over my food, tear a dinner roll open and smear b.u.t.ter on it.

”This week,” my father announces as he slices his meat, ”We will be holding our first major campaign event. I expect everyone to be there.”

He looks at me now, as he takes one long dragging slice through a piece of meat, spears it, and raises it impaled on the end of his fork. His gaze never slips from me.

”You'll all be representing me. I can't stress how important this is.”

He chews thoughtfully.

”What sort of event?” Alexis asks, softly.

”I'll be giving a speech at the fire hall. I don't expect to have to do much stumping.”

”You are running unopposed,” Lance snickers.

”You find that amusing?”

”I don't see the point of all the pomp and circ.u.mstance,” he says. ”Everyone in town knows you're going to be mayor. Waste of time and money if you ask me.”

”You have something better to do?”

He shrugs. ”I might.”

”I doubt that. If I didn't find busywork for you with the company, you'd spend your days lazing about or fraternizing with bar s.l.u.ts.”

”Thanks, dad.”

I don't say a thing, I just eat. Alexis keeps looking at me; I try not to meet her glances.

”Sorry we can't all be war heroes,” Lance grumbles.

I feel something touch my leg.

Alexis smirks around a bite of potatoes and looks away from me. That's her foot, rubbing my calf.

d.a.m.n it. Is she out of her mind?

”I can't wait,” Helen says, a hint of tension in her voice. ”I'm so proud of you, darling. A man of ambition.”

Alexis frowns, and her foot pulls away.

Wait a minute, I'm not the one who said it.

Her mother must have hit a sore spot. Her shoulders hunch and she leans on the table, swirling a piece of turkey around in gravy and mashed potatoes. I nod at her.