Okay, so in order to avoid having everyone slicing turkey on Valentine's Day, we're moving forward timeline-wise to Thanksgiving. Despite the 'togetherness' of the holiday, there are still a few twists and turns coming up. although I'll have to work really hard to top the monumental shocker a couple of chapters back…Erica's utterance of that one little word that begins with a 'G.' It actually surprised me, too, but Erica Kane always must have the final say ; )
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The turkey…still looked like a turkey. That was a more promising sign than the thick black smoke that had wafted from the kitchen about an hour ago, followed by a pleasant if not strained "We're fine."
Dixie left master and protégé to their own devices. Amanda had confided about a week earlier that she would like to help with the Thanksgiving festivities. When Dixie had brightly suggested that she could assist her with the pie-making and the stuffing, Amanda had bitten her lip before muttering: "I was thinking maybe the turkey?"
The Martin turkey was certainly a hallowed tradition. And she wasn't thinking of the big, Tad-sized one currently strutting around the living room…the one who had traded his chicken suit for a poultry of a different variety. Dixie recognized how much Amanda wanted to be a true-blue Martin matriarch in the making, so she'd subtly but gamely asked about her sister-in-law's cooking prowess. When the younger woman offered a sheepish grin and an "I can learn," she was a little concerned. When Jake happened to overhear the tail end of the conversation and simply responded by dropping his fresh cup of coffee on the floor, that concern ratcheted up a few thousand notches.
But she had nevertheless done her sisterly duties and gone to Ruth on behalf of Amanda. Although she was expecting a solid but absolutely kind refusal – this was Ruth Martin, after all – her mother-in-law still proved she was capable of surprises. She only nodded sagely and said "About time" with a spark finally restored in her eye.
Ruth's insistence on having a "proper Thanksgiving" both touched and inspired Dixie. It made her believe that maybe, just maybe -
"Mom, do you think we should go help Grandma and Aunt Amanda?"
Dixie looked over to her daughter and smiled at the cherry-stained face. "I see that somebody's been stealing from the pie." She dabbed a napkin and gingerly wiped away the sparse but clear evidence of the theft. "No, I think Aunt Amanda's in good hands…the best, actually."
Kathy shrugged and began braiding the next strip of dough. Dixie softly knocked their shoulders together. "Did I tell you how totally amazing you were in the play?"
Her daughter gave her the time-honored kid-to-parent eye-roll. "Only about five thousand times. I only had two lines, Mom."
"They were the best two lines in the whole thing, and you said them with such skill. We might just have a future actress on our hands. And that dress they had for you was completely adorable."
Noting her daughter's expression, she quickly corrected herself. "I mean beautiful. You looked like a beautiful young lady."
She didn't expect boundless enthusiasm at the true but admittedly biased compliment, but she thought maybe she could coax a blush and, if she was lucky, one of her daughter's full-toothed grins. It was the part of her father that she'd inherited most strongly, but it had been in too short supply lately.
Kathy, however, only uttered a barely heard "Thanks."
Dixie spread the cherries out on the crust, musing over a different tactic. Talking with her daughter shouldn't amount to a strategy-planning session, but she needed to connect with Kathy, especially today. "You know, the Thanksgiving dress Grandma bought for you is cute, too. You can put it on later for a little bit and dazzle the family. And don't worry about spilling something on it -"
"I don't want to wear it, okay?"
Dixie winced at her daughter's uncharacteristically harsh tone, and at the remnants of the broken braid in her now-shaking hand.
When Dixie moved to still that hand, she could feel the split-second when Kathy debated whether or not to pull away. When her palm settled over the girl's wrist and the trembling abated, something inside of her – something unidentifiable that lately seemed like a constant rising tide – settled as well.
"I just…don't want to talk."
# (A few weeks earlier)
"How is Joe?"
"He's doing better every day. I think we'll have him back soon."
"And…Tad?"
"Still the same, mostly. You know this is his favorite time of the year. Yesterday, he took your sister -"
"You can't keep doing this."
"I can't not do this."
"Please, stop."
"I can't. I won't."
"I have nothing left to say."
-# (Present)
She backed off. She backed off because Kathy accepted her hand and, for now, that was enough. The family turkey came up about that time and performed his patented gobble-gobble polka. When he recruited two 'hens' for the big finale, he managed to do the one thing that was always his specialty: put a smile that refused to stop spreading and didn't quite know when to end on the faces of both mother and daughter.
An hour later, Dixie's daughter took her hand again, and it was the best feeling in the world. It gave her the strength to close the circle of hands, say grace, and mean it. They concluded with a prayer for the man – the lynchpin – they would all visit later, Thanksgiving dinner and boisterous stories in hand.
The joint effort of her two in-laws had produced a flour-dusted, hair-splayed, but grinning Amanda and a Ruth looking as poised and domestic goddess as ever. It also produced a turkey that was…simply delicious.
Simply right.
####
The buildings had changed over the years: McKay's morphed into BJ's before becoming Krystal's; Holidays took on a more Latin flavor with SOS; The Cluck Cluck Chicken Shack, The Goalpost, and Adam's Place made way for Confusion and the Yacht Club. Countless citizens had moved and moved away. Many miraculous births had occurred, closing the life's circle opened by…deaths.
Each of the faces had to be representative yet distinct, full of their own character.
Character. He wanted, needed to believe that was the one constant of the tiny town laid before him.
Fine detail might have added color and clutter, but he preferred the simplicity. At its core, that simplicity with just the right touch of humor and warmth was what had always captured and captivated his heart.
It had allowed him to find his Queen of Hearts. It had always guided him home.
He smiled. What had once been effortless, second-nature, now refused to be taken for granted.
He kept the curve on his face intact as he added his finishing touch: golden tips for the wings of the smaller angel. The cherubic boy floated carefree over the town, his head turned slightly. Those dimpled cheeks flared when he caught sight of his own beautiful guardian angel with the halo of golden hair behind him.
Stuart took the canvas from the easel and placed his final work of art on the table. He would wrap it separately from the pieces from the gallery opening, and he would make sure it found a home where it would be safe, preserved…far away from its inspiration.
He would ship it away and he would forget.
He would forget so he could remember.
His Marian and Brooke had conspired together on this dinner. His wife, he discovered, still had that inner streak of mischief that only made him love her more. He knew he could, or would never deny her.
One day…
One day to remember who he was. Who they were.
One day to give thanks for family.
For brothers.
####
She frantically pushed through the mountain of cans. The loud clatter only increased her anxiety. Just as the mountain threatened to unleash an avalanche, she found it. It'd taken her days and a trip to Llanview to find just the right brand, but the tell-tale blue-toed elf was grinning up at her now, pleased to be rescued from the company of the Jolly Green Giant.
"Truthfully, I think you always liked this little guy more than his stash."
She smirked as she opened the can and dumped the gelatinous and strangely stagnant contents onto her finest china.
"And don't give me a hard time about the can opener." She waggled the instrument in her hand. "At least I actually got the thing open this time. Remember that one Thanksgiving when we had to get into the cans by slicing them with that big knife? After watching my carving skills, or lack thereof, you got the idea that you were gonna pardon the turkey. Then you decided that you didn't want to hurt a real tree for Christmas, either, so we started putting up our own Charlie Brown tree every year, right before the meal. But we always made it work, despite everything, didn't we? And for a while, it was perfect."
The napkins were a harder find. They were probably buried underneath that stack of magazines and files. Maybe she should get rid of some of them, but she never knew when she'd gain some great new legal insight or need to clip a coupon. She'd already used one to buy the star attraction of their current meal.
She finally secured a pack from the dozen or so lining the couch. Carefully folding the napkins in her best Miss Manners manner, she turned her attention to said star attraction: a can of heaping, helping turkey soup. She didn't bother with the can opener this time. "Starting this tradition was probably for the best anyway, right? I was never exactly renowned for my amazing culinary skills. And we could always rest secure in the knowledge that we'd saved at least one poor innocent turkey from slaughter each year."
Taking her place at the head of the table, she picked up her spoon and left it hanging in the air mid-bite. "Sorry, I almost forgot. Guess I gotta take over these duties now, huh? I'll never get to be as good as you, though. You always got it right somehow." She lowered her head and closed her eyes. "We thank you for the blessing of friends and family on this most blessed of days."
Liza raised her eyes. They lingered for a brief moment on the empty seat beside her before they rose higher and settled on the tiny tree's tinier star.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Colby."
####
It was her first Thanksgiving in about five years They had always strived to put the proper holiday plan together for Bobby and Mike's sakes, if not for their own. After the boys had left home, it had become easier for Cliff and herself to just make it another day. They both had busy schedules, after all, so it could be excused. Plus, the typical Thanksgiving spread was never ideal for a diabetic anyway. She had experienced more than her fill of vegetarian turkeys over the years, so not pretending anymore…relieved her.
Ends were sometimes measured in ripping seconds, as this town had learned in the past year. Sometimes, though, the most painful conclusions were collected in days, months, and years. Sometimes, you just realized the bright, searing flame that had both compelled and repelled, that warmed as much as it burned, had simply dulled just a bit more every day until it was no more than a flicker.
One year ago, she could not say she expected to be sitting at this large table, the only occupant with her silverware carefully stacked in just the proper alignment. She would laugh at the notion of being surrounded by this family of strangers. The genius brother with the sweetness she'd spent a lifetime seeking in their father: her own personal hunt for buried treasure. The mother-in-law she barely remembered as anything but the gum-smacking, foul-mouthed lady that tried to hitch a ride to her children's fortunes, not so much as the eccentric whirlwind of color and vibrancy before her now. And the grizzled recluse long-lost cousin who'd shed the family name only to snatch it back with a smirk and a promise. She'd, surprisingly, discovered more in common with the man who currently had his feet perched atop the fine linen of the Valley Inn's table than with any of her other newfound relations.
Nina cleared her throat, in the most ladylike manner, of course. "While we are waiting to be served, I think now would be a perfect time to offer our thanks."
She was met, in no particular order, with an eye roll, a fidget, and a beaming smile framed by the brightest shade of lipstick she'd ever seen. She folded her hands. When her fellow guests did not follow suit, she offered a strained smile of her own. "I'll start."
"Naturally," came the muffled reply. The source of this musing, however, was hidden behind a trio of straight lines.
"Okay, I am thankful for the opportunity we have been given to get better acquainted. I am thankful for my family, for our family, and for the renewed rise of the Cortlandt name."
That, at least, they could agree on, and they rose their glasses in unison.
Before they could complete their toast, a cacophony of clinks vibrated behind them. "And here's to the fall of the Cortlandt name."
As her cousin's feet slammed on the ground, she closed her eyes and finished the rest of the prayer. She had a feeling it was the last chance she would have today. When Caleb rose from his seat – his gaze lasered on the Chandler men and their significant others - she and Opal reached out simultaneously.
The commotion that suddenly arose from the other side of the room forced her to leave Opal and Peter alone in grizzly management duties.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but you know that we have a policy in regards to your family -"
Nina approached the maitre'd, arms crossed and in full Cortlandt mode. "If you have a problem with this man, sir, then you have a problem with our family."
The hardness in her features couldn't help but soften when she glanced at Jack and his guests. "This man is my husband."