Chapter 14: Thanksgiving
Lerner Hall, Columbia University. November 25, 2004. Thanksgiving Day.
"I've never had such an easy time finding a parking place," Peter said as they entered the student center in Lerner Hall. "I should only come to Columbia on holidays." El held the doors for him since he was carrying a large baking dish of pumpkin and sage ravioli. Neal had suggested they bring a vegetarian dish and El's ravioli was so good, it was almost enough to make a vegetarian out of a carnivore like Peter.
Their footsteps echoed disconcertingly loud in the empty student center, but once they started down the main stairs to the lower level, they could hear sounds in the distance. "The party room must be just ahead," said El. "Do you know how many people are expected to show up?"
"I don't think Neal knows for sure. Perhaps twenty-four."
They entered a large event room. A wet bar was in one corner and a giant TV was mounted on the far wall. Modular sectionals had been pushed around the TV with several people already camped out, watching football. Three long tables and folding chairs had been arranged in the center of the room. Peter gave a wave to Travis and Richard who were setting up band equipment near the bar. Aidan was sitting on the floor, wiring up the speakers. Diana and Christie had also arrived and were putting out snacks on one of the tables. Peter murmured to El, "You remember Christie? She was the ER doctor who tended Jones and me after N-Con in the fall."
"How can I forget?" El replied. "That's the last time I'm ever letting you go undercover at a gaming convention."
They stopped to exchange greetings before heading for the kitchen which was located adjacent to the main room. There they found Neal in the midst of basting an immense turkey. Fiona was standing next to him, trimming green beans. She'd tied her long hair up into a loose bun. They were wearing matching Thanksgiving aprons in bright orange with stylized turkeys on them.
"Love the aprons!" El said, getting out her camera. "Fiona, turn around so I can take a picture of the two of you."
"Do I have flour on my face?" Fiona asked Neal, wiping her hands.
"No flour, just a few tendrils falling down," he said, brushing them behind her ears. "The aprons are a gift from Keiko," Neal explained, putting an arm around Fiona for the photo. "Any trouble getting here?"
"No, the roads were in surprisingly good shape despite the snow," Peter said as he placed the casserole on the counter. "They'd even plowed our neighborhood."
El put away her camera and pulled out her own apron from the bag of supplies she'd brought. "I'm reporting for duty. How can I help?"
"I could use your expertise with these beans," Fiona said. "I've never made green bean casserole before. I think it's unheard of in the U.K. In fact, this is the first casserole I've ever made. I think I should have picked an easier recipe."
"It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without green bean casserole," El said. "I'm sure yours will be wonderful. Which recipe did you choose?"
"Richard suggested Emeril Lagasse's recipe. I'm afraid he's overly confident of my cooking abilities."
Neal got out a spoon and tasted Fiona's sauce. "It will be great. Maybe just a little more oregano?" He turned to Peter. "Help yourself to something from the bar. We're drinking Beaujolais nouveau, but there's also a plentiful supply of beer. Would you like some wine, El?"
Peter offered to bring her a glass, happy to play bartender and leave the cooking to the others. He returned to the party room where he found Richard standing behind the bar, refilling his glass. The bar was well-stocked with wine, beer, cider, and assorted soft drinks. Several bottles of wine were on the counter, probably contributed by the attendees. Behind the bar were two cases of Beaujolais nouveau. A gift card had been taped to one of the boxes and Peter went over to read it.
"Those are a present from Athos," Richard said. "He wasn't able to make it to the party but sent the wine instead."
"Athos?"
"That's our nickname for him. He's a friend of Neal's. Nice guy … a little weird."
"I bet I know who you're talking about," Peter said as he poured a glass for El and helped himself to a beer. "Short, bald guy with glasses?"
"Maybe," Richard reflected. "I assume that's a wig Athos wears. Nobody's real hair could look the way his does."
So Mozzie had been at Columbia and apparently had met Aidan and Richard. Not surprising he'd used an alias. Since Aidan had given Neal the nickname of d'Artagnan, for Mozzie to be called Athos was fitting. It was tempting to pry more information out of Richard, who was already eyeing him a little nervously. Based on Peter's experience last Sunday, Richard would be an easy mark, but Peter decided it'd be more fun to wait and tease Neal about it later.
On his way back to the kitchen, Peter stopped to talk with Travis who was adjusting the heights of his drums. "I didn't know you played with the group."
"Remember I told you I visited Neal at his studio last weekend? Turns out, they needed a drummer. I'd tried my hand at them in college, but it's been years. Back then I used a traditional drum set. I'm faking it now with digital drums."
"I'm glad you could help out"—Peter gave a wave with one hand to the equipment—"with everything. Faking it is a useful talent to have."
Travis shrugged. "Fake drums can be surprisingly effective."
Running his hand around the rim of one of the drums, Peter remarked casually, "I expect you'll be called upon to improve our tracking anklets. It was eye-opening, wasn't it, how that cell phone interfered with Neal's signal."
"Cell phones are just starting to come out with GPS capability," Travis said blandly. "We've been lucky it hasn't occurred before. Our equipment needs to be adapted to take into account the new technology."
"I'm sure the Bureau will be very appreciative of your expertise, just as I am. In a way, you could say this past week gave us an excellent opportunity to evaluate our monitoring equipment and detect deficiencies. What happened on Monday was a wake-up call. It's almost as if Neal were working undercover to help us perform the test."
Travis pursed his lips as he adjusted the cymbals. "Interesting. I can see where one could easily view it that way."
El had approached them, no doubt looking for her errant glass of wine, and said, "I hope you two aren't talking shop. It's Thanksgiving. Day off, remember?"
"No worries, hon," Peter said, handing her the glass. "We were simply discussing digital drums."
Jones had walked in with his date. El murmured in Peter's ear, "Who's the woman with Jones? She looks very sophisticated."
"Neal told me Jones was bringing his new girlfriend, Helen Broussard. She works in the D.A.'s office. Let's go say hello."
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All three tables were now laden with food. Looking at the spread, Peter wondered if anyone was still going to be hungry for turkey. He'd been watching football, but it was now halftime. A conversation area had been set up in the opposite corner of the room and several people had staked it out. Peter spotted Neal and Fiona sitting together with El on a sectional, drinking wine and chatting. "Taking a break from cooking chores I gather?" Peter asked, sitting down next to them.
"I have an hour off before duty calls." Neal said, crossing his arms behind his head and stretching his legs out.
Diana gave him a sharp look. "Someone's gonna trip on your feet, Caffrey."
Neal waved his left foot in front of her. "Got new socks yesterday. Don't you like them?"
"A lot better than what you wore last week," Diana agreed.
"Is there a private joke going on?" Fiona asked.
"Don't mind them," El said. "It's just a sock thing. Peter, you should show them yours."
"Really not necessary, El."
"Oh, but I insist," Neal demanded eagerly.
Peter reluctantly displayed his socks, a tasteful brown but perhaps overly embellished with large turkeys. "A gift from El," he said sheepishly, responding to the laughter.
"Very appropriate for the turkey carver," Neal nodded in solemn approval.
"And here's a little something for the turkey chef." El winked at Peter as she pulled out a gift box.
A look of surprise crossed Neal's face. "Should I go ahead and open it?"
"Definitely," said Peter.
Neal unwrapped the box and pulled out the contents gleefully. "My own turkey socks! Thank you, guys."
"Under the circumstances, socks seemed appropriate," Peter said, "although my first thought was a tie emblazoned with turkeys."
"Thank you for resisting that." Ignoring Fiona's raised eyebrows, Neal promptly toed off his shoes and put on the new socks. "I should roll up my jeans so everyone can see these."
"You're all very strange," said Fiona, shaking her head. "In the U.K. we have Christmas stockings, but I've never heard of Thanksgiving socks. Is this another one of those quaint Thanksgiving traditions nobody's told me about?"
"Something like that," Diana said.
"Isn't it time for some music?" El asked. "I've been hearing so much about this group, but never had a chance to hear them."
Neal looked over at Fiona. "The fans are growing restless. You ready?"
"Let's do it," she agreed with a ready smile.
That was easier said than done as it took several minutes of dragging people away from their conversations, sound checks, and random chaos before the concert could begin. Perhaps the Beaujolais was having an undue influence? Eventually the performers had all been rounded up and Fiona approached the microphone. "Be kind, everyone." With a quick glance to Michael, she added, "For some of us, it's our first performance in front of a live audience. We'd like to start with a song written by Loreena McKinnett, 'All Souls Night.' The song blends Celtic, European, and Asian traditions just as we try to in our music."
What followed was not at all what Peter expected, not that he knew what he expected. Neal and Fiona sang while Richard played guitar, Aidan an electronic keyboard, Keiko violin, Travis drums, and Michael tambourine. All the players appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely.
"They're really excellent," El whispered to Peter. "I've heard this as a solo piece but I love the way Neal and Fiona interweave their duet."
The performers were greeted with thunderous applause and chants for more when they ended. They followed up with "La Serenissima" with Keiko taking the lead on violin and Neal and Richard accompanying her on guitars.
Peter sank back on the cushions of the sectional and putting his arm around El, squeezed her shoulder.
She looked over at him and smiled. "Feeling like a college kid again?"
"I do. This is taking me back. I wish we'd known each other in college."
"We're making up for it now," she said, relaxing against him. "I'm so glad it worked out that we could take part in this. Seeing Neal so happy with his friends is helping to erase the pain of what he went through."
The concert was cut short when the cooks needed to report back to the kitchen, leaving the others to return to football.
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The Thanksgiving feast, when all the dishes were laid out, was a banquet such as Peter hadn't seen in a long time. Richard had prepared a bourbon sweet potato casserole, which was second in decadence only to Jones's pecan pie. Peter was lucky to get a spoonful of Neal's wild mushroom stuffing which was so popular he should have made a double order. Peter's hopes of being able to take leftovers back of El's ravioli were quickly dashed. Turkey, ham, and good fellowship were all to be had in abundance. At the end of the meal everyone pitched in to clean up, making quick work of it.
"Was that your pumpkin pie?" Peter asked Fiona as they carried plates into the kitchen. "It was delicious."
Fiona laughed. "You can thank your wife for that. I'd prepared the fresh pumpkin yesterday and poured it into the shell to cool, thinking I was done. I didn't realize that the part of the recipe giving the baking instructions hadn't printed. It was Elizabeth to the rescue or you would have had raw pumpkin pie, a tasty treat." She set her plates down in the kitchen and went over to El who was rinsing glasses and gave her a quick hug. "I'm not cooking any more feasts unless Elizabeth's with me."
"I'll second that," Neal said, walking in. "It wouldn't have been Thanksgiving without both of you here." Neal's words were spoken lightly, but the smile he slanted in Peter's direction conveyed a deeper message, one which Peter echoed in kind.
Dishes put away, everyone returned to the party room to polish off the Beaujolais and assorted other libations. "Music, music . . ." the revelers were chanting. Chairs were pulled up around the impromptu stage. News of the concert must have leaked out because others started pouring in to listen. By the time the music started, the room was packed.
Neal started the concert going. "To open things up, we'd like to start with a drinking song from Blackmore's Night. The words are simple and we hope you'll join in. The refrain is 'All For One, and One For All!' "
The music started like a rock song, with electric guitars, drums, and Michael enthusiastically shaking the tambourine. By the end of the first stanza, everyone was singing along, Peter included. As he roared out, "All for one," he noticed Neal, Richard, and Aidan exchange grins. He'd been puzzling about the meaning of AFO ever since he saw it on Neal's whiteboard. D'Artagnon, Athos—it all made sense now. Peter nodded with satisfaction. Gotcha, Caffrey.
The music continued. Scandinavian guitar sounds, Celtic folk music, rock, it was quite a mixture as performers switched back and forth. Keiko and Richard played a haunting duet called "The Gloaming" which had El putting her head on his shoulder and purring.
One song particularly struck Peter. It was a song by Blackmore's Night called "Twenty-five Years." Neal sang the stanzas solo with Fiona joining on the refrains. A pulsating beat was provided by Travis on drums. When Peter heard the title, he'd been struck by the aptness. Neal was twenty-five. It was if the song had been written for him. And then when he heard the lyrics, the poignant expression of loss and confusion made it seem so personal. Had Neal changed the words?
Breaking into his thoughts, Fiona had appeared in front of Peter and was trying to pull him onto the makeshift stage. "Wait a minute," Peter protested. "What's going on?"
Neal addressed the crowd. "We've been reliably informed, that there's another person here with experience of garage bands"—Peter, startled, glowered at El, who had a suspiciously sly smile on her face— "Peter, we expect you to join us on this which, according to my source, was one of your favorite pieces."
Neal and Richard got out electric guitars and while they adjusted them Travis began pounding a beat on the drums. "Oh no," Peter groaned.
"Oh yes." Neal insisted. He and Richard put on dark aviator sunglasses and handed Peter a pair. Travis slapped on a big, floppy hat. Looking around at the band members, Neal said, "Hit it, guys. One . . . two . . . three . . ." With that, Neal and Richard started belting out "Born to be Wild." When it came to the refrain, Neal put an arm around Peter and they sang it together as El took photos. By the second stanza, Peter was singing right along with them.
On the Road. November 26, 2004. Friday afternoon.
"Did you bring the photos? Your parents will want to see them. They'll probably need blown up versions for the photo wall. You do have a photo wall don't you?" Neal glanced away from the road to assess Peter's reaction. El was dozing was Satchmo in the back seat. They were about an hour out of Albany. Peter was letting him drive, fulfilling a long-held promise to teach him how to drive in the snow, not that there was much to drive in. The highway had already been plowed and was a hardly a challenge. But the fields were blanketed in snow and sparkled under the bright sun.
"Eyes on the road, Caffrey," Peter said sharply. "Funny thing about the photos. The ones with me on the stage were out-of-focus. We weren't able to save any of them."
"Yeah, right. When El wakes up, I'll check with her about that."
"Actually she got a great shot of the two of us on stage. Good thing. That's a once in a lifetime performance."
"You should rethink that. We're looking for additional band members," Neal said, flashing a grin. "Tempted?"
"Hey, focus on the road and watch out for black ice. I'm letting you drive the family limo since you said you wanted to learn how to drive in the snow, but there better not be any dents at the end of the lesson."
"Relax, Peter. Your chariot's in safe hands. When did Noelle and Joe arrive?"
"They'd flown in on Monday to miss the holiday crush and succeeded in missing the snowstorm in the process."
Hesitating, Neal asked, "You didn't tell Noelle?"
"No," Peter assured him. "No one knows anything about what went on."
"Good, thanks." Neal drove in silence for a few minutes.
"Hard to believe what all went down," Peter said, as if Neal had spoken his thoughts aloud.
"Yeah, this time last week, if you'd told me we'd be driving up to see your parents rather than . . ." Neal's voice trailed off as he shook his head. "Close call."
"I've been meaning to ask you about a song you performed yesterday. I think the name was '25 Years.' "
"That was based on a Balkan folk tune. You like it?"
"The lyrics sounded like they'd been written for you."
"I certainly identified with them. Candice Night, the singer for Blackmore's Night, wrote them. She said she'd written it to express how nightmares can have deep psychological holds on us. That's a subject I know something about. Guess I was destined to sing it. Last week, it felt like I was living a nightmare. Or, maybe this is a dream? Anyway, I'll take the dream." Damn. Those words didn't come out right. Neal wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He slanted a glance over at Peter who was looking at him concerned. A reminder to be more careful. He didn't want Peter thinking he was having nightmares again.
El stirred in the back seat. "We almost there?" she asked.
"Our exit's coming up. In fact, Neal why don't you pull over at the next rest stop and we'll switch. I'll drive the rest of the way in."
Thirty minutes later, they were driving through the suburbs west of Albany. Peter's parents lived on the outskirts of town on the road to Schenectady. It was rural countryside with several horse stables and farms scattered in among the subdivisions. "How long have your folks lived here?" Neal asked.
"We moved here when I was four."
Would he ever live in one place that long? More to the point would he ever own a house? He and Kate had discussed it once, but it seemed like they were spinning a fairy tale far removed from their own reality.
Pulling up at the Burke home, it was just as Neal had pictured it: brick, two-stories, with a white picket fence, neatly trimmed shrubbery, and tall trees begging to be climbed. And coming out of the house to greet them were Peter's parents, Betty and Luke. Neal had seen photos of them, but they didn't do them justice. Luke was shorter than Peter but had his athletic build and that same sly, knowing smile as if he were enjoying a private joke. Betty had short, straight hair with tousled bangs, which gave her a tomboy appearance. She appeared to be perpetually laughing. Peter's parents had recently retired. Betty had been a fifth grade teacher. Luke had started off as a bricklayer and then moved into construction management. Neal hung back, smiling at the reunion, as the Burkes welcomed El and Peter, but before he knew it, he was wrapped up in hugs too.
"Finally, we get to meet you," Betty exclaimed. "I knew a little snow wouldn't keep you away. Come in out of the cold."
"Neal, you arrived at the perfect time," Luke said. "We already finished shoveling the walk. All you need do is relax and enjoy yourself. From what I hear your schedule has been busy one."
Betty walked arm in arm with Neal. "Has my son been overworking you?" she asked.
"Constantly," Neal said, delighting in Peter's protests.
They were greeted at the door by Noelle and Joe. Noelle was dressed casually in an ivory cowl-neck sweater and navy corduroy jeans. She'd cut her blond hair a little shorter since last Neal saw her. Joe was also wearing jeans with a heavy pullover. Outside it was in the twenties, but the house was warm and inviting with a blazing fire in the fireplace. Satchmo had bounded into the house with them. Peter's parents had a black Labrador, named Barclay, who apparently was best friends with Satchmo as the two immediately started playing together.
During the next few minutes of hugs and greetings, Neal caught the shadow of a movement in the kitchen out of the corner of his eye. Was someone else there? One of Joe's daughters perhaps? Neal had been told they were spending Thanksgiving with their mom since they were going to the wedding over Christmas. Neal was on the verge of asking when the person emerged.
"Surprise!" Henry said, his face dissolving into a wide grin. "Couldn't miss out on the reunion, could I?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were going to be here?" Neal exclaimed.
"It was a last minute decision. Wasn't sure I'd be able to catch a flight. But, after all, this dude is claiming he wants to marry my mom. I don't plan to wait for the wedding to pass judgment on him."
"You missed out on the grilling I had to endure," Joe said. "Psychological mind torture games, Rorschach tests, sleep deprivation, you name it. The CIA missed out on a helluva interrogator when they didn't recruit him. No wonder Win-Win is so desperate to have him back working for them."
"And I'm happy to report Joe passed all those tests with flying colors," Noelle said, putting an arm around Joe. She looked even more radiant than when Neal had seen her over Halloween. After all the months of worrying about Henry and then having to accept his prolonged absence, she must be overjoyed.
"When did you arrive?" Neal asked Henry.
"Early Tuesday morning. You'd be here so soon, I couldn't resist making it a surprise."
Betty took Neal's coat. "It would have been such a shame if you hadn't been able to come."
Her comment caught Neal off guard and for a second he was at a loss on how to respond, but Peter fielded it quickly. "We couldn't let a piddling blizzard stand in our way. I made a promise to Neal last winter I'd teach him how to drive in the snow. This provided the perfect opportunity."
"What? He trusted you with his car? That's a rare compliment," Luke said. "Neal, you must be as exceptional as Peter keeps telling me. Follow me upstairs. I'll give you the mini-tour and show you where you'll sleep."
Peter and Neal collected their bags and followed Luke upstairs, accompanied by Henry who had been eyeing Neal thoughtfully ever since Betty's comment.
The stairwell wall was filled with family photos. Prominent among them were photos of Peter as a kid playing baseball. Neal made a mental note to revisit the wall when he had time to linger. Luke showed him the layout of the upstairs. There were four bedrooms upstairs. Neal and Henry's room had a single bed and a sleeping bag.
"I already have dibs on the sleeping bag," Henry announced as Neal dropped off his bag in the room.
"Only if you win the coin toss," Neal reminded him, "and that's no longer a sure thing." This had been a standard tease ever since the days Henry took it upon himself to keep Neal safe. Henry, determined to act as protector to Neal, had always insisted that Neal take the best bed and he'd make do with a sleeping bag if necessary. After the events of the past summer, Neal was hoping that role had been put to rest or at least Henry would let them trade off. But apparently Henry hadn't gotten the message.
Neal and Peter didn't take the time to unpack as Betty was already was calling everyone into the family room for hot cider and conversation.
"Neal, have you and Peter been behaving yourselves?" Joe asked. "Not playing any more practical jokes I hope. Henry, did Neal ever tell you about the stunt they pulled over Halloween? They're lucky to still be alive. I was protecting my fair lady from bears. It could have easily gotten ugly."
"If Joe had wanted to take a pot shot at my old teddy bear," Peter scoffed, "he never would have lived it down."
"Henry, you need to hear this tale," Betty said. "Everybody sit down and get comfortable. Luke, you can help me with the drinks."
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The large family room at the Burkes' was ideal for conversation, which was currently being conducted in abundance as everyone caught up with each other's lives. The room was filled with comfortable, overstuffed furniture. Neal and Henry had grabbed the couch close to the fireplace. French doors looked out on a brick patio and large yard which backed out on the woods beyond.
Neal adopted the strategy of planting topics and then sitting back to enjoy the results. He had a long list of questions for Henry but many of them were too personal to bring out in a large group setting. He suspected Henry was feeling the same way since he'd joined Neal in steering the conversation around the older generation. They'd have plenty of time to talk later.
Betty was the vivacious member of the couple, her ready smile wrapping a person up in a warm hug. Luke let Betty do most of the talking, only interjecting the occasional comment. Joe was the cut-up of the family. He seemed the most like Betty and tended to dominate the conversation.
The day-after-Thanksgiving feast had enough food to satisfy the most voracious appetite. At the beginning of the meal, Luke stood up. "Before we start, I'd like to say how pleased Betty and I are to have you here. It makes us both so proud to welcome Noelle, Neal, and Henry into our family. Betty and I feel more than ever blessed."
Over dinner, Neal switched tactics and steered much of the conversation around Henry's time in India, reasoning that would be a safe topic and keep the spotlight off his work at the FBI. Henry had spent the past several months in southern India with his grandfather and readily followed Neal's lead.
Spearing another slice of turkey from the platter, Henry explained how he'd gotten the idea. "In early September we spent a couple of weeks sailing along the Atlantic Coast, but then I grew restless. Wanted to try something new."
"Why did you pick India?" El asked.
"Pops had read about a new data mining technique they were using in Bengaluru and was keen to research it. I'd read a paper on Indian psychology techniques and decided to delve deeper. So we took off for India. The Indian Psychology Institute is at Puducherry. I studied there and volunteered at a local hospital with abused kids."
"The kids must have loved you," Betty commented, passing the gravy around. "You have such an approachable manner, I'm sure they could relate to you."
"A diplomatic way of saying I'm still a kid myself," Henry said with a laugh. "You're right. And I indulged my kid side too. Puducherry has great beaches, even a French Quarter."
"How were the bars?" Joe asked. "Anything like the French Quarter in New Orleans?"
Teasing Noelle with a wink, Henry said, "Let's table that discussion for later."
Luke turned to face Neal. "How's it going at the FBI? You've had your own journey to make. Happy there or are you wanting to head off to some exotic land too?"
That was a question Neal had been dreading and had already decided to deflect. Not a good idea to explore his feelings about the FBI and OPR with Peter's parents over dinner. What could he say? If he were truthful, he'd have to admit he viewed the organization with more cynicism now. Not as much as Mozzie, perhaps, although there'd been moments. "Working at White Collar has been eye-opening. And not just Peter, working with the team. That's something I don't have much experience with. It may be better for you to ask Peter." Slanting a quick glance at Henry, Neal sat back, knowing that he wouldn't be able to evade his questions later on.
Luke looked at Peter quizzically. "It has to present some challenges to supervise someone who's like a member of the family."
It became quickly apparent that Peter was also in no mood for probing questions over dinner. "I feel a responsibility to all the team members but Neal's special. The obeying orders thing we're still working on."
"Interesting to hear you say that," Luke said, a slight smile quirking his lips. "As I recall you had your own issues with that."
"I sense a story here," Henry interjected. "Details please. It will no doubt be highly instructive for Neal and me."
Betty sighed, shaking her head. "There are so many, it'll be hard to pick. What do you think, Luke, the 'don't dig up my flowers when you're looking for dinosaurs' directive or should it be the 'hands off my shop tools' commandment?"
Pouring himself another beer, Joe said, "I've got you all beat. It's the 'don't conduct surveillance on your older brother when he brings home a date' order. Peter really knew how to kill a romantic moment."
"Hey, I was simply being clairvoyant, trying to save you for Noelle," Peter protested.
As the table erupted in clamors for details, Neal relaxed and sat back to enjoy the show while finishing his meal. The day before he'd put on the performance. Time for Peter to be in the spotlight and he wasn't about to miss a minute of it.
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Dinner done, dishes washed and put away, Betty suggested they move into the family room for dessert. "El, you've been very mysterious. You mentioned you had something special planned."
El had carried in a large covered pie container. "That's right. Neal and I'd like to give you a taste of what's in store for us in Hawaii." Removing the cover, she said, "This is a guava chiffon pie from a Hawaiian friend of Neal's. He's been providing me with contacts for the big event coming up."
"While everyone feasts on pie," Peter added, "I'm in charge of the entertainment. At this first gathering of the newly expanded Burke clan. I believe some home movies are in order."
Henry immediately seconded the offer. "Great idea! Kid flicks please."
"We've built up quite a collection from over the years," Betty said. "Last week we went through them and pulled out some of the best."
Peter inserted a DVD into the player and turned on the TV. "I plan to start with sports. Joe played football in high school and college. Baseball was my game, but there are some other sports represented too."
Henry nudged Neal. "What other sports have you heard about?"
Neal shrugged. "None. Skiing or hockey, maybe?"
"Everyone, pull up a seat and you'll soon find out," Peter said. "This first DVD even El and my parents haven't seen." He inserted the disc into the player and began playing it. Background chatter was heard as the photographer explained what he was shooting: first scenes from the Columbia quad and then the Blue Gym.
"That's Travis talking!" Neal blurted.
Noelle turned to Neal. "Is there something you haven't told me about your activities at Columbia?"
Neal didn't answer, his eyes riveted to the TV. The next footage was of him taking to the fencing strip for his épée bout. "How did you obtain this?"
Peter paused the DVD. "A word of explanation. This past Saturday I and several other members of my team had the honor of watching a fencing match between Harvard and Neal's team at Columbia. Unbeknownst to Neal, Travis recorded all his bouts. El wasn't able to make it, so you'll have to indulge a very proud dad, and Neal, I expect you to contribute a detailed commentary."
Henry clapped Neal on the back. "You're blushing," he muttered to him with a grin. More loudly he said, "Do you realize this is something you've witnessed that I never have? Not once have I seen Neal fence. Thank you for this, Peter."
Notes: Thanks for reading! Next week I'll post the final chapter when Neal and Henry at long last have a chance to talk. If you'd like to hear the music mentioned in this chapter, the songs are pinned to The Queen's Jewels board of our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site as well as Peter and Neal's turkey socks and visuals for Albany.
Fiona's near disaster with pumpkin pie was contributed by Penna Nomen who had a friend who suffered the same mishap. Alas for the friend, there was no El around to save her pie. Penna also made many great suggestions for the scenes in Albany. Peter's promise to Neal to teach him how to drive in snow is found in her story, By the Book. Henry's experiences during the summer of 2004 that are touched upon in this chapter are found in Caffrey Disclosure.