No Place Like Home Part 7: The Ice Is Slowly Melting

Author: Lexa

Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Don't think there are any.

Comments: Lots of thanks to Caro for helping me out with this one!! If it weren't for her I'd still be stuck on the first line.

The song is "Here Comes the Sun" by George Harrison. I chose it just a few days before his death (may he rest in peace), so I've decided to dedicate this chapter to him.

*********

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun

and I say

It's alright

*********

"Alright, now put in half a cup baking soda."

"That pan's got to be somewhere," Greg keeps looking through the drawers he's already been through five times. Like the pan is going to suddenly appear in one of drawers out of nowhere.

I turn from the fridge to my brother standing by the counter, reading the recipe, "Half a cup? I don't think so Eric."

He squints and looks at it more carefully, "Sorry, half a tablespoon."

"Now that's more like it," I turn back to fridge and continue trying to locate the onions that are apparently supposed to be in here. No wonder we were never good at the whole Thanksgiving thing. Even now that we're all adults, us trying to make dinner is still a pathetic sight. Our father is frantically trying to locate a pan he probably threw out years ago. I can't seem to find my way around this refrigerator, and Eric can't even read a recipe for biscuits.

Finally, Greg stands up and puts his hands on his hips, "I can't make a turkey without that damn pan!"

"Dad, are you sure you didn't throw it out?"

Eric looks up from the recipe, "Did you throw out everything when you cleaned the kitchen out last year?"

Oh thank God, one of us is finally showing some sign of intelligence.

"I think I put most of the stuff in the attic."

Eric and I look at each other, both holding back laughter, "Why don't you try up there then?" I ask him.

"Right." He sighs and starts to head upstairs.

Eric and I are still exchanging a Look. Something gives me the feeling we're going to end up having take out food for Thanksgiving.

***********

Little darling

it's been a long cold lonely winter

Little darling

it feels like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun

here comes the sun

and I say it's all right

Little darling

the smiles returning to the faces

Little darling

it seems like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun

and I say it's all right

***********

"It has to be up here. There's no where else it would be."

"Dad, maybe we should just forget about it." I look up at him as he rummages through yet another box.

"Forget about it? We can't make turkey without it. And we can't have Thanksgiving without turkey."

I sigh and go back to the box I had been looking through, "Well, it's not in here." I move it to the side and pick up another box. This man doesn't seem able to put everything in boxes together and label them. In the last box there was 3 dead AA batteries, an old Michael Jackson tape, and one of Eric's sweaters from like, the sixth grade, among other things.

The moment I open the box, I see a George Harrison record sitting at the top. I put it aside and start looking through the other things in the box. A folded piece of Bristol board; a worn out stuffed dog with a missing ear; a little pink dress; a pink tattered cotton blanket. This stuff looks very, very familiar, I just can't figure out why. I take out the blanket, and realize that it's a baby's blanket. And in beautiful blue cursive writing, 'Abigail' has been sewed in the middle. Below it is a purple flower with two little leafs.

"Dad, what is this stuff?"

He looks up from what he's doing and looks at the blanket for a moment. "That's your baby blanket. That box is just some of your old things."

I put down the blanket and take out the Bristol board and unfold it. In orange paint, two little hand prints sit in the middle. At the bottom right corner it reads, 'Abigail Wyczenski, October 3, 1975.'

I look up at Greg. "Why did you keep all this?"

He looks down and shrugs. "To remember you by."

Looking down back at the box, the things are starting to seem more and more familiar. I take the pink dress into my hands.

"You hated wearing dresses," he tells me. "But I thought you looked absolutely adorable in that dress. Even though you wouldn't stop squirming."

I smile, remembering the time Greg and Maggie made me wear it for a wedding, complaining every second. It doesn't seem right to have to wear a frilly pink dress when you're a tomboy (and proud of it, too).

The George Harrison record seems out of place though. "What about this one?" I ask, holding it up.

Greg raises his eyebrows, "You don't remember that?"

I shake my head.

He walks over and sits beside me, "You adored that record. One day you had found it in my collection and decided to listen to it. You fell in love with 'Here Comes the Sun'." He pauses for a moment, and smiles as if he's remembering something. "You wouldn't go to sleep without hearing it."

"You actually remember all this, Dad?"

I can feel his hand rub on my back gently, "Of course."

Putting the record down, I pick up the stuffed dog that was sitting at the bottom of the box. "Harry." My fingers brush against his dull brown fur. His fur wasn't fur when Greg bought him for me. And he had a red collar that went missing a long time ago. "You remember when we bought this dad? You had taken me out for my fifth birthday. We went to that restaurant on Canal street, and the zoo. Then we went to that toy store... what was it's name?"

"Simmons's Toy Store."

"Right. And I picked out Harry."

I had been too short to reach him on the shelf. Greg had picked me up from under my arms, and lifted me up high enough so I could get him. As he put me down, I turned to Greg and asked him what I should name him.

'Whatever you want, sweetie.' So I named him after some film star Maggie really liked.

Greg took my hand and we walked to the register so he could pay for it. I held on to the edge of the counter for support as I stood on the very tip of my toes so I could see the woman at the register ringing in Harry.

She looked at me and smiled, 'Well, aren't you a lucky young lady?'

I grinned back at her, then took Harry as she gave Greg the change. We went out of the store with me on his shoulders giggling as he told me silly stories.

I went home that day thinking I had the best daddy in the world.

"I had forgotten about all these things." In fact, I still don't remember the George Harrison record.

"It's harder to remember good things than it is the bad things, I know. But maybe all we need sometimes is a little reminder."

There are a lot of reminders in this house. Although I already knew there are bad ones, I think I'm only now starting to remembering the good ones.

Our conversation last night had been a reminder. Just like today. The only difference is I'm not running away this time. This is probably a first for me.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"About what I said..."

"Last night?"

"That and.... when I left."

He nods slightly. We both know what I'm talking about.

"I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did." Are you trying to make this harder dad?

"Well... not all of it. I was wrong, alright? I don't blame you for everything. Maybe I thought I did then... but I really don't."

He's not saying anything. Why isn't he saying anything? Oh God, wait did I do now?

Maybe he wants me to say more. "I know you did the best you could-"

"Sometimes I wonder if I really did."

Ok, I was not expecting him to say that. "What do you mean?"

"Abby, I cared about you and your brother more than anything. I didn't want you to end up having to grow up so fast. But you did. By the time you were ten, I could see it. You weren't a ten year old girl, you were about fifteen years ahead of yourself, and I think I told myself there was nothing I could do about-"

"There wasn't, dad. Really. I'm not sure that there's anything anybody could have done." You know, I think that's the first time I've ever really admitted that. Even to myself. Today is a day for a lot of firsts.

Neither of us can think of anything to say. Is that it? Is all this finished? Was that all we needed to 'patch things up'?

"Alright, well, I give up."

Hun? What the hell is he talking about?

"I guess we're not going to have turkey this Thanksgiving."

Oh. Right. We were looking for the pan. For the turkey. It's Thanksgiving. Where is your mind, Abby?

Greg gets up with a sigh. "I guess we should clean this stuff up."

"Don't worry about it, Dad. You go downstairs, I'll take care of it."

"You sure?"

"Yah, Eric probably thinks we got lost up here. Go ahead. See if maybe you guys can salvage a bit of what's left of our attempt at a Thanksgiving dinner."

The tension seems to melt as both of us laugh, and he starts to head for the door.

As I see him disappear downstairs, I look back down at everything. Slowly I put everything back in the box except for the George Harrison record. I put the record on the chair as I put everything else in their boxes, and move them to the side so they're out of the way.

I still can't believe he kept these things after all these years. Eric's old tricycle is even sitting in the corner.

With the record in my hand, I take a last look at the attic and turn out the light as I leave.

I'm starting to wonder why I was so scared to come.

************

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Little darling

I feel that ice is slowly melting

Little darling

it seems like years since it's been clear

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun

and I say it's all right

It's all right

************