Chapter Six

On Thanksgiving afternoon, the survivors sat down to a repast, and Locke did not fail the community: a turkey, slow roasted over a fiery pit since early that morning, now sat in the center of the common dining table. The hunter unsheathed his knife and, with a self-satisfied smile, began to take the carving honors upon himself.

"Wait!" Hurley insisted. "We have to go around the table first and have everyone say what they're thankful for."

Locke bowed his head in submission to the command and set his knife aside for the time being. "Let the master of the ceremonies tell us where to start, then," he said.

"I'll start, and then we'll go around this way—" Hurley pointed to Sawyer, who rolled his eyes. The big man stood and said, "I'm thankful we've lived in peace for awhile now, and I'm thankful we found those batteries for my portable CD player, even if they only lasted thirty minutes. I'm also thankful I've lost twenty-seven pounds."

"How do you know it's twenty-seven, brother?" asked Desmond from the far end of the table.

Hurley shrugged. "It's just an estimate."

Sawyer chuckled when Hurley sat back down. "I ain't standing," he said.

"Fine, but you have to at least say what you're thankful for," Hurley insisted.

"I'm thankful," announced Sawyer in a booming voice, pulling a hand from his pocket and gesturing to where Sayid sat, "that Torquemada here has managed to go almost a full year without torturing anybody. And," Sawyer sat up in his chair a little bit, "I'm grateful Hurley hasn't already devoured every last bit of Rose's special mango pie." He smirked and liked his lips. "Oh, yeah," he said quickly, putting an arm around Kate, who cradled their son, "and I'm grateful for the oven here and the freckled offspring." His smile faded only momentarily when Kate elbowed him in the chest.

A few of the men chuckled at Sawyer's last comment, while the women returned them incendiary stares. Claire glanced at Sayid and was surprised to find him smiling. "What, you think that's funny? Referring to the mother of his child as an oven?

"Not at all," Sayid said, forcing his mouth into a straight line. "I am merely amused that Sawyer has at last been forced to admit he is grateful for someone."

It continued like that, around the table, and when it was Claire's turn, she felt a little nervous. These people were family—closer than any real family she'd ever had—but she'd always hated any kind of public speaking. "I'm grateful for Aaron, of course," she said. "And for…friends…who…help…"

"Oh, sister, just say you're grateful for Sayid," implored Desmond, who sat three chairs down from her. This brought low chuckles to the group and mortification to Claire.

"Sayid, your turn," urged Hurley.

"I am grateful for time," he said, "and for second and…"--Claire felt him glance at her-- "…third chances."

When all had finished announcing the objects of their gratitude, a blessing was said, coconut bowls were promptly passed, and food was happily consumed.

In the midst of the meal, Claire leaned over to Sayid and complained, "Everyone is quietly mocking my berry sauce."

"No, surely you misunderstand them," asserted Sayid. "It is quite delicious."

"Yeah. That's why you've had one bite, right?"

"I was merely saving the best for last." Sayid plunged his fork into the congealed concoction and placed a slice into his mouth. "Mhmmm," he murmured as he chewed forcefully and swallowed slowly. "Excellent." But as soon as she was distracted by Aaron and had to turn partially away, she heard the low, begging whine of Vincent, and she saw Sayid slipping the sauce under the table.

Caught red handed, Sayid abashedly returned the creation to his plate. In response to Claire's unhappy sigh, he averred, "Truly, it is not that bad."

"Even the dog wouldn't eat it, Sayid."

"Well…perhaps the crafting of berry sauce is not your calling. But you have other virtues."

"Such as?"

"You are an excellent mother. You are tender hearted. You make people feel welcome, comfortable…content."

"Content, huh?" She turned aside to wipe Aaron's face for the fourth time. "Well, that's better than nothing I suppose."

She could tell from Sayid's expression that he was confused by her disgruntled tone. She scolded herself for reading too much into his words. That was a foolish thing that women did with men, and she didn't want to be foolish. He hadn't meant to imply he was settling for her. She could accept his words as the compliment they were intended to be. Sayid did look content, and he hadn't looked really content since, well…since Shannon had died.

"Thanks," Claire said, and she reached out to put her hand over Sayid's, offering it an affectionate squeeze. "You know how to make me feel better."

The grateful smile that now greeted her was an embodiment both of relief and of the pleasure that comes from knowing one has pleased. She smiled back. "Happy Thanksgiving, Sayid."