Miles to Go by Richard Paul Evans Page A

life,” he said.
    She grinned. “You might say that. And you can call me Nicole.”
    He smiled. “I will be pleased to.”
    “We’re still making dinner,” she said. “Would you like to watch a football game on TV?”
    “No, I don’t care for that. If you don’t mind, I’ll just stay in here where the action is.”
    “We don’t mind,” she said.
    “Would you like some eggnog?” I asked.
    He waved his hand at me. “Don’t drink the stuff, I’m lactose intolerant,” he said.
    “Another glass for you,” Nicole whispered snidely.

    Christine knocked on our door at the appointed hour. She wore a bright holiday sweater with Christmas bauble earrings. Her apartment door was wide open. She asked me, “Would you mind helping me bring over my pies?”
    “Glad to,” I said. “How many did you make?”
    “Three. Apple, pumpkin, and … mincemeat.”
    “You made mincemeat just to spite me, didn’t you?”
    She smiled. “I like mincemeat.” Then she added, “And to spite you.”
    “I’m not carrying the mincemeat,” I said.
    We carried back the pies. Nicole gasped as we entered. “Those look fabulous.”
    “Thank you. I love to bake, I just don’t have anyone to bake for.”
    I looked at Nicole. “I think you two need to get together.”
    “We just did,” she said.
    “Hi, Bill,” Christine said, walking into the kitchen.
    “Hello, Chris,” Bill said. “Is that mincemeat?”
    “Yes it is.”
    “I love a good mincemeat.”
    Christine shot me a glance and Nicole grinned. “Looks like the mincemeat is beating out your eggnog,” Nicole said.
    I shrugged. “There’s no accounting for taste in some people.”
    “My thought exactly,” she replied.
    “So how does a diabetic handle a Thanksgiving feast?” I asked.
    “I’m not diabetic today.”
    “Really.”
    “Just kidding, but I’ll use more insulin. I know it’s not smart, but one day of the year … I’ll live with it.”

    A half hour later we finished our preparations and sat down to eat.
    “My, what a feast,” Bill said, looking over the table. “I haven’t seen a spread like this since June.” We knew he wasn’t talking about the month.
    “I’d like to pray,” Nicole said. She reached out and took Bill’s hand and mine. Bill took Christine’s hand and Christine took mine, completing the circle.
    Nicole bowed her head. “Dear Father, I am grateful this day for my friends and for Alan and his care. We are grateful for this food and for so much to be grateful for. We ask a blessing on those without and to be led to help them. Also, we are grateful for those who are missing from our lives. Amen.”
    “Amen,” I said.
    “Amen,” Bill and Christine said.
    “Before we eat,” Nicole said, “I would like to take a moment and say something, if that’s all right.”
    “Of course,” Bill said. “Speech, speech.”
    “Well, it’s not really a speech,” she said. “In better days my family used to always say one thing we were grateful for before we could eat. I’d like to do the same.”
    We all agreed.
    “Alan, would you start?”
    I looked around the table as all eyes turned to me. “Sure.” I sat up a little. “This is my first holiday without McKale. If you had asked me a year ago what I was most grateful for, I would have said McKale. If you asked me today, I’d say the same thing. I guess sometimes we’re lucky to have someone to miss so much.”
    Nicole smiled sadly.
    “I’m grateful to be here today with all of you, for this food and home. I’m grateful to be feeling so much better. Most of all, I’m grateful for Nicole, for taking care of me and encouraging me through it all. I don’t know how I would have made it without her. That’s it,” I said.
    Bill nodded thoughtfully.
    “I’ll go,” Christine said, turning to Nicole. “I’m grateful that you invited me to have dinner with you. I thought it was going to be another crummy Thanksgiving alone. Money’s kind of tight, so I won’t be