everything he ever knew about being married,” Vince said, popping a handful of salted nuts in his mouth.
“Hell, he wasn’t married long enough to get it all figured out,” Davey said. “Takes a good twenty or—” Davey stopped mid-sentence. The rest of the men in the room were looking down at the floor. “Jesus, Johnny. I’m sorry.”
John nodded. There was nothing he could say to make Davey feel better, nothing he wanted to say. Libby and the boys had only been dead three years. Three Thanksgivings. A man couldn’t forget his family in just three Thanksgivings.
“Where you going?” Vince called out. “Dallas is about to score.”
“Let him go,” he heard Eddie say as he bolted from the room. “You goddamn fools, just let him go.”
* * *
“What an idiot,” Dee said with a groan. “I left the sweet potatoes in the trunk of the car.”
Alex placed the last biscuit on the baking sheet and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Why don’t I go out to the car and get them?”
“What about the biscuits?” Dee asked.
“Finished,” Alex said. “All you’ll have to do is pop them into the oven.” She was trying to make it clear that she wouldn’t be joining them for dinner, but Dee didn’t seem to notice.
Dee tossed another peeled shrimp onto the pile. “You twisted my arm. The car keys are hanging on the peg by the door. Go get the sweet potatoes.”
Alex slipped into her coat. “Back in a second.” She popped out the back door, then walked around the side of the house toward the driveway. Dee’s chocolate brown Toyota was parked in front of the garage door. It was old, Alex noticed, but not nearly as old as her VW. She took perverse satisfaction from that fact.
As it turned out, Dee had left not only the sweet potatoes in the trunk, but two cans of cranberry sauce and a huge turkey baster. The turkey baster had wedged itself under the spare tire, and it took Alex a minute to pry it loose.
She put the baster in the grocery bag and was about to dash back into the house when she heard a sound. She stilled her breath for a moment and listened harder. There it was again. Curious, she put the grocery bag down on top of the trunk, and looked around. A gull swooped low, then darted upward again, emitting a keening cry as it rose into the sky.
Mystery solved, she thought. Was there anything as mournful as the cry of a gull? But then her eye was drawn to the cars in the driveway, and from there to John’s truck... and from there to John. His arms were braced on the steering wheel, forehead resting against his hands. She heard the sound again, a low, guttural sound of loss that seemed to pierce her chest like a knife as she made her way down the muddy driveway.
He was a stranger, she told herself. His problems were no concern of hers. She had more than enough problems of her own to keep her occupied for a long time to come. Still she kept moving toward him. Was he crying? Please God don’t let him be crying. She couldn’t imagine what terrible event could bring so powerful a man to tears.
He drew his right arm across his eyes, then looked up, and she froze. For one crazy second she considered ducking behind the old blue Chevy next to her, but she couldn’t move. Not while he was looking at her like that, as if a world of understanding suddenly existed between them.
* * *
How long had she been standing there, watching him with those sad dark eyes?
She was looking at him as if she knew what he was feeling, as if she felt it herself. He knew it was impossible, that they were strangers and nothing more, but the sense of connection seemed to pulse between them just the same.
“You’re not leaving?” he asked. “You haven’t had dinner yet.”
She shook her head. “Dee left the sweet potatoes in the trunk of her car.”
“We’re lucky she didn’t leave the turkey in the trunk.”
She smiled, but the look of concern lingered. “Sorry if I startled you.”
“No problem. I came
“Hell, he wasn’t married long enough to get it all figured out,” Davey said. “Takes a good twenty or—” Davey stopped mid-sentence. The rest of the men in the room were looking down at the floor. “Jesus, Johnny. I’m sorry.”
John nodded. There was nothing he could say to make Davey feel better, nothing he wanted to say. Libby and the boys had only been dead three years. Three Thanksgivings. A man couldn’t forget his family in just three Thanksgivings.
“Where you going?” Vince called out. “Dallas is about to score.”
“Let him go,” he heard Eddie say as he bolted from the room. “You goddamn fools, just let him go.”
* * *
“What an idiot,” Dee said with a groan. “I left the sweet potatoes in the trunk of the car.”
Alex placed the last biscuit on the baking sheet and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Why don’t I go out to the car and get them?”
“What about the biscuits?” Dee asked.
“Finished,” Alex said. “All you’ll have to do is pop them into the oven.” She was trying to make it clear that she wouldn’t be joining them for dinner, but Dee didn’t seem to notice.
Dee tossed another peeled shrimp onto the pile. “You twisted my arm. The car keys are hanging on the peg by the door. Go get the sweet potatoes.”
Alex slipped into her coat. “Back in a second.” She popped out the back door, then walked around the side of the house toward the driveway. Dee’s chocolate brown Toyota was parked in front of the garage door. It was old, Alex noticed, but not nearly as old as her VW. She took perverse satisfaction from that fact.
As it turned out, Dee had left not only the sweet potatoes in the trunk, but two cans of cranberry sauce and a huge turkey baster. The turkey baster had wedged itself under the spare tire, and it took Alex a minute to pry it loose.
She put the baster in the grocery bag and was about to dash back into the house when she heard a sound. She stilled her breath for a moment and listened harder. There it was again. Curious, she put the grocery bag down on top of the trunk, and looked around. A gull swooped low, then darted upward again, emitting a keening cry as it rose into the sky.
Mystery solved, she thought. Was there anything as mournful as the cry of a gull? But then her eye was drawn to the cars in the driveway, and from there to John’s truck... and from there to John. His arms were braced on the steering wheel, forehead resting against his hands. She heard the sound again, a low, guttural sound of loss that seemed to pierce her chest like a knife as she made her way down the muddy driveway.
He was a stranger, she told herself. His problems were no concern of hers. She had more than enough problems of her own to keep her occupied for a long time to come. Still she kept moving toward him. Was he crying? Please God don’t let him be crying. She couldn’t imagine what terrible event could bring so powerful a man to tears.
He drew his right arm across his eyes, then looked up, and she froze. For one crazy second she considered ducking behind the old blue Chevy next to her, but she couldn’t move. Not while he was looking at her like that, as if a world of understanding suddenly existed between them.
* * *
How long had she been standing there, watching him with those sad dark eyes?
She was looking at him as if she knew what he was feeling, as if she felt it herself. He knew it was impossible, that they were strangers and nothing more, but the sense of connection seemed to pulse between them just the same.
“You’re not leaving?” he asked. “You haven’t had dinner yet.”
She shook her head. “Dee left the sweet potatoes in the trunk of her car.”
“We’re lucky she didn’t leave the turkey in the trunk.”
She smiled, but the look of concern lingered. “Sorry if I startled you.”
“No problem. I came
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