The Promise of Home (28 page)

Michael nodded. The government had confiscated all monetary gold the year before and revalued it at thirty-five dollars per ounce. The resulting devaluation of the dollar had destroyed people's savings. It was no wonder that most people saw gold and silver as the only sure sources of value.

“So, the lady who was just in here, wanting more time on her loan…” Michael hesitated. He didn't want to ask the question in a way that would anger Mr. Borisov. “Do you ever give in when someone begs like that? I mean, she has a family to take care of. You can't expect her to repay a loan and let her kids go hungry.”

Mr. Borisov shrugged. “I feel bad, but I haf business to run. My business help people. Give cash to people when banks say no. If I give extra extension to one person, I get hundred more, all wanting same thing, and my business lose. No more money come in. Kids go hungry every day, Michael O'Brien. Is sad but true. I haf four children at my home, and good wife, too. If I haf to choose which children hungry and which eat, my own children eat every time.”

Michael had not considered that Mr. Borisov might have a family of his own. No one in town seemed to know much about him or interact with him, other than to take care of whatever unpleasant business they might have with him. It was true that there were a great many items for sale in the loan office—collateral of loans never repaid—but as the weeks passed, Michael rarely saw anyone come in to shop. Money was so scarce that folks were making do with what they had or simply going without.

Fridays were Michael's favorite day. Mr. Borisov paid him four dollars in cash each Friday before he walked home. It was a joyous feeling, leaving the loan office with money in his pocket and a whole two days with nothing to do but work on the farm and spend time with his mother. Even mucking out Onion's stall was enjoyable, compared with seeing and hearing the hardship faced by Mr. Borisov's customers. And Michael was proud to give his wages to his mother, whose condition was now obvious and whose health continued to remain stable.

“I'm so proud of you, Michael,” she'd told him one Friday in early August. “With this week's wages, you've earned more than thirty-five dollars since you started. You've kept food on our table, paid our bills…By the end of August, we'll have the hospital bill completely evened up and maybe some left over to put back for when the baby comes.”

Michael smiled as she embraced him. It was the first time he had heard his mother speak about the baby being born with utter certainty. Until this moment, he hadn't dared mention it for fear that this time would ultimately be no different than the others.

“Here, give me your hand,” his mother said, and he extended it to her. She pulled it closer and pressed it, palm down, against her belly. “Keep it right there for just a minute,” she whispered.

He stood and she sat still, waiting, when there was suddenly a surprisingly strong shove against his hand.

“Whoa, I felt it! That was strong!”

“I know. That was a kick. It always happens after I eat something.”

Michael looked down at the table in front of her, where a plate held a half-eaten slice of bread. He couldn't help but smile again. “I'll bet he's going to be a strong baby,” he said.

“Or she. Although, this one reminds me of when I was carrying you. I thought you'd kick me to death before you were born,” his mother said. “And you were lots bigger than Seamus when you came out, although you've got some catching up to do now. I worry about your working so much. It might keep you from filling out as you should.”

“I'm tall and thin like Father, that's all,” Michael said. “But speaking of work, I've been meaning to ask you about something. I think I should speak to my boss, maybe ask him if I could stay on at part-time in the fall, at least until Father gets home.”

“We'll see. Part-time might work if it doesn't affect your grades, and an education is the only way you'll do better for yourself than your father and I did. But selling shoes isn't too tiring, and the shops aren't open late.”

Michael nodded. There were three shoe stores in downtown Burlington, and he'd told her he'd gotten a job in the one she liked the least.

“Radcliff's?” she'd said. “I don't care much for that store. Their prices are too high. Forelli's is better, with a better selection. But I suppose it's work, all the same.” After that, his supposed place of employment wasn't a topic that came up often, though when it did, he tried to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“I'm going to go cut some wood while it's still light,” he said.

“I'll call you when supper's ready,” his mother said. “Before you get started, I wonder if you might bring me a few ripe tomatoes from the garden? It seems like I can't get enough of them these days.” She rested her hand on the top of her belly, which protruded out far enough to form a little shelf.

“Yes, Mother.”

He went into their vast garden, past the neat rows of carrots and chard and the hills of squash. The tomato patch loomed, its plants tied to stakes and yet still overgrown. A tangy scent hung in the air above vines heavy with tomatoes in various stages of ripening. Michael found three large globes, all a deep shade of red-orange. They were so perfectly ripe that they practically fell into his hand; he was careful to grasp them gently as he started back through the garden to the house. It was such a small, simple gesture, the picking of a few ripe fruits for his mother to eat, but it made him happy that she had asked and that he was able to do it for her.

If only everything could be so easy and honest.

A
t noon on Thanksgiving Day, Claudia had already been in the kitchen for hours. A huge turkey was roasting in the oven. She had a tray of traditional stuffing and a healthier version made with quinoa ready to slide onto the top rack above the roaster. A pumpkin pie and a low-fat, sugar-free pumpkin custard, which she'd baked upon rising, were cooled on the countertop. A pot of green beans was sitting on the stove, ready to be cooked, and a large relish tray was in the refrigerator.

She sat down at the kitchen table to eat a quick cup of yogurt. There was a stitch starting to form between her shoulder blades, undoubtedly from hunching over the counter. Claudia stretched and worked through her mental checklist of things she had yet to prepare: sweet potatoes, corn, cranberry sauce, rolls, and gravy.

Also weighing on her mind was the text message that Misty had sent to Kyle. Claudia had been ready to ask him about it before she'd decided not to, lest he think she was invading his privacy or doubting his commitment to her. It was a private message, after all, one that could have been sent as an entirely innocent expression of enthusiasm.

Then again, Misty had sent the text to Kyle's phone, which meant that she'd had to go through the trouble of getting his number somehow. And she'd written to Kyle that she couldn't wait to see “you” again—not “you and Claudia” or “you and your family.”

You.

Claudia sighed and stabbed her yogurt with her spoon. She'd already let her insecurities get the better of her once with Kyle, and she believed with everything in her that he loved her completely. She didn't know what Misty was doing with her little message, or maybe messages by now, but she trusted Kyle. Unless he mentioned Misty's text to her, she needed to allow him the freedom and privacy to handle the situation as he saw fit. She also needed to pretend that nothing was bothering her when Misty showed up at the door for Thanksgiving dinner.

The sound of that door opening snapped her out of her thoughts. Kyle came into the kitchen a few moments later with Rowen in tow. “Boy, does it smell good in here!” he said as he bent to give her a kiss. “You've been busy, I see.”

“Yeah, I was up early. So far, so good. I haven't started the kitchen on fire or anything.”

“Impressive. My mom'll be surprised, too. I think she was expecting to pitch in with the food prep, but it looks like you'll have everything done.”

“We got the crackers and cheese ball you wanted,” Rowen said, holding up a plastic grocery bag. “Do you want me to arrange them on a plate for you?”

“That'd be great.” Claudia stood up and took a large plate from her cupboard, which she handed to Rowen. “So, we'll have the crackers and cheese, plus a relish tray in the fridge, for people to snack on before the meal. Have you heard from your brother yet?”

“Yep. They picked up Mom and Dad and left the city around ten. They'll probably be here in a little over an hour.”

“Okay. I was planning to have everything ready to eat around two, so that would be perfect.”

“Finished,” Rowen said, holding up the plate of cheese and crackers. “Now what do you want me to do?”

“Hmmm…you and your dad could set the table. I've got a new tablecloth and a dried-flower arrangement for a centerpiece—they're already sitting in there in the dining room.”

“We're on it,” Kyle said. “C'mon, Ro, let's give the cook some space.”

Claudia turned back to the food preparation as Kyle and his daughter bustled in and out, taking plates and glasses and silverware from the kitchen. She peeled the sweet potatoes and sliced them into a casserole dish for microwaving. Next she rinsed the cranberries, placed them in a saucepan with some water and sugar, and set them on the stove to simmer. She turned on the burner beneath the green beans, then readied a pot for the corn. The stuffing would go in the oven in about thirty minutes, the rolls fifteen minutes before dinner. She would make the gravy once the turkey was out of the oven, when she could collect the drippings at the bottom of the roaster.

Kyle appeared in the kitchen just as she poured herself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the breakfast table. “Everything's set up out there,” he reported.

“Where's Rowen?”

“Can't you guess?”

“Parked in front of the TV, watching the Discovery Channel?”

“Close.”

“Animal Planet?”

“Yep. Hey, do you need me to do anything else?”

Claudia looked around. The pots on the stove were starting to boil, but strangely, everything was calm and under control. “Yeah, now that you mention it.” She stood up, peeked around the corner to make sure Rowen was in the living room, and pulled Kyle close. “Can't you guess what else I might need?”

He answered with actions rather than words, and Claudia lost all track of time until the sharp
hiss
of a pot bubbling over on the stove startled them both.

“Whoops,” she said, and reached over to reduce the heat under the pot of beans. “No harm done, it was just water.”

“Good,” Kyle said, bending to nuzzle the back of her neck. “You know, I could have my mom stay with Rowen tonight instead of going back to the hotel. Then I could come over here.”

“Very tempting,” Claudia breathed. “But we do have an agreement in place, remember?”

Kyle dropped his head and sighed. “You've got more willpower than I bargained for. I never should have suggested we hold off until the wedding.”

“Only another month. Less, actually. And then we're going to have an amazing night.”

Kyle chuckled as he backed away slightly. “All right, all right. You're the boss in the kitchen, anyway.” He turned her around and began to massage her shoulders. “You're tense.”

“I've just been bent over cooking for hours. I'm starting to get a crick in my back, right in the middle.” Kyle moved his hands so that his thumbs pressed along her spine, and Claudia closed her eyes. “That's exactly where it hurts, right there. That feels awesome.”

“Dad! Claudia! They're here! Grandma and Grandpa are here!” Rowen darted into the kitchen long enough to make the announcement before she ran to the front door and threw it open.

“They're early,” Kyle said. “Must've been Kevin's lead foot.”

Within seconds, Claudia's house was an excited mass of hugs and kisses and happy greetings. Claudia hugged Dave and Peggy, Kyle's parents, and Peggy had barely let go of her before Kevin slung his arm across her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

Misty was the last to come in. She wore a jacket that was ridiculously light for late November in the Northeast, and her bleached-blond hair was pulled back in a messy bun. Her dark roots and dark makeup were even more pronounced than the last time Claudia had seen her. Still, she caught Misty's eye and gave her a warm smile. It was Thanksgiving, after all.

“Hi, Misty. It's so nice to see you again.”

“You, too. I like your house. It's nice.”

“Thank you. Hey, you can give your coat to Kyle if you want. Are you thirsty? I've got drinks—fresh iced tea, Diet Coke, orange soda, beer, juice…”

“Diet Coke would be good, thanks.”

Claudia nodded. “Would anyone like something to drink?” she asked everyone in a louder voice.

After her guests had given her their preferences, she turned to go back into the kitchen, but Peggy intercepted her and laid a hand gently on her arm. “Now, Claudia,” she said in a low voice, “Kyle tells me you've done an amazing job cooking. I thought for sure you'd be needing some help, seeing as how this is your first time fixing Thanksgiving dinner. I brought my lucky apron, you know.” Claudia looked down and had to giggle when she saw that Kyle's mother really was holding a rolled-up kitchen apron.

“There are a few things left to do,” she replied. “Besides, it's always nice to have company when you're cooking.”

“Oh, trust me, you wouldn't want me in there with you,” Misty said loudly, even though the invitation to help cook hadn't been extended to her. “Me and the kitchen don't exactly get along.”

“Um, well, that's okay,” Claudia said with an awkward grin. She was relieved when Kevin called to Misty to come sit with him in the living room. “I'll just get you that Diet Coke.”

Once Claudia and Peggy were alone in the kitchen, Peggy sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don't know what Kevin sees in that girl. I think she has a lot of growing up to do.” Her mouth pressed into a thin line, as if she were forcing herself to stop talking. “But I don't say anything to him, and I won't say anything more to you, either. I always promised my boys that I'd accept whoever they brought home, so long as they loved her—or him, if things turned out that way. The last thing they need in their relationships is a meddling mama.”

Claudia smiled. “I totally hit the mother-in-law jackpot.”

“Oh, that's very sweet of you to say, dear, but Kyle's the one who's hit the jackpot, and the rest of our family. You make him so happy, and I couldn't ask for a nicer daughter-in-law. Now,” Peggy said as she unrolled her apron and tied it around her waist, “it's time for you to put me to work!”

With Peggy's help, the rest of Claudia's to-do list seemed to get done almost instantly. Kyle's mother took a genuine interest in Claudia's quinoa stuffing. “I'm partial to the regular dressing, but this
is
delicious,” she said when Claudia gave her a sample. Once they had all the food arranged in serving dishes, Claudia went out into the living room and called everyone to the table.

Everyone ooohed and aaahed when Kyle brought out the turkey. His father offered a prayer and then a toast before the meal. “To my son and my wonderful new daughter,” Dave said in his quiet, humble voice. “We're all so thrilled about your upcoming marriage. May this first home of yours be filled with happiness and the site of many family gatherings to come.”

Claudia held her breath as the dishes she'd prepared were passed around and universally praised. She was especially happy that, for several minutes after everyone's plates were filled, everyone seemed to be eating too enthusiastically to talk. Everyone, that is, except Misty. From the corner of her eye, Claudia watched her pick at her food, pushing various bits to different positions and occasionally putting small bites in her mouth. Kevin noticed, too.

“You okay, sweetie?” he asked Misty. “You don't seem to be eating much.”

“I am too eating. Just not as much or as fast as you.”

All of a sudden, no one at the table made so much as a sound.

“Well, it
is
Thanksgiving,” Kevin said awkwardly in his own defense.

“I know,” Misty said. “I just don't eat much, that's all. It's real good, though, Claudia. Everything tastes good.”

“You can say that again,” Kevin said. “Everything is delicious. I really love this cranberry sauce. It doesn't taste like Ocean Spray.”

Claudia giggled. “Thanks. And it's not. I made it from scratch with fresh cranberries.”

“She's a keeper, bro,” Kevin said to Kyle before he shoved another big bite in his mouth. Claudia couldn't help noticing Kyle's smug grin and the unhappy expression that flickered across Kevin's face before the conversation veered off into football.

“Excuse me for a second,” Misty said as she stood up. “I just need to use the little girls' room.”

Claudia nodded and put a hand over her mouth, which was full at the moment. “It's just down the hall,” she said after she swallowed quickly, pointing back over her shoulder. “Right before you get to my bedroom.”

Misty nodded and disappeared.

While she was gone, Claudia leaned closer to Kevin. “I take it Misty doesn't do much cooking?”

“Nah,” he said. “She mostly heats up canned things. And she can make toast.”

Claudia waited a moment, expecting Kevin to laugh as if he had made a joke, but his expression remained serious and sincere. “That's it?” she finally asked. “Canned food and toast?”

“Yeah. I do most of the cooking, but that's okay. I don't mind.”

Claudia smiled. Somehow, judging by Misty's long, flawlessly polished nails, she didn't think Misty was the kind of girl who would do dishes, either.

Later that evening, Claudia couldn't help but remember her conversation with Kevin as she and Kyle stood in the kitchen packing up leftover food and scraping plates after Rowen had conked out on the sofa and everyone else had left. What Kyle lacked in the cooking department, he more than made up for in cleaning up, and Claudia was especially grateful for his help tonight.

“Typical Thanksgiving,” she said he passed rinsed dishes for her to load into the dishwasher. “Hours of cooking, an hour of solid eating, and then more hours of cleanup. You know, I really appreciate all your help today.”

“Are you kidding? You did pretty much everything. The turkey was perfect, and everyone liked the side dishes. My mom was really impressed, you know. And my dad doesn't usually say much, but I caught him lurking around the leftover pie, snitching spoonfuls, after we were all finished eating.”

“Really? He had two pieces after dinner.”

“Yeah, I know. He isn't usually big on sweets, so that should tell you something.”

“It was a lot of work, but I'm glad everyone came here for Thanksgiving. Seemed like everyone had a good time, even Misty, except for that one nasty crack she made about Kevin's eating. I felt bad for your brother.”

“I did, too,” Kyle said, “but there isn't anything we can do about it. Kevin would be offended if I criticized her. I think he'll come to his senses about Misty eventually, but it's something he has to do all by himself.”

“Probably,” Claudia agreed.

“Well, we're about done with the kitchen, I guess, so I'm going to wake Rowen. We'll probably all sleep in tomorrow morning and then go out somewhere for lunch. I can swing by and get you if you want to come along.”