Finding Noel (21 page)

Then there were the essential desserts: pecan and sweet
potato pies, and if the women felt especially ambitious, banana-bread pudding generously drizzled with sweetened condensed milk.

Before each meal Stu gave thanks to the Lord and prayed for the less fortunate, who, in light of such culinary excess, pretty much included everyone not dining with us.

The two families, my mom and Aunt Marge and my four cousins, always shared the meal. We dressed up in our Sunday-go-to-meeting best, which, after dinner, became our football uniforms. Mom always used her china, and the silverware made its annual outing from its wood felt-lined cabinet. We children would hand-polish each piece before laying it down on the white embroidered tablecloth.

This was all a stark contrast to the Thanksgiving I had planned to spend this year with a Hungry-Man TV dinner with turkey, dressing and spiced apples. I was grateful that Macy had invited me to share Thanksgiving with her and Joette. Still, I felt a bit melancholy as I thought of those Thanksgivings at home with my mother, homesick for a memory I could never return to.

I spent the morning watching football on television. Around noon I showered and dressed up in my best: an oxford shirt, sweater and slacks. Then I drove to Macy's.

Macy and I hadn't talked much the day before, and when we did, she had shared surprisingly little with me about her visit with Noel's mother, other than her obvious disappointment. I didn't press her.

I told her that I suspected that Mrs. Thorup wasn't being entirely truthful when she said Noel didn't live there. What
college student from a well-off family doesn't come home for Thanksgiving? I suggested to Macy that she go back again and refuse to leave until she saw her sister. I even offered to go with her. But she just changed the topic.

I arrived at Macy's a little past one. Macy's car was gone, and the walk and porch were covered with snow nearly three inches deep, including where Macy's car had been. Wherever she'd gone, she'd been gone for a while. I knocked on the door and Joette answered. She wore an apron over her Levi's and a T-shirt, and I felt a bit overdressed. She looked happy to see me. She also looked a little tired.

“Hi, Mark. Happy Thanksgiving. Come on in.” She sounded like Bob Barker saying “Come on down!” to
The Price Is Right
contestants.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” I returned. “I thought I'd shovel your driveway first. Do you have a snow shovel?”

“You don't have to do that.”

“It's getting pretty deep.”

“Thank you. I just don't have the energy I used to. The shovel's inside the little shed there. Just let yourself in when you're done.”

It took me more than a half hour to clear the driveway and front walk. I had expected Macy to return before I finished, but she didn't. I kicked my feet against the concrete step to clear the snow from my shoes, and then let myself in. Joette had put a rug down for me; I stomped my feet some more before I finally decided to just take off my shoes.

The home was a joyful assault on the senses. Cheerful Christmas music wafted from the kitchen, accompanied by
the pleasant smells of baking—hot rolls, sweet potatoes, turkey and a few things I couldn't identify but knew I liked. I breathed it all in. It had been some time since I had smelled anything that good.

I took my coat off and lay it across the couch, then I walked back into the kitchen. Joette was whipping potatoes with a hand mixer. She looked up as I entered. “Thanks for doing that.”

“No problem. It smells wonderful in here. Like home.”

“That's a nice compliment. Macy and I like to cook.”

“Where is Macy?”

“She's still at the shelter.”

She said this as if I knew, or should know, what she was talking about. “The shelter?”

“The homeless shelter down on Third South. She goes down every year to help out on Thanksgiving.”

“That's really… noble.” I said.
Dumb word
, I thought. I was still nervous around Joette.

“Well, you know Macy. Always saving the world. But she does it for herself too. She once ate dinner at that shelter. I think that going back is a chance for her to keep track of how far she's come.”

“She credits you for that.”

Joette smiled at this. “We help each other.”

I leaned back against the counter. “What can I help with?”

“Can you carve the turkey?”

“Sure.”

The bird was on the counter next to the oven, covered
with foil. I looked around for a knife. Joette gestured with a toss of her head. “Use the carving knife in that block over there. You can put the meat on that serving plate.”

“Got it.”

Joette went back to whipping potatoes. When she finished, she took the beaters from the bowl and ran a finger along the bowl's mouth and licked her finger like she was eating frosting. She popped the beaters off and set them in the sink.

“You know, Thanksgiving is Macy's and my anniversary.”

“Anniversary?”

“The anniversary of our first day living together. It's our little joke: she came for Thanksgiving dinner and never left.” She took the bowl of potatoes over to another counter. She came back with a cake pan of unbaked rolls and began brushing them with butter. “So I'm sure Macy filled you in about meeting Noel's mother.”

“Some. It's too bad. Do you think she'll keep looking for her sister?”

“I think she will someday, when she's absolutely sure it is right for Noel.” She took a can opener from a drawer and opened a can of cranberry sauce. She dumped the red gelatin onto a plate and threw the can away, then licked her fingers again. “I think she already has a lot to process just with finding her father.”

“I think you're right.” I carved into the side of the turkey, revealing a steaming white flank. I speared it with a fork and laid it on the pewter serving plate.

“So how's
your
father doing?” she asked.

I was a little embarrassed by the question. “I don't know.” I cut another slice of turkey. “We don't really talk.”

“Macy said you don't get along real well with your father.”

“We don't get along at all.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

I wasn't certain that I wanted to have this conversation. “We have a lot of history.”

“History's about the past, right?”

I was now certain that I didn't want to have this conversation. Joette leaned back against the counter.

“I have a father story,” she said. “My mother died when I was fourteen. My father never remarried. So he was both dad and mom to me. Some part of me always resented not having a mother. I think that in some bizarre way I blamed him for her death—as if he could have stopped it somehow. It sounds foolish now, but teenagers don't think about much but themselves. At least I didn't.

“And then one day I had this epiphany. I realized that being a parent was like being the Wizard of Oz.”

I remembered what Macy had said earlier about Joette's life philosophy and I had to hide my amusement. “What do you mean?”

“You know the part when Dorothy and her friends go to see the Wizard? This big, ominous head talks to them and they're all terrified. Then her dog…”

“Toto,” I said.

“Right. Toto pulls back the curtain and there's a little man behind it pulling levers and throwing switches. And he says
into his microphone, ‘Ignore the man behind the curtain.' I think that being a parent is like being the man behind the curtain. We pretend that we know what we're doing—that we're omnipotent and all-knowing—when the truth is we're just back behind the curtain throwing levers and switches, doing the best we can.”

In spite of myself, I found her explanation interesting. “And then our kids find out that we're not as great as they thought we were?”

“Exactly. And then they're angry and disappointed that we can't meet their expectations—as unrealistic as they are.”

“So did you and your father get along better after you learned this?”

She frowned. “Well, actually, by that time it was too late. He passed on eleven years after my mother died. I never really thanked him for all he did for me.” She suddenly smiled. “He tried so hard. You should see the prom dress he bought for me. He didn't want any boys to get the wrong idea about me so he picked out a dress for me himself. The collar practically went up to my ears. I put it on at home, then after my date picked me up, we went to my friend's house and I borrowed one of her dresses. I didn't think about what I'd done until I was in the middle of showing him my prom pictures. I'm not sure if he didn't notice or if he just didn't want to make a fuss. But he sacrificed to get me that dress. I regret what I did to this day.”

A buzzer went off. “Pies,” she said. She put on oven mitts and brought two pies from the oven, a pumpkin pie and a lattice-crusted apple pie sprinkled with cinnamon-sugar.

“I love pie,” I said.

“Good. Because there's plenty.” She brought out another pan with small strips of baked crust sprinkled with sugar. “Here's something to snack on.” Joette washed her hands. “I'm going to go clean up. Just make yourself at home. You know where the TV is.”

“Thanks.”

I took several pieces of crust cookies, then went into the living room and turned on a football game. Macy returned within the hour. I stood as she entered and we kissed. “Happy Thanksgiving,” she said.

“It is now,” I replied. I helped her off with her coat.

“Where's Jo?”

“She went to change.”

“I'm right here,” Joette said, walking into the room.

“I'm sorry I'm so late. They were really short-handed this year. It took us that long to serve everybody.”

“We're okay,” Joette said. “So how was it?”

“It was good. It's always good,” Macy said. “So what's left to do?”

“Just set the table.”

“We've got it,” Macy said. “C'mon, Mark.”

The table was small and a leaf in the middle changed it from a circle to an oval. Setting the table only took a few minutes. We carried in everything but the pies and then sat down to eat.

“I'll pray,” Joette said.

We bowed our heads. Macy reached over and took Joette's hand, then mine. Joette reached over and took my other hand, completing the circle.

“Dear Lord. We are grateful for the many blessings we have. For our home and food and clothing.” She paused and her voice faltered with emotion. “Especially for the time we have together. Let us be thankful not just today, but always. Amen.”

“Amen.”

I reached for a roll.

“Wait,” Macy said.

I stopped, my fingers an inch from the breadbasket. I looked at her.

“Before we eat everyone has to say something they're thankful for. Mark, you're the guest. You go first.”

Both women looked at me expectantly.

“Okay,” I said, retracting my hand. “Well, for one, I'm grateful that you invited me to share today with you. And I'm very grateful that Macy came into my life when she did.”

Macy smiled broadly. “Thank you. And you're welcome.” She turned to Joette. “Now it's your turn.”

“I'm grateful for many, many things. I'm grateful that Mark is here with us. And most of all, I'm grateful for that Thanksgiving Day five years ago when Macy came for dinner and never left.” She reached over and squeezed Macy's hand, then Macy leaned back in her chair.

“Okay. I'm thankful that I've had both of you help me through the last three weeks. It's been a pretty emotional ride. And even though things didn't turn out the way I hoped they would, I learned something very important.” She paused, suddenly overcome by emotion. “That all I was really looking for
was home. And I have a home, thanks to Jo. And I have a new friend. And I have a roof over my head—that's always a good thing. I really have a lot to be thankful for.”

“Amen,” Joette said.

“Amen,” I repeated.

Macy turned to Joette. “Remember last week when you asked me what I wanted for Christmas?”

Joette nodded. “You came up with something?”

“I've finally decided.”

“This sounds serious. Should I get a notepad?”

Macy laughed. “No. I just want one thing.” She looked at her and was suddenly nervous. “I can't believe I'm afraid to ask now.”

“Don't worry,” Joette said, “I'm not afraid to say ‘no.'”

“That's what
I'm
afraid of.” Macy took a breath then blurted out, “I want you to legally adopt me. I want to be your daughter.”

For a moment Joette said nothing. Then she began to cry. She stood up from her chair, and Macy stood and they wrapped their arms around each other. It was a few minutes before Joette could speak. “It would be the greatest honor of my life.”

“Thank you,” Macy said. “Thank you, thank you.”

After a few more minutes of their laughing and crying, I said, “Can I eat?”

They both turned to me and laughed. “Men,” Macy said. “Always putting their stomachs before their hearts.”