Fortunately, his fridge isn’t a total disaster. It’s sparse, but relatively clean. I grab a tapioca pudding cup and a handful of cheese sticks before returning to Bert, feeling worse than before. I mean, imagine eating tapioca pudding and cheese sticks for Thanksgiving dinner. Alone.
Suddenly, I couldn’t feel more guilty about dreading dinner with my family.
I can tell he’s anticipating I might say something about the kitchen, but there’s no need to point out the obvious. “How about I come by with some leftovers after dinner?” I offer lightheartedly, hoping he won’t be stubborn.
“You don’t have to do that,” he insists.
But it’s too late. I’ve already seen the glimmer of hope on his face.
“Are yousuuure?” I drawl, propping my hands on my hips. “You don’t want some of Grandma’s famous collard greens and beans or mashed potatoes and gravy?”
He grins boyishly, and it warms my heart. “Well . . . if you insist.”
“I do.” I return his smile and scan my surroundings one final time. “Got everything you need? Water? Remote? Phone?”
“Everything I need and then some, Evie. Thank you again.”
Nodding, I pull on my parka and zip it all the way up before sliding my mittens on. It’s unseasonably cold for Thanksgiving Day—well below freezing. Walking over to the bay window, I pull the lace curtain aside and glance up at the ominous-looking, bruise-colored sky. My smile widens despite everything.
Snow.
“You be careful out there,” Bert warns. “The forecast calls for heavy snow. We’re supposed to get at least half a foot before tomorrow morning.”
Digging my keys from my pocket, I nod. “Don’t you worry about me.”
“Good luck,” he says then, eyeing me knowingly. He’s privy to my family situation. Truthfully, I’ve confided in him more than what’s probably appropriate. “With dinner, I mean.”
“Thanks, Bert.”
“Can I pray for you before you leave?” His voice is soft and concerned, and it makes me freeze like someone has dumped cold water all over me.
I hesitate for half a second. Bert is always asking if he can pray for me and over me, and I’ve always declined out of principle. But maybe I shouldn’t this time. I’ll probably need all the prayer or luck or good vibes or whatever else I can get if I want to survive this evening and come out emotionally unscathed.
Still, I shake my head. “No, thanks. But I appreciate the offer.”
He looks uncertain. “Well, I’ll still be praying all goes well.”
Swallowing, I nod. “Thank you.”
And with that, I slip out into the night, breathing in the icy air eagerly—as if, somehow, it holds the potential to numb the pain. The dry chill flash freezes the mucus lingering in my nostrils, giving me a mild brain freeze.
Good enough.
I lift my face to the dark, foreboding sky. If I was superstitious or religious, the forecast might feel like an omen for what’s to come. But I’m not.
I force another smile.I smell snow.
Chapter 2
Evie
I’veneverbeenmoregrateful that my midnight blue Toyota Corolla—whom I’ve aptly named Bluebelle—has seen better days. I blow steam into my mittens while I wait for her to warm up. I’m still parked in Bert’s driveway, struggling not to let my good mood sour as I think about what lies ahead of me.
When the anxiety reaches a boiling point, I dig into my bag and pull out my diary, desperate to purge my thoughts. My knee bounces with excitement as I press the tip of a brand-new pen to the paper, relishing how the fresh black ink glides across the page.
Unfortunately, Thanksgiving dinner at Margaret Montgomery’s house isn’t just about giving thanks—it’s about gracefully enduring my father’s stink-eyed scrutiny. Because if he had things his way, he’d lock Grandma up in the nearest state-run nursing home and throw away the key . . .
We’ll have to put our best feet forward to convince him she’s still fit to live at home, despite her recent fall. Stupid vertigo . . . Her doctors still don’t have answers for us. But Grandma’s goal is to age in place with dignity and grace. Actually, I believe her exact words were, “The only way I’m leaving my home is in a body bag.”Hence why I’m living with her. After all, how could I not? I’m a caregiver. I take care of people for a living. How could I abandon Grandma after she took me in when I was just a dumb teenager with a rebellious streak?
