Brute: The Valves MC (11 page)

I lay on the couch, flipping lazily through cooking channels. I wanted to find a new cranberry sauce recipe after mine had gone terribly wrong last year. I hadn’t trusted myself with sauce pans since, and this Thanksgiving would be the perfect time to try something new. On one channel, they showed an old school play, footage probably taken from a personal archive. It was presented as inspiration for the chef’s traditional recipes, and I frowned. “How dare he?” I asked out loud. Earlier today, I’d been confronted by the Principal, who inquired about my daily progress and then told me I wouldn’t be responsible for this year’s Thanksgiving play. I always had been in charge of organizing it!

My cheeks burned, recalling the look in his eyes. He hadn’t said much, explaining with a copout, “We thought it best to start rotating between teachers every year. We can take advantage of more ideas this way. Plus, it gives everyone a chance to get involved.”

Ideas my ass! He was using this to punish me for rumors circulating amongst the teachers. With no confirmation, he couldn’t officially reprimand me, so he chose to play dirty, as always, and run the school like a dictator. I looked over at my wall calendar, where I marked Monday to start preparation for the play. From my experience, two weeks gave more than enough time to produce a good show. They were kindergarteners, full of energy, eager to please. And since Thanksgiving was a time of family gathering, most students had distant relatives coming to see them shine in the play.

I loved involvement in activities like that. Watching the kids' excitement and laughter as they succeeded and learned was the biggest reward I got from my job, and he dared take that away?

I was frustrated at the turn of events, particularly because I couldn’t fault him. I was guilty of fraternizing with a parent of a child in my class. But the kids shouldn’t suffer for that. Then again, were they suffering, or was I being melodramatic?

I huffed and shifted, deciding to try and sleep, hoping I’d feel better after a nap. I closed my eyes and pointed the remote to turn off the TV without looking. But less than a minute of silence pass before my phone rang. Naturally, the damn thing wasn’t even in the same room, and I rose slowly, suddenly quite irritated with the interruption in the sleep I wanted to enjoy. I walked toward the kitchen, where the ring seemed to be coming from and slid my finger over the screen with a smile. “Yes, baby?”

“How did you know it was me, Mari?” came Ginger’s cheerful voice.

“I…had a suspicion,” I said, having expected her father at the other end. “What is it?”

“I was talking to Daddy and wanted to ask you something.”

I smiled at her sweet little voice. “Okay. Ask.”

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

I thought for a moment. “Nothing, really.” I was free as a bird with the recent yanking of my responsibilities to the play preparation and no school to worry about.

“You mean you’re not making turkey, Mari?” Ginger’s question took me by surprise, and it took me a moment to understand.

I heard Dawson laugh in the background and held back my own chuckle. “Of course I’m cooking dinner. I just don’t have plans to go anywhere.”

“Oh, okay. What are you making?”

I laughed. “Turkey, of course.”

“And cranberry sauce?” I heard hope in her voice.

I thought for a second. “Do you happen to have a good recipe, sweetie?”

“I have lots! I saw one with oranges on TV. I made daddy save it. Do you want it?”

I hadn’t expected that. “Yes, definitely. As a matter of fact, I would love to make it.”

“Okay. Daddy wants to talk to you.” With no goodbyes or other preamble, she passed the phone off.

“Thank you, sweetie,” I heard him say. Then to me, “Impressed yet?”

“Thoroughly,” I answered truthfully. “She is definitely a resourceful little genius.”

“I agree. It’s hard to believe she’s only five.”

I nodded to myself. “Like I said: genius.”

He chuckled with pride, and then his tone changed. “So, a little bird told me you don’t have plans for Thanksgiving this year.”

His low tone stirred butterflies in my stomach, and I took a deep breath. Clearing my throat, I managed, “Yes. I mean, no, I don’t. As far as I know.”

“As far as you know?” he teased. “In that case, why don’t we have Thanksgiving dinner together?”

“Of course we’re having dinner together!” I heard Ginger say in the background. “We’re making cranberry sauce together, so we’re definitely eating it together.”

Dawson laughed harder. “Of course, sweetie.” To me, “Did you hear that?”

I couldn't help but smile. “I did. I guess our plans have been made for us.”

I felt excitement at the upcoming holiday, despite my earlier disappointment. Maybe it was a good thing I didn’t have the play. I had all the time in the world to make a perfect dinner for Dawson and Ginger. I heard the beep signaling my call waiting, causing a dreadful feeling to creep up my spine. I felt like I’d forgotten something important. “Let me call you back, baby. I have another call.”

“Okay, I’ll hang up,” he said.

I looked at the screen and cringed as I remembered. My sister. I’d forgotten about my sister. “Yes, Georgie?”

“Hey, sis. How are you?”

I’d always been jealous of her raspy, sultry voice. I cleared my throat, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m fine. What about you?”

“Oh, perfect. Absolutely freakin' perfect. You’ll never believe this!”

I scowled. “Oh?”

“I got a job! Like, a real one, full time and everything. Want to know what it is?”

“Tell me!”

“I’m a flight attendant!” she announced.

“You’re kidding!” I was shocked. Georgie had never been the type to wear uniforms or work in a corporate environment.

“I told you! I knew you’d be surprised.” She laughed. “Guess what else.”

“There’s more?” I suddenly felt ill.

“Yep. I get a complimentary flight on my first month, so I’m flying to you for free!”

“That’s wonderful. When do you get here?”

“I have Thanksgiving weekend off. Well, a day and a half. But still…Isn’t that awesome?”

“It is. I’m glad I get to see you, Georgie.” I was excited – we didn’t see much of each other. I was proud of her for getting back on her feet.

“Of course, sis. How could I miss our Thanksgiving dinner tradition?”

I winced. That’s what I’d failed to tell Dawson. In my excitement, I’d forgotten to explain that my sister always came from whatever exotic place she happened to be in to share dinner like we used to before our parents died. “Oh, dear,” I whispered.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. I just…”

“You made plans.” The sadness in her voice broke my heart.

“No, no. I mean, yes. But…”

“Mari! We do this every year! What am I going to do now?”

I thought for a second. I couldn’t imagine Thanksgiving without my baby sister. But I really looked forward to being with Dawson and Ginger. To hell with convention, I decided. I was going to have my perfect holiday. “I have an idea. Don’t even think about cancelling. You come, but we might have more people around this year.”

She gasped. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you?” she asked in the sing-song voice of a little girl, mocking me. I deserved it for being scatterbrained, so I let it pass.

“It’s not really like that,” I mumbled.

“Mari has a boyfriend!” she sang, and I could picture her swirling around with a smug grin. “Who is he? Is he hot? Is he good? You know, in bed.”

“Georgie!” How embarrassing was this?

“Oh, grow up!” she said. “I want to know everything.”

“Not now,” I sighed. “You’ll meet him at dinner. But I need to call him and tell him the change in plans now, okay?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “But you owe me all the details.”

“I know.”

“I’m excited!”

We both laughed as we hung up, and I felt like things were looking up. If only Dawson would like the idea of meeting my family. My thumb hovered over the call button, trying to think of a way to break the news about my sister. When I finally gathered the courage to push it, I got voicemail. I realized I’d been hold by breath as I exhaled. “God, I’m being so silly.”

I didn’t have time to think too hard on it. I had to go buy a nice turkey before all the decent birds in a twenty mile radius were gone. I refused to settle for turkey sandwiches and canned cranberry sauce.

Shopping for a turkey was less than pleasant, and going back to the market a second day in a row seemed like a punishment for forgetting about my sister. I needed help. It was Friday afternoon, and I knew Ginger was free. I thought I heard Dawson outside, too, so I reached for my jacket and went for an impromptu visit.

I surprisingly found the front door open and pushed it in a little farther, stepping inside with curiosity. “Hello?” I called, walking through the living room.

“Mari! We’re in Daddy’s room!” Ginger called from the back of the house. I did, indeed, find them in Dawson’s room and was even more surprised to find them busy tidying up.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing much,” Dawson said. “Just Ginger, making me work for my food.”

Ginger leveled a serious gaze at me. “We need to do some cleaning. Sarah’s mother does it every year before Thanksgiving, and it’s nice.”

“Does she?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. I glanced at Dawson to see he shared my puzzlement.

“Would you like to help, Mari?” the girl asked.

I coughed to cover a laugh. “I would, baby, but I think you’ve got it under control. Besides, the house doesn’t need a lot of cleaning anyway.”

Dawson shrugged and bent to pick up a t-shirt, probably collected from another room, and put it in the laundry hamper. “Then will you just watch, Mari?”

This time, I threw my head back and laughed. “Sorry, sweetie, I have to go shopping. Again. I came to ask if you’d like to come, too, but I see that…”

“Oh, we’re coming!” Dawson shouted, interrupting my assumed rejection. “Isn’t that right, Ginger? Shopping for the perfect Thanksgiving dinner.”

She scrunched her nose, obviously torn between choices of entertaining activities. But finally, she said, “Okay. Do you have a shopping list?”

“I know what I’m going to buy, baby.”

“But you need a shopping list!” she insisted. “Or you’ll forget the most important thing, like Daddy always does.”

“Is that so?” I gave Dawson a meaningful look, amused by Ginger’s bossiness. I had to give it to her – she was right. “You are a very organized girl. Shall we make a list together, then? I still need the ingredients for your cranberry sauce anyway.”

“Of course you do. Let’s do it.” She led the way with a determinate march that would make the Third Reich jealous. “Daddy, can you show Mari the recipe? It’ll make it easier to make the list.”

The syntax was a question, but Ginger’s tone was commanding. Dawson was already searching for the recorded cooking show as I grabbed a pen and notebook, waiting patiently. “Shall we?” he asked, sitting beside me. Ginger sat at the head of the table, supervising the procedure.

“We shall.”

I turned to face the TV. The operation went smoothly, and I jotted down what I needed, after which we came up with suggestions for the rest of the meal. Ginger asked a thousand questions, many on subjects she still knew nothing about, and I felt like I was back in class, something that apparently amused Dawson greatly. I threw a couple of side glances at him, but all went well, and we were soon the proud owners of a hefty shopping list.

“Are we done?” Dawson ran an impatient hand through his hair.

“It only took half an hour!” I joked, standing to stretch.

“’It was only half an hour,’” he mocked.

“Can we go now?” Ginger called, already standing by the front door.

I nodded. “Come on, Mr. Dawson. Time to shop.”

He made a face but complied in silence. Outside, he ran to my car, shouting, “I’m driving!”

Giggling, I threw him the keys and settled Ginger in the back. By the time I took my seat, he had the engine rumbling, eager to be useful. He hadn’t been much help in determining whether to use mandarins or blood oranges. “Where to?”

I looked at him like he asked if we could fly to another planet. “Um, to the supermarket.”

He pouted his lower lip but drove off.

“Can I play a game on your phone, Daddy?” Ginger asked.

“Sure,” he told her. He gave me his phone, and I turned to pass it to Ginger. “Doesn’t she have a phone?” I whispered as she searched dozens of apps.

“No, her phone only accepts calls. No games, no apps. And she only has my number to call. Speed dial 1.” He winked, and I, once again, saw the responsible father. Absently, I reached for the dial to turn on the radio, in the mood for music. But it seemed Dawson had other ideas. “Why haven’t I heard of this mysterious sister before?” he asked.

I pulled back from the radio and frowned. “Because we don’t see each other very often. We have an annual tradition on Thanksgiving, and that’s about it. Sometimes she calls, maybe a couple times a year.”

“Why don’t you call her?” he suggested. Or maybe he was digging.

I stared out the window. “She’s a bit wild. Always traveling and changing numbers. Last time I heard from my baby sister, she was working at a casino in Vegas and living with an indie metal band. And she had a motorcycle.”

“She sounds interesting.” He was banking on the bike.

I dashed his hopes. “She can’t ride a motorcycle.”

A moment passed, and we both laughed. “Why did she get it?”

“She said she liked how it looked. And she’d just won a small fortune playing slots.”

“Aren’t casino employees prohibited from playing?” he asked suspiciously.

I nodded, smiling reluctantly. “That’s why she got fired the next day.”

“Now, I’m definitely interested,” he teased.

I scoffed. “What am I, chopped liver? Am I that boring?”

“Not at all. But you have to admit, you’re a good girl.”

I didn’t know quite what to think. Was he just teasing, or did he really have a problem with that? “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” I crossed my arms, a bit injured at his words.

But he reached out a hand to caress my cheek. “No, a good girl is exactly what I need.”

His low tone and husky voice made the butterflies in my stomach rise and flutter in a wicked dance, and I felt my cheeks flush. After a moment of silence, I said, “I think you’ll like her.”

“I’m sure I will. I trust your instincts, babe. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” The conversation trailed off, and I started to relax. But after a while, he asked, “What about your parents? Are they coming?”

I cleared my throat. “My parents are dead.”

He frowned, and I saw the regret in his eyes for asking. “I’m sorry, baby.”

I shrugged. “It’s not that bad. My mother had cancer, and it was a long illness. She died when I was eighteen, and we all expected it. I was there, and it was peaceful.” I felt his eyes on me, but I kept looking out the window. My past didn’t have a lot of drama, but it still hurt not having my mother. And as well as I held to my promise to respect her wishes and not be sad, I still had moments of tears about those times and felt like they wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want a moment like that now, so I kept my words short.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, resting his hand on my thigh. I thanked him silently, covering it with mine. He squeezed my fingers, the gesture warm and comforting.

I cleared my throat and continued, “My father died last year of a stroke. He was much older than my mother and struggled with his blood pressure all his life. And he loved his bacon.” I tried to be flippant. He said nothing, just squeezed tighter, and I added, “That was the last time I saw my sister.”

“Is that so?”

I nodded. “I think she takes after our father.”

He tilted his head in question. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, for starters, she loves her bacon, too.” He glanced at me, gauging my mood. I smiled, and so he chuckled. More seriously, I added, “He was a free spirit, an artist. And my sister…”

“Is just as interesting,” he finished for me as he pulled into the supermarket parking lot.

I watched Dawson maneuver my car into the only spot available – a tiny one – and I got out. The chill in the air settled me. I needed to get back into character. Ginger wouldn’t like it if I lagged behind, lost in thought and moody. I helped her out with a grin and checked her jacket, making sure it was straight. “Shall we?” I asked, holding my hand out to her.

She took it. “Let’s go.”