The Dark Divine (14 page)

I woke up early to the sound of wind battering my window. I shivered and shook in my bed. Daniel was
right. He didn’t need anybody. I’d been fooling myself in that garden. Daniel didn’t need my lifeline. He didn’t need
me
at all.

I pulled my comforter over my shoulders and hunched into a ball, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t find warmth in my bed.

The clinking of flatware in the distance was evidence that my mother was already setting the table in anticipation of today’s Thanksgiving dinner to end all dinners.

I decided to get an early start on making amends for yesterday’s absence and lurched out of bed. The sleepiness in my brain vanished the second my feet hit the frigid hardwood floor. I scurried over to the closet and pulled on my slippers and robe and then made my way downstairs.

Mom had two of the tables from the parish’s social hall pushed together so they stuck out into the foyer from the dining room. They were draped with pressed linen tablecloths the shade of maple leaves, and she was setting places for at least twenty-five with her best china and crystal goblets. Festive floral arrangements and candles adorned the table instead of the usual papiermâché pilgrims I’d helped her make when I was nine.

“Looks nice,” I said from the last step.

Mom almost dropped a plate. She steadied herself and placed it on the table. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t need you up until a quarter to six to get the pies started.”

Obviously, all had not been forgiven yet.

I sighed. “I was awake anyway.” I rubbed my hands together. “You could stand to turn up the heat, though.”

“It will get plenty warm in here when the ovens get going and this place starts filling up with people. We’ve got a crowd this year. I’m doing two turkeys.” She placed silverware around the table as she spoke. “But that means the pies need to be done by eight at the latest. I bought fixings for two of your caramel apple pies and a couple of spiced pumpkin. Your dad is making his famous crescent rolls, so we need to time those just right.”

“Thank goodness for two ovens.”

“Like I said, it will get plenty warm in here.”

“But can’t we turn up the heat for a few minutes?” I peeked through the window curtains and was actually surprised that the lawn was still bare and dead and not blanketed with snow. “Aren’t you afraid Baby James will freeze to death or something?”

Mom almost laughed. “It’s not
that
cold.” She came up and swatted me on the butt. “Go get an early start on those pies. Or if you’re so cold you can go work up a sweat helping Jude clean out the storage room.”

“The storage room?”

“Somebody might want a tour of the house.” I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t have to show them the storage room.”

Mom shrugged. “Jude was up looking to get his penance over with an hour ago, and we both know that your father is the only male in this family who can cook.”

“Oh.” I didn’t bother to point out that she could have had Jude set the table because she was repositioning the floral centerpieces to be exactly the same distance apart. “Is April still coming?”

“Yes. Didn’t she tell you?” Mom gave me an inquisitive glance.

“Seems like she talks more to Jude these days than she does me.” I knew it was petty to be bothered by April and Jude hanging out—but I couldn’t help it.

Mom wrinkled her nose. “I guess that explains why he seems so anxious lately.” She clucked her tongue.

“I guess so.” I fingered the tie of my robe. “April is a good person.”

“I’m sure she is.” Mom adjusted the fold on one of the linen napkins. “I’m sure she is.”

“Um, I guess I’ll get dressed and then start in the kitchen.”

“That would be nice,” she mumbled, and started straightening all the goblets.

PIES

Mom was right. Things got pretty heated around the house later that morning. It all started when Dad revealed that he had no idea Mom wanted him to make
his famous crescent rolls for the festivities.

“You never asked me,” Dad said after she made a snippy remark about how he should have gotten started on the dough a half hour before.

“You make them every year.” She banged a tray of dried bread chunks onto the counter. “I shouldn’t have to ask.”

“Yes, you should. I’m not in the mood for baking right now. And I’m not in the mood for this big dinner, either.”

“What do you mean?” Mom swatted the bread crumbs into her mixing bowl and jabbed at them with her wooden spoon. “I put this big dinner together for
you.”

“You should have asked me, Meredith,” he said from the other side of the counter. “I don’t want all these people coming over. I don’t want a big fancy dinner. I don’t even know if I feel like giving thanks today.”

“Don’t say things like that!” Mom brandished her wooden spoon. A brownish glob landed at my feet. Neither of my parents seemed to notice that I was still in the kitchen making filling for my caramel apple pies.

“If it’s such a problem for you,” Mom said, “then I’ll do the rolls, and the turkeys, and the stuffing, and the cranberries, and the mashed potatoes, and the green bean casseroles, and the spinach salads. All you’ll have to do is say the blessing and put on a happy face for the crowd.” Mom stabbed the spoon back in her bowl.

“You are these people’s pastor. They don’t want to hear you talking like that.”

Dad slammed his fist onto the counter. “Like what, Meredith? Like what?” He stormed out of the room and into his study before Mom could respond.

“Insufferable man,” she mumbled, “thinks he isn’t worth anything if he can’t save the whole world.” She marched over to the fridge and flung open the door. She riffled through the shelves and swore under her breath.

I cleared my throat and made loud noises as I scraped apples into my piecrusts.

Mom stiffened, no doubt realizing I had been there through that whole exchange. “Finish those pies,” she snapped. “And then run over to Apple Valley and get some cranberries. The berries. Not that canned garbage.”

Mom slammed the fridge door. Her shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry. I forgot,” she said. “They were out at Day’s Market yesterday and I forgot to check elsewhere. I think Super Target opens at seven for a few hours.” She opened the fridge again. “Would you mind running to get a couple of things?”

“Not at all.” Normally, I would have grumbled and whined on principle at being asked to run errands on such a frigid morning, but that was one heated kitchen I was anxious to get out of.

LATER THAT MORNING

I drifted without direction up and down the grocery aisles, unable to remember what I’d come to the store to get in the first place. I’d left the house as soon as I stuck my pies in the ovens—and, in my haste, left the dozen-item shopping list Mom had dictated to me on the counter.

That was the second time in a week that I’d heard my parents shout at each other. Had things been strained at my house for longer than I realized? I thought of Dad holed up in his study for the last month. And Mom flipping into perfection overdrive wasn’t a new thing. The first time I’d noticed it was a few days after Charity and I had come home from our unplanned trip to Grandma Kramer’s three years ago. I’d found Mom frantically trying to brush, measure, and cut all the fringe on the area rugs to be the exact same length. Dad hid the scissors for weeks after that. I guess I’d been too young to fully clue in to the weirdness between them then. And, of course, no one ever talked about it.

Was this how it started for April’s family? Was this anything like it had been for Daniel in his broken home?

But I knew it had been worse for him. My parents’ shouting was nothing like what Daniel had lived through.

I dropped a bag of cranberries into my basket and pushed all thoughts of Daniel aside. I foraged through the picked-over shelves for whatever else I could remember from the list, paid for my stuff, and headed back home.

When I opened the door into the mudroom, I was slammed by a wall of stench. Something was burning. I dropped my grocery bags and ran to the kitchen. All but one of my pies was cooling on the counter. I yanked open the oven door. Black smoke billowed out, making me cough and gag. I pushed open the window above the sink and tried to direct the smoke outside. But it was too late. The smoke detector started screaming from the hallway.

I covered my ears and ran for Dad’s study. The detector was right in front of the closed doors. I flung the doors open and was surprised that Dad wasn’t in there—and even more surprised that no one else in the family had responded to the screeching alarm.

I struggled to open the study window, almost snagging my hand on a protruding nail in the sill. Stupid old house. I finally pried the window open and grabbed a book from the stacks on my father’s desk. I used it to fan the smoke away from the detector until the blaring stopped.

My ears were still ringing as I took the book back to the tower of babble that used to be Dad’s desk—books and notes were scattered everywhere in heaps. The
book I held was cased in crackling leather and looked older than anything I had ever checked out of the local Rose Crest library branch. A delicate hooded flower was etched in silver on the cover. The title was also engraved in worn silver:
Loup-Garou
.

I’d never heard such a word. I flipped the book open. It was all in what I assumed was French. I checked the next book in the stack where I’d gotten the first. This one didn’t look quite as old, but it was just as battered.
Lycanthropy: Blessing or Curse?
I was about to open it when I saw a long, slender velvet box sitting in the stacks of papers. It looked like one of those necklace boxes from a high-end jewelry store. I put down the book and popped open the lid of the box. It held Don’s silver knife. The one I’d locked in Dad’s office over at the parish. Why would Dad bring it here? And why would he leave it out like this with a toddler in the house?

The front door rattled open.

“What on earth?” Mom’s voice echoed down the hall.

I stuck the knife box on the highest shelf of the bookcase and went out to meet her.

Mom had James on her hip and a Day’s Market bag in her hand. “Great. I forgot one of the pies, didn’t I?”

I nodded. Though I felt like it was my fault for taking so long at the store.

“Just great!” she said. “I remembered a few more
groceries just after you left, so I ran over to Day’s…. And now the house stinks. Just what I need.”

I contemplated reopening my petition for a cell phone but thought better of it as James started to fuss when Mom tried to put him down. He wrapped his legs around her knee and clung to her shirt. I offered to take him from her.

Mom peeled him from her legs and handed him over.

“It’ll air out,” I said, and tried to bounce James on my hip.

Why did it seem like
I
was the one holding everyone together lately?

James dropped his blanket in a desperate attempt to jump from my arms to Mom’s. “Banket!” he shrieked, and burst into tears, kicking his Curious George slippers against my legs.

I picked it up and wadded it into a puppet. “Mwah, mwah,” I said, and pretended to kiss his face. His whines turned to laughter, and he hugged his blanket in his skinny little arms.

“I’ll open a few more windows,” I said to Mom, “and then find Charity so she can entertain Baby James while I help you cook.”

“Thanks.” Mom rubbed her temples. “Charity should be back soon. She went over to the Johnsons’ to feed their birds. Tell her to make James some lunch in a couple of hours. Dinner is at three, so I want him to
go down for a nap by two. Oh, but we’ll have to put him down in his Portacrib in the study. Aunt Carol will be staying in his room.”

Great. Just who my dad needed today—Aunt Carol.

DINNER