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“Yet another interesting combo,” Drea decided.
“And your cousin Flynn and Carlie round it out with corn pudding.”
“How do you make pudding out of corn?” Sloan wondered.
“We’ll find out.”
With a pair of pumpkin pies in the oven, and sliced apples covered with sugar, flour, cinnamon resting in a bowl, Elsie rolled out more pie dough.
She did love it, Sloan thought. Every laborious minute of it.
In the spirit, she rose to help her sister clear the current chaos in preparation for the next round.
“Dad’s bringing pizza, right?”
“It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving Eve without pizza from Ricardo’s,” her mother answered. “And once we get the ham going, he’s on dish duty. Are you hungry?”
“No. It’s like you said, it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving Eve otherwise.” Because she needed a boost, Sloan pulled out a Pepsi. “Anybody else want a drink?”
“Sure. I call for a break after the apple pies are in. Mom needs to sit down for ten minutes before she wears out.”
Sloan shot Drea a look. “I’m fine.”
“Who’s talking about you?”
“I could use ten, and the hell with healthy. Some chips to go with that Pepsi.”
Outnumbered, Sloan took the ten.
“Oh, news from the Rest,” Drea began. “I ran into Craig from town hall when I was getting the pumpkin. The new owner of the Parker place applied for building permits—right after he settled on the place.”
“I hadn’t heard that one,” Elsie said.
“He’ll have them early next week, according to Craig. He and his brother checked on them today. Some serious work’s going to happen, according to Craig. Walls coming down, bathrooms and kitchen gutted, new windows throughout, updated wiring, plumbing, and whatever. Craig said the younger one’s more talkative and mentioned they’re starting up their business. The Fix-It Brothers.”
“Brothers.” Sloan frowned, thought back. “I wonder if that’s who I saw today. Two guys on the lake path, not that far from the Parker place if they wanted a good walk. They struck me as relatives.”
Elsie munched on a chip. “Did you talk to them?”
“No, they were well down the path.”
And she had enough trouble breathing much less talking by the time she’d walked that far.
“But they had similar builds,” Sloan continued, “body language, coloring. A lot of wavy brown hair on both of them. Anyway, it’s good someone’s willing to do that kind of work on that place. It’s needed it.
“What’s next on the list, Mom?”
While the pies cooled on a rack, the ham roasted, and Sloan helped peel countless hard-boiled eggs, Janet Anderson left her home near Deep Creek Lake to head to the grocery store.
She couldn’t believe she’d run out of butter. For the first time in her life, she’d taken on Thanksgiving dinner, and she’d run out of damn butter. She probably needed more milk, too.
She was cooking for ten people, which terrified her. Her parents, her husband of fourteen months’ parents, his brother and girlfriend, her brother and his—annoying and pregnant—wife.
And, of course, the girlfriend decided to go vegetarian, so she had tocome up with vegetarian dishes in addition to the turkey—something she’d never cooked before.
She really wanted to do a good job. Her mother-in-law was incredibly nice, warm, welcoming. And a really, really exceptional cook.
She’d taken off the whole day to make certain their pretty little starter home shined. She’d arranged fresh flowers, she had candles, wine, special cloth napkins and rings.