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In their little house, tucked in the West Virginia woods and hills, Clara and Sam enjoyed Clara’s roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, and corn bread. The creamed corn, green beans, and cranberry sauce came from cans, but the gravy and stuffing Clara made like her grandmother taught her had a nice addition of blood from the resurrected.
This had been an older gentleman from the Farmington area who’d been brought back from a cardiac arrest.
Before they’d drained him, he’d told them he’d heard his mother’s voice coming to him from a bright light. How he’d felt young again, his vision sharper, his steps toward that light quicker.
That had pleased Clara very much, and she felt Wayne Carson’s contribution to their mission, and now their holiday meal, was something to be thankful for.
“This gravy’s terrific, babe.”
“I’m so glad you like it.” She beamed at him through the two white tapers she’d put out to add some class and romance. “My granny taught me how to make it. I told you how my mother couldn’t cook worth spit, but my granny, she knew her way around the kitchen.”
“That pumpkin pie’s going to go down good, too.”
“It was fun making it together.” She reached over for his hand, squeezed tight. “You and me? We do everything good together, doll.”
He squeezed back, added a wink. “And one thing better than all the rest.”
“Oh, you!” Slapping at the air, she giggled. “Nobody ever loved me like you do, Sam. With your heart and your body. I know it was meant for us to meet when we did, but sometimes I can’t help but wish we’d met when I was young enough to give you a child.”
“Babe, you’re everything I could want. You gave me purpose when every day was just a get-through-it. You opened my mind to that purpose.”
Her heart just sang. “I’d never be able to do what we’re meant to do without you. Before you, I just didn’t have the courage. We’ve gotsome more possibilities, but I think it’s best we wait a couple weeks. Maybe even a month.”
“You’ll know when it’s time. You always do.”
“I will,” she agreed. “I was given that gift.” She ate the last of the potatoes and gravy on her plate. “They’re out looking for Janet Anderson. They just don’t understand, doll, that she’s finally at peace. All those people fretting over her when she’s gone to her reward.
“I’m thankful we were able to give her that gift. How about another helping?”
He shook his head. “Like my pap used to say, enough’s as much as plenty.”
“I’ll get the pie and the Reddi-wip.”
“I was thinking, why don’t we do the other thing we do so well before pie? I sure am thankful for that!”
“Oh, you!” She giggled and slapped the air again. Then she got up. “Gotta catch me!” And ran toward the bedroom.
When he caught her, and they tumbled onto the bed she’d made that morning, complete with neat hospital corners and flowered bedspread, she wrapped around him.
“I sure do love you, Sam.”
“I sure do love you, Clara.” He nuzzled into her neck. “When I think last Thanksgiving I was on my own. I didn’t have you, didn’t have love, or purpose, or the enlightenment you brought to me.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, doll.”
He filled his hands with her big soft breasts. “Happy Thanksgiving, babe.”
In the Cooper house, post-dinner/pre-dessert chaos reigned. Some gathered in the kitchen, dealing with dishes, the leftovers, and talked as if they hadn’t already talked more than an hour over dinner.
Others flopped down with football on the big screen in the family room downstairs, and shouted their triumph or disappointment.
Drea, their cousin, and his, yes, adorable boyfriend took some of the kids out for sledding and snowman building.
Happy but tired, Sloan gave in to the fatigue and slipped upstairs for a twenty-minute nap.
Though she admitted as she rose, as she freshened up, she could’ve taken an hour, she told herself the twenty did the trick.
She’d eaten what she could, little bites of everything she liked. She wasn’t sure how she’d manage pie, but she’d try.