Page 65 of Betting on the Bad Boy

I plugged in the electric carving knife and proceeded to carve up the bird. “Smells good.” When I was done, Cheryl and I sat down next to Meemaw at the small table.

Meemaw waggled a bent finger at us. “Join hands. Let’s say our prayers.”

I stuck my hand out for Cheryl to take. As our skin touched, I waited for that old familiar spark. Nothing. She had no hold on me anymore.

Our hands joining us in a circle, we listened to Meemaw say grace.

“Okay, let’s eat.” I couldn’t drop Cheryl’s hand fast enough before I reached for the platter of turkey.

“This looks delicious, Mrs. Bishop.” Cheryl took the serving fork I offered and pierced a few pieces of meat.

“Well, I sure hope it’s edible. It’s nowhere near what I would have made if you two would’ve let me help.” Meemaw stuck out her lower lip in her trademark pout.

“Looks good, smells good.” I popped a bite of turkey in my mouth. “Tastes great.”

Meemaw poked me in the arm. “Mind your manners, now.”

I gave her a giant grin. “So, Cheryl, how late do you have to work tonight?”

“I go on at four and off at midnight.”

“That stinks,” I said. “Do you think it will be busy?”

“Depends on the weather. If the snow keeps falling like it has been, we’ll probably have a few car accidents to deal with. We also usually get some folks who don’t have anyone to spend Christmas with who stop by.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“They just get lonely and come in. The cafeteria gives away a free meal on Christmas, so a lot of them just drop in for some food and conversation.”

“They need to come to the senior center,” Meemaw said.

“Oh, we send them your way.” Cheryl took a sip of water. “Sometimes it’s whole families though. It’s sad to see the little kids who don’t get anything for Christmas. We usually keep a stash of gifts at the nurses’ station just in case.”

“Isn’t that sweet? Why, I’ve got some things I can send with you tonight,” Meemaw said. “I bought some stuff to donate to that toy drive the police put on, but didn’t get a chance to drop them off.”

“That would be great, Mrs. Bishop.”

I looked from Meemaw to Cheryl and back. When did she have time to go toy shopping? The capacity of my grandmother’s giant heart never failed to surprise me. The fact she let Cheryl into her home, especially her kitchen, proved she had a heart of gold.

We worked our way through a third of the small turkey and half of the trimmings before I pushed back from the table. “I can’t eat another bite.”

“Me neither,” Cheryl said. “It was delicious.”

“It was fine,” Meemaw said.

I gestured toward Meemaw. “She won’t admit it, but she thinks it was the best Christmas dinner she’s ever had.”

Meemaw crumpled up her napkin and tossed it at me. “Oh pshaw. Your gravy was lumpy, and your stuffing didn’t have near enough craisins in it.”

I laughed out loud then stood up and began to clear the table. “Cheryl, can you help her into her recliner? I’ll get started on the dishes.”

“Sure.” Cheryl stood up and offered her arm to Meemaw. “Let’s get you settled and then I’ll come back in to help.”

My arms were elbow-deep in soapy water when Cheryl re-entered the kitchen. I hummed “Jingle Bells” under my breath while I scoured the remains of dinner from the plates and serving dishes. Cheryl began to rinse the soapy dishes stacked up in the sink.

“Thanks again for inviting me for dinner,” she said.

“My pleasure. I think it was good for her to have some company. She really enjoyed it.”