As I stood in the doorway, powerless to stop the chain of events that unfolded at warp speed, I had an inspirational thought of the true meaning of Thanksgiving. I looked reverently skyward and said, "Thank you Lord, for I am not carrying the sweet potatoes or the cranberries."
Scooby (or J.J., as it turned out) lifted a hand off my shoulder and popped me in the back of the head. "Shame on you, Buzz. Poor Al is covered in a rainbow of side dishes, and you're laughing."
"Poor Al, my butt! That'll teach her to wear stilettos while carrying half of a feast." I grinned as he moved to stand next to me, leaving his other arm around my shoulders. Just then, Mom came in from the dining room carrying a bowl of mashed potatoes, and I saw through the open door, Hilary trotted close on her heels, and both were looking down. "Buzz, these potatoes need butter on top. Would you–"
Wes heard Grandma Gerry's voice and scrambled for footing in the yuck displayed in colorful patches all over the kitchen floor with Al as the centerpiece. Tears of laughter ran down my face at the sight of Al draped in Kazan and deviled eggs. She lifted a dripping hand out of the bowl of cranberries and tried to yank her skirt down. She must have been in Aunt Minerva's recipe box, because if I was not mistaken, she had Jell-O salad with cottage cheese and cabbage dripping off her head and onto her collar.
With a mouthful of cornbread and applesauce dressing, Wes sprayed Al with the remaining foodstuffs on the floor as he skedaddled in one place trying to find footing on the now slick floor. He took off at a high lope as Hilary looked up to see the treasure trove of food across the room. She trotted behind Mom and hit her from behind. I looked at Wesley in Mom's flight path, and panned in on Mom gabbing away about potatoes; totally clueless that she too, headed toward certain disaster. I opened my mouth to yell, but nothing came out. I flapped my hands ineffectually at Wes, which alerted J.J. to the danger Mom walked blithely toward.
She was about two steps away and I still felt like Charlie Tuna with my mouth moving, hands flapping, and nothing but bubbles coming out. Wes must have gotten a cranberry stuffed up his nose, because he chose that moment to throw his head back and sneeze, expelling said cranberry, and at the same time, startling Mom so she hit the brakes inches from the river of dog spit and dressing on the floor.
"Whoop–
Eeeahhhhh."
She squeaked as she bobbled the bowl of mashed potatoes in her hands and spun toward me. The bowl teetered, but Mom was able to hold on and also miss the sea of side dishes on the floor. She stood clutching the bowl to her chest with one hand on the cooking island, trying to catch her breath.
Now, I'm pretty sure Mom would have made a full recovery had Fred not chosen that moment to exit the bathroom and scream, but scream she did. I guess Mom hadn't quite recovered as much as I had hoped. Fred not only startled Mom, she scared Wes and Hilary too. Wes jumped backward toward Al, and Hillary scrambled for footing, passing gas as she followed Wes.
As Hill jumped away from Fred's caterwauling, she hit Mom in the back of the legs. Fred jumped forward to grab Mom, and I jumped forward to grab the flying potatoes (I do have my priorities). Fred caught Mom and I almost caught the potatoes. I snatched the bowl from mid-air and clasped it to my breast in my best imitation of Franco Harris's "
Immaculate Reception.
"
Fortunately (or unfortunately if you were me), the open end of the bowl raced toward me and we ended up with booby-potatoes that night, but on the bright side, at least the potatoes hadn't been buttered yet. On the other hand, the damn Jell-O salad made it to the table practically unscathed. I keep trying to train Wes to eat Jell-O salad, but he is too afraid (or too smart), I think. Hilary treats Jell-O salad like a box of Cracker Jacks. She digs around in it until she finds the surprise inside.
Dad calmly watched the entire episode from the cheap seats, still leaning against the counter by the stove with a Dorito poised at his mouth. He calmly laid the bag on the counter and brushed his hands on his jeans. He looked over at J.J. and said, "Hey J.J., would you mind calling for that plant doctor fellow–what's his name again?"
"His name is Ian, Bill."
"Yeah, that's right, Dave. Call Dave and I'll get a manure shovel to get this crap cleaned up out of the kitchen." He hitched a suspender as he tip toed through the mess on the floor, and grabbed his barn coat on his way out the back door.
We all stared after him long after the door closed behind him.
20
A ruckus in the front of the house drew the attention of those of us waiting for any excuse to get out of kitchen cleanup detail. It looked to me like the boys had things well in hand, so Sam and I snuck out the kitchen door and ran like hell. We were equally surprised to see old, hearty Hank MacRone introducing himself around the room. Puzzled, I turned to Sam. "I didn't know Hank was coming."
Sam raised her eyebrows at me. "I didn't know he was even invited."
"It's not a big deal, but a little odd. He made a point of telling us he had a previous engagement elsewhere tonight…"
My mind immediately began to think of nefarious reasons why Hank would suddenly show up here out of the blue, and what kind of appointment could he have possibly had in a town where he didn't know anyone, half-way across the country? One of those prickly feelings that Hank had ulterior motives for being here shimmied up my spine.
Shut up, Buzz
,
There's a perfectly good explanation why Hank would show up at a family dinner on a holiday two thousand miles from where he lives….Not!
"Very odd indeed," I said. "But let's not ask him about it right now, Sam. We'll tell the boys not to mention it and see what Hank has to say. Would that be okay with you?"
Sam clinked her beer bottle against mine. "Okay by me. I'm just curious." Her smile faded as she looked at me. "Buzz, you don't actually think there actually is something wrong, do you?"
I observed Hank as he worked the room like an Illinois politician on the campaign trail. I stood by and nursed my beer as I watched him watch everyone else.
J.J. strolled in from the kitchen and I sidled up to him. I spoke so only he could hear. "What's up with that guy? I mean, what's your take on him?"
"I'm trying to figure his angle," he answered. "How much do you guys really know about him?"
"I only know what Fred and Sam told me. I just have this odd feeling about him that I can't explain. I keep thinking it's because I don't like him, but I have this gut feeling…"
J.J. grabbed my elbow and pushed me back toward the wall. I slapped at his hands.
He eased back. "I know, I know. It's just that I think there is more to him than he's saying. Combine that with your 'uneasiness' and it becomes more sinister by the minute."
I kept that in mind as I studied Hank. He stood next to Sam, admiring the stunning display of Marlboro Discus swimming through a cloud of Cardinal Tetras in front of them.
Hank suddenly turned and rubbed his hands together. Without preamble he said, "So where are these fish you brought with you?"
J.J. and I whipped around and together whispered,
"The fish."
Sam looked startled. "I didn't actually bring them. Evo found them if you recall. I have not examined them yet." She checked her watch. "Buzz, do we have time to fetch Evo and Fred and go down to take a look at our survivors? Alfredo and Luis moved them to Fred's breeding room."
I told her I would check and returned with both Fred and Evo. I gave them a quick heads up on my suspicions along the way. Fred told me I was full of crap and Evo muttered, "I never did like that guy." We trooped downstairs to Fred's fish room.
There were four five-gallon tanks set up for the surviving Endlers, and I could see the flashes of metallic silver, green, and orange as the busy little fellows zipped back and forth chasing females.
Hank bent close to the tank and exclaimed, "
Ha
. There you are my little beauties."
Sam stood beside him. "Ian has finished examining the dead fish, and according to the toxin numbers, he cannot understand how these little fellows could have survived."
J.J. and I stood in front of the last tank. I squinted to make my viewing better. There was a sand substrate in the tank, and I could barely make out movement in the far corner. "Uh, Sam?"
She turned. "Yes?"
"Uh, would you come over here? I think I see a Cory in the back of this tank."
"Impossible. These tanks are newly set up, and there were no Cory catfish in them. I also don't remember seeing any when Luis and Alfredo brought them in, but I only glanced at the bags; Luis and Alfredo did most of the acclimating of the fish."
Hank stepped in front of her and strode across the room. He squeezed between J.J. and me, and efficiently shoved me out of the way. "That's impossible. Let me see."
My blouse was becoming itchy and I looked down in horror to discover I still had mashed potatoes smeared across my chest. I excused myself to change out of my potato boobie blouse, and Sam went to check on the boys in the kitchen, leaving Hank with J.J., Evo, Fred, and the fish.
Once upstairs in Fred's room, I rifled through her drawers and couldn't find a thing that would work. Her style is more like trendy chic and mine is more like
Where's the beer and pretzels?
casual wear. Fred's clothes on me would have looked like Paris Hilton meets Erma Bombeck.
Frustrated, I slammed the drawer and noticed I sprinkled dried mashed potatoes on the floor. "Serves her right," I said, slamming the door on my way out.
I headed for the stairs and ran right into Evo, who exited his room. "
Ompf
. Sorry, Evo, I was preoccupied. Are you okay?"
"I'm okay. I guess you didn't find anything to wear. Either that or you are rehearsing to be your dog's new chew toy."
"Very funny. I have to run home to get something to change into, because aside from the fact that Fred is a size 10 and I'm a 14, Fred's idea of style and mine are poles apart."
"Buzz, this could be your luck day. I think my idea of style and yours might just be alike. Comfortable."
"If you have an old sweatshirt, I'm your woman." Another idea sparked in my mind. "Say, I may be able to help you with your love life, and help myself to your clothes at the same time.
Wow
. This could be
both
our lucky days."
"What do you mean by 'lucky', Buzz, and whose love life are you helping?"
I hooked an arm through his. "Come on, cowboy; let's get a load of them thar fancy new duds-o-yers, and I'll tell ya how yer gonna catch that purty little South American filly downstairs." His brow lifted, his mouth quirked, he opened his door, and bowed low as I lead the way in.
"Holy cow," I said as I walked into an outdoorsman's paradise. "Hell, Boy, did you buy out Gander Mountain or what?"
"I bought jeans, polo shirts, sweat shirts, tank tops, and over shirts…" As he ran down the list as he threw an example of each on the bed.
"Evo, stop! This is more clothes than I own, and you're only here on vacation. Let me grab a sweatshirt and I'll be fine. Thank–"
"No, no. Wait a minute; I have the perfect thing, I think." He rummaged through the clothes and came up with a pink T-shirt and a black and pink plaid flannel shirt. "Here, Buzz. This is more your color. It's also plenty big enough to go over your…uh, your…your…you know…" He dropped a flannel shirt on a chair and made lifting gestures around the pectoral area of his chest.
I laughed and Evo turned a dark shade of red. I thought he was going to pass out. He spun around to the mountain of clothes in the chair. He yanked out the pink T-shirt and shoved it at me. "I hate pink. The lady at the store, she said it would be sexy with my black hair, and Tony grabbed it. I think she just wanted a date. I was going to change the oil in the truck while wearing it, but here, you take it." He shoved the offending shirt under my nose.
I snatched it out of his hand "It so happens that I love pink. Turn around so my sports bra doesn't offend your delicate sensibilities." He did. I ripped off the potato blouse and slid the T-shirt over my head. I tied the soft flannel shirt at my waist and Evo surveyed the handiwork.
"Gee, Buzz, you look great. You look a hell of a lot better in pink than I would have. You look like–"
"Mine?"
I spun toward the door and saw J.J. lounging against the jamb. I realized he'd been standing there watching me and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yours, my sweet patootie, you butt head. We're not in public, Green, so you can knock off the silly stuff. How long have you been standing there?"
Evo took that moment to back away from the sparks.
J.J. just stood against the jamb with a thumb hooked in his belt, and smiling that small smile that shows off his dimples.
Does he do that on purpose?
"Long enough," was all he said.
Evo looked panic-stricken and he blurted, "Doesn't she look great in that shirt? She was full of potatoes and she going to go home to change. I had this shirt I didn't like and…"
J.J. stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He slowly reached up and took the Silver-Belly off his head. He set it on a dresser and folded his arms over his chest. "And where exactly did she change into your clothes, Castillo?"