Mesa, AZ
Thursday

A song about seasons came on the radio, and North Wind laughed softly.

Like everyone in Arizona, he knew that the state had only one season: summer. Okay, there was the brief cold snap in March where the temperature would dip to around ninety, but as far as it went, Arizona had the longest summer in the country.

Speaking of country… He went to the CD player and pressed the ”˜play’ button. White Feather liked country, and Kenny Rodgers had some great romantic songs.

He took stock of the setting.

The enchiladas were cooking in the horno, the clay oven that his family had used for generations to make such delicacies although enchiladas were a decidedly modern American dish, cucumber-tomato salad was chilling in the fridge, and the rice was steaming nicely.

He added a dash of ground cayenne pepper to the rice and stirred it gently before heating the tortillas and checking that the cactus jelly was chilled.

His parents had given their consent, her parents had given theirs, and their respective tribal shamans, had agreed to join him and White Feather in marriage.

North Wind looked at his reflection in the mirror one last time. His ebony hair was still black, neatly combed, parted down the center, and braided; his bronze skin was still copper and mercifully acne-free for a change; his eyes were still coal black and framed by rimless glasses; and he was still a Hopi.

A Hopi marrying a Navajo was scandalous in his parents’ time, and unheard of in his grandparents’ day. The two tribes had been at war since the beginning of time. Marriage was between a Hopi and a Navajo was unthinkable… until now.

He looked around his dining room to make sure everything was perfect.

The table was set, the music was playing softly, and the enchiladas and rice were almost ready.

Brave, tall, and the iconic image of Indian dignity and pride, North Wind was glad he was alone when the doorbell rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. Getting spooked by a doorbell wasn’t something he’d live down any time soon.

This was it.

White Feather, tall, willowy, and graceful as ever, smiled kindly when North Wind opened the door. She wore simple moccasins, and a beautifully-beaded leather dress. She looked like she could’ve stepped out of any of a dozen postcards that the gawking tourists visiting the reservations sent to families elsewhere.

To North Wind, White Feather was a vision of serenity, elegance, and beauty. Was it any wonder his heart had been captured like a like a rabbit in a snare?

White Feather walked into the house and smiled. “You’re cooking?”

North Wind’s face became a tad closer to copper than was normal for him. “I’d walk across the ceiling for you.”

White Feather’s tan face was broken by a dazzling smile that made North
Wind’s heart soar and a smile cross his face. “What’s the occasion?”

“You,” North Wind held a chair for his friend of nearly twenty years. “I thought that since this was a day when everyone else gathers to give thanks and our people mourn what was done to us over the years, we could start our own tradition.”

“Sounds good.” White Feather poured cool, clear water for herself and North Wind while her friend took enchiladas out of the horno.

White Feather served the rice while North Wind served the enchiladas and went for the sauce. “You’re careful with the enchiladas.”

“I don’t want to ruin them.” North Wind set warm tortillas and cool prickly-pear jelly on the table. He froze when he realized he had forgotten the most important part of the meal.

He looked at the counter, the table, and then at the barstools at his counter, but it wasn’t there. He’d last seen it in the kitchen on the counter near the sink.

A surge of worry flooded him when he realized he had no idea where the hand-crafted ring he’d paid Running Bird to make had gone. He didn’t think it fell into the sink. He’d had have heard it fall if it had so that meant it likely fallen into...

He bit his lip when he realized where it had gone.

Hesitantly, he took White Feather’s hands in his, their palms pressed together, and their fingers laced. This was the part where, in the custom that they’d made for themselves, they said something romantic to the other before sitting down to eat. He was hosting, so White Feather had to speak first.

White Feather thought for a moment, rehearsing what she wanted to say. She had worked so hard on finding the right words and then learning them in Hopi. She didn’t want to ruin it by bad timing, rushing, or mumbling. “Your eyes shine like the stars on a night with no moon, and your smile makes the sun hide in envy.”

North Wind met White Feather’s eyes evenly and he spoke in a soft, gentle tone, hoping he didn’t mangle what little Navajo he knew. “The engagement ring fell into your enchilada when I was cooking. Be careful when you chew.”

White Feather’s eyebrows knit slightly. “Okay,” she answered slowly.

North Wind wished the floor would open up and swallow him. He’d meant to say something romantic, and that was by no means what he’d had in mind. “That was so not what I wanted to say.”

“It was certainly different,” White Feather agreed with a smile. “Not the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, but it’ll make a great story when people ask how you proposed.”

His face burning, North Wind looked at the table and then White Feather. There was still time to salvage the moment. The question was how to do it. “Can we just skip to the kiss?”

In reply, White Feather walked around the table and gave her future husband a tender kiss. “Yes and… yes.”

“I didn’t think they’d ever leave,” Bob declared. He wrapped his arms around me from behind as I juggled a stack of dirty plates.

“Stop it.” I ordered. “If I drop these, then you’re going to be cleaning up the mess,” I threatened.

He nuzzled into my neck. “You know that I can’t resist you when your hands are full,” he whispered.

I shrugged, trying to dislodge him. “I know, Thanksgiving dishes are just so sexy. It’s a wonder that Victoria’s Secret doesn’t have a line of them. They could display them next to the red teddies.”

He moved up to my ear. “Sounds like a plan. Maybe you should patent it.”

I made a quick spin and broke away from his embrace. “Time for that later. Now it’s time to clean up this mess. Why don’t you give me a hand? After all, your family created most of the mess.” I darted into the kitchen before he had time to respond.

He followed me in, carrying part of a pumpkin pie in one hand a fork in the other. “You know, this isn’t half bad,” he said around a mouthful of pie.

I grabbed a can of spray whipped cream that was sitting on the counter. “Isn’t half bad?” I asked with mock outrage. “Doesn’t that imply that it is only slightly better than half good?” I slowly advanced on him, armed with the whipped cream. “You have five seconds to correct your statement.”

“Or you’ll top my pie with whipped cream?” he asked hopefully.

“You wish! Five...four...three...” I marched closer.

“This is absolutely the most fabulous pumpkin pie ever made. Never in the history of man has such a pumpkin pie existed. All of the pumpkin pies of Julia Childs, Emeril Lagasse and Paula Dean combined couldn’t come close to rivaling this pie. If I were to die tonight, your pumpkin pie would be a sweet taste on my lips...”

“OK, you’ve redeemed yourself. Here, let me top your absolutely fabulous pie with some whipped cream.” I sprayed a generous amount on his pie.

“Love 'ems,” he said.

“I love you, too.” I stretched up to give him a kiss and he leaned down to meet me, closing his eyes. I quickly added some whipped cream to the tip of his nose.

“That’s for not helping me clear the table!” I shouted over my shoulder as I made a dash for the dining room.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he threatened. I circled, keeping the dining room table between us.

“What do you mean?” I innocently asked.

“Taking advantage of a man when his eyes are closed. That’s just not right.”

“Really? You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

“I don’t remember whipped cream being involved.”

“You have something on your nose. Are you saving it for later?”

“You really want to pay for this, don’t you?”

I laughed as we continued our dance around the table.

“You started this,” I pointed out.

“How? By spraying whipped cream on your nose? Oh, wait - that was you.”

“By eating pie instead of helping with the dishes. If you apologize nicely, I’ll forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” Suddenly he lunged across the table, reaching for me.

I dodged to the left and thought I was safe - until I felt a tug on my apron. I tried to slip out of it, but he reeled me in like a fish on a line.

“My fault, huh?” he growled. He grabbed the whipped cream out of my hand. “Here’s a necklace to say I’m sorry.”

Before I could stop him, he sprayed a circle of whip cream at the base of my neck. I screamed as the cold cream hit my skin.

“That’s freezing! You evil man!” I tried to wrestle the can away from him, but he held it just out of my reach. I jumped for it - and my “necklace” slid a little lower.

“Your necklace is dripping,” he observed. He threw the can into the kitchen. “Let me help you with that.”

He leaned down and started to nibble the sensitive area behind my ear.

“I don’t think my necklace goes that high.” My voice was husky with passion.

“I want to make sure that I don’t miss any of it,” he whispered.

His tongue made interesting patterns as he worked his way down to the base of my neck. His hot breath was a sharp contrast on skin chilled by the whipped cream. I leaned against the table for support as he gently traced the pattern of the necklace, removing the sweet cream.

“Mmmmm...much better than pie,” he murmured. “Now for the drip.”

I stifled a soft groan as his tongue followed a trail down from my neck. Lower and lower. Heat pooled in my body. I struggled for a rational thought.

“We should clean up the dishes,” I finally managed.

“Be quiet and I’ll do them tomorrow,” he promised.

And he did.

A gentle breeze sifted through the blazing leaves of the trees that grew on a gently sloping hill. The bright reds, oranges, and yellows, framed against a baby blue sky, added an almost surreal touch to the scene. All this encompassed a small, blue and white, Victorian-style house.

A fire crackled in the hearth within the homely little dwelling, casting a warm, flickering glow against the antique furniture situated around it.

From her place in the center of the kitchen, Kiera McCormick stood, hands on hips, her lips pursed, as she stared at the pile of cooking ingredients scattered across the counter. She then cast her gaze to the small kitchen table to one side of the room. There was so much to do! Where was she to begin?

Kiera was a relatively new bride, having married David McCormick only two months earlier. They had moved into David’s great-grandparents’ old house, and it had quickly become a comfortable home. But it was far removed from either of their families, and this particular day was Thanksgiving day. David, being only a novice firefighter, didn’t make very much money, and Kiera herself only made a meager sum working as a librarian in town. Currently they didn’t have the money to fly anywhere. And so they were stuck here, in the little Victorian house in the country.

Silently Kiera thought back to the time she and David had first met. On a dare, he had asked her to go with him to a fall banquet. She remembered him saying very clearly that Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday. He told her all about the pies, and vegetables, and dressings that his grandmother would make on that special occasion. He had gotten a dreamy look in his eye when told her about his grandmother’s turkey. Yes, Thanksgiving was definitely his favorite holiday.

But this year he wouldn’t be able to go to his grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving. It was because of this that Kiera was now preparing to make the biggest meal she had ever cooked in her life: an entire Thanksgiving feast. She wanted to make this day special for David.
After a few minutes of trying to figure out where to start, Kiera brushed back a strand of loose auburn hair and set to work preparing the enormous meal.

Occasionally she glanced out the kitchen window to the rolling hills beyond, their gentle slopes clothed in autumn splendor. It was beautiful, but lonely, reminding her that she still had several hours to go before her husband returned home.

At last she finished all the preparations, put the turkey in the oven, and made her way into the small sitting room. Satisfied that she could at last relax, Kiera curled up on the couch and picked up a book that had been lying on the coffee table.

However, no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the book in her hands, her eyes kept drifting back to the dancing flames in the hearth nearby. Her eyelids drooped, and her head began to nod.

“Come on, Kiera,” she muttered to herself. “You can’t fall asleep now.”
But it was a hopeless cause, and the young woman soon slipped off to sleep, her dreams full of cooking pies and stuffed turkeys.

A few hours later she awoke with a start. The house was dark and the smell of burnt something-or-other hung heavy in the air.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, bounding from the couch. “The turkey!”
Quickly she shot up off the couch, her bare feet striking the polished wooden floor with a thud.

Down the hall she sped, wondering how long she had been asleep. She burst around the corner, then froze, staring.

A golden tablecloth had been draped over the small kitchen table, and candles had been lit and placed in its center. And there before her, setting the table with the chinaware they had received as a wedding gift, was David. He glanced up when she appeared in the doorway, and a gentle smile caressed his lips.

“Good-morning, sleeping beauty,” he grinned, leaving the plates on the table and crossing the room to meet her.

“David, I-”

He reached out, drawing her into a warm embrace, placing a kiss on her lips and silencing what ever apology might have come from her.

“Sit down,” he said at last, motioning for her to take a seat at the little table.

Dumbfounded, she did as she was told and watched as her husband placed the food before her: pies, veggies, dressings, and all the fixings. Then came the turkey. Kiera cringed at the sight of it. It didn’t look much like a turkey anymore. A giant lump of coal would have been a better way to describe it.

Sheepishly the young woman glanced up as David settled down in the seat to her right.

“David, I’m so sorry!” she suddenly burst, a knot forming in her throat as she fought back the tears of embarrassment and frustration. “I just sat down for a break and I fell asleep. I should have set an alarm or something. I just…I just wanted to make this a good Thanksgiving for you.”

He didn’t seem to be listening. Instead he was concentrating on pouring champagne into a pair of crystal wineglasses.
Kiera blinked back the tears that glistened in her eyes when she saw that the wineglasses were the same ones she and David had used on their wedding day.

Just then he glanced up at her with his soft brown eyes and, handing her one of the glasses, said, “K-bear, you don’t need to apologize. I have you right here with me. What more could I ask for?”

He then scooted his chair closer to hers and, wrapping his arm around her waist, lifted his glass in the air.

“A toast,” he said, drawing her closer to himself, “to the best Thanksgiving ever.”

Six months, eleven days, two hours, and some change.

These were the numbers running through Raymond's head as the satin-covered box in his pocket beat lightly against his leg with every footstep. They described how long he had officially been dating his sweetheart, Sophia; and he planned to propose to her that evening at her family's huge Thanksgiving dinner.

He swallowed hard as the reality of his intentions hit him full force. He was going to ask the woman he loved to marry him in front of roughly twenty strangers that he wanted to make his family by default. Not only that, but these twenty strangers probably loved Sophia just as much as he did, if in a different way. And if he didn't give them a good impression of himself, he would probably be walking back into the local diamond boutique Forever Yours within a week, rejected ring and the receipt that came with it in hand. He breathed in deeply, pushing this scenario far from his mind. Sophia flashed a bright smile his way and squeezed his hand in reassurance, thinking he was just nervous to meet her family.

She didn't even know the half of it.

"You'll be <i>fine</i>, Ray, trust me. They'll love you just as much as I do." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "I just <i>know</i> it!"

<i>That would be ideal</i>, Ray thought, smiling at the feel of her lips on his freshly-shaven skin, <i>but even if they don't love me </i>that<i> much, as long as you fall asleep with my ring on your finger tonight, I think I'll be okay.</i>

From the moment he pressed the doorbell to the moment he reached into his pocket at the dinner table, the minutes flew past. Sophia's Grandma Julie hustled them in, complimenting Sophia on what a "handsome boy" she'd brought with her (with Ray scoffing inwardly at her choice of pronoun). Ray shook hands with her Grandpa Jim and Uncle Jonathan. Jim and Jonathan asked a series of questions from the same script Sophia's father had, it seemed like, making sure he was on the up-and-up. Before he knew it, dinner was served and he was invited to help carve the turkey. He complimented the women that had prepared the meal accordingly, and the family dug in like they'd been starved their whole lives until that day. As soon as the last fork rested on a plate, time seemed to freeze in anticipation. Conversation continued, but Ray knew that his ideal moment could come and go if he let it. Finally, Sophia's mother offered to start on cleaning the dishes.

"Excuse me, Paulina," Ray began. "I want to say something before you leave. And, of course, I would love to help when I'm finished." He felt a blush creep up his neck as he realized he was probably laying it on a little thick. Paulina watched him carefully, sitting back in her chair again. Ray cleared his throat and continued.

"Sophia and I went on our date about six months ago. We'd planned to see a play, couldn't find parking anywhere near the theater and had to walk a mile in the pouring rain, and found out when we finally got there that the play was sold out. Trying to make the most of it, as she does of any situation, Sophia suggested that we go to a restaurant right down the street. I agreed, and when we got there, we waited an hour and fifteen minutes to get a table for two in a dark corner right next to the kitchen door. One of the waiters tripped over his own shoes and dropped an entire tray loaded down with Italian food and three glasses of red wine into our laps. I was kicking myself at that moment, blaming myself for every mishap when Sophia burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that I was afraid she was crying. When I asked what was wrong, though, she looked at me and said, through her giggles, that she'd never had so many unfortunate things happen in one day before, but that somehow, she loved the irony of every bit of it.

"I'd never expected to be graced with her presence again, regardless of whether she'd been laughing or crying, but called her the next day, hoping against all hope that she would give me another shot to sweep her off her feet. Much to my surprise, as you can imagine, she accepted. Our second date, fortunately, went much smoother. Not that it really mattered to me."

Ray looked over at Sophia and smiled bashfully.

"I knew I loved her on that first date - the way she smiled, the way she laughed, and most importantly at the time, the way she tried to make something good come out of all the misfortunes of the day. I loved her then. And here, six months later, I know I want to spend the rest of my life with this beautiful, smart, witty young woman."

He pushed his chair out behind him with one foot, kneeling in the same motion. He pulled the satin box out of his pocket and held it open before her.

"Sophia, will you give me the honor of being able to call myself your husband? Will you be my wife?"

Not a soul in the room stole a breath. Sophia had raised her hands to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at Ray.

"Really?" she asked. Ray nodded, smiling. "Oh, Ray! Yes! Yes, I would love to marry you!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him in front of everyone. Her family started clapping for the newly engaged couple, and as she pulled away, he took her left hand, sliding his delicate diamond ring on her just-as-delicate third finger, declaring her forever his. After admiring the ring, he looked at her and whispered, "I love you, Sophia."

“Cream cheese, cherries, sugar, cocoa…” For a brief moment I felt like Santa, making my list and checking it twice. But the throng of people and the squeak of shopping cart wheels quickly brought me back to reality. Thanksgiving was here.

At the first break in traffic I merged my cart back into the flow. Just a few more items and my cooking marathon could begin. I was stuck in a gaper’s block at the “Buy Two, Get One Free” stuffing when I noticed him.

I’m not sure which drew my attention - the hot pink shopping list or the look of intense concentration on his face. Before I could stop myself, I was dodging across the aisle. Shocked by my impulsiveness, I picked up a can and pretended to study the label.

“This is harder than it looks, isn’t it?” His deep voice rumbled in my ear then shook my soul. I glanced down at the can in my hands - "Whole White Potatoes."

I laughed. “Not really, just lost in thought. Big day tomorrow.”

He gave a crooked smile. “Tell me about it. You’d think the Queen was going to be personally sampling our turkey and fixings. If I don’t come back with the right stuff, life as we know it might cease to exist.”

I returned his smile. “We can’t let that happen. Is there anything I can do to help?”

He pointed to an item on his list and I checked out his hands. Strong, clean - and ringless. I tried to suppress a surge of hope.

“Here it is. Canned sweet potatoes.” He gestured to the shelf. “If there’s a can of sweet potatoes anywhere in this store, I’ll eat this list. But I don’t dare go home without them.” He gave an exaggerated sigh of despair. “Looks like I’ll be spending Thanksgiving in the produce aisle.”

“We can’t let that happen. Your wife wants them canned, not fresh?” I asked.

“Wife?”

I looked pointedly at his list. “Pink just doesn’t seem your color.”

He chuckled, a warm, rich sound, and his eyes blue eyes sparkled. “Sorry, no wife.”

I mimicked his sigh of despair. “Boyfriend?”

“Worse. Sister. Older sister with a passion for colors that I can’t name.”

“Fuchsia.”

“Bless you - or gesundheit, as grandpa used to say.”

“The color is fuchsia - or pink, as my grandpa used to say.”

He laughed. Not one of those shallow, ha-ha funny laughs, but a real laugh, the contagious kind that comes from your soul. Shoppers around us smiled as I joined in.

“OK, back to your potato problem.” I reached for his list and our fingers brushed. I froze as electricity tingled through my body.

“Trust me, I’ve never had any problems with my...potato.” Our eyes locked and suddenly I was falling into a whirlpool of deep blue.

“Excuse me.” The moment was broken as a harried mother reached around us and grabbed a can of yams with one hand and a darting child with the other.

“Your sister left out a little detail - canned sweet potatoes are commonly sold in the United States as - drum roll, please...” I dramatically pulled a can off the shelf. “Yams. But don’t take my word for it.” I turned it around and pointed to the ingredients list. “Contains: Sweet Potatoes.”

He wrapped his fingers around the yams - and my hand. “Now you know I’m single; a married man would have known that.”

“You definitely passed the test.” My voice was breathy, as if I’d run a marathon. He didn’t make any effort to remove his hand; instead, his thumb started to slowly caress the inside of my wrist, sending fire through my veins. I stifled a soft groan.

“Excuse me.” An older woman reached between us to get her yams. “Newlyweds,” she muttered.

I blushed, embarrassed at her implication. He laughed and took the yams from me.

“So, is she crotchety or psychic?” he asked. His smile was casual but heat still burned in his eyes.

“Well, most newlyweds at least know each other’s names, so I’m voting for crotchety,” I teased.

“Jake,” he said.

“Lisa,” I responded.

We watched as the elderly woman slowly hobbled down the aisle. A small child cut her off and I waited for a sharp response. Instead, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. Laughter filled the store and brought smiles to the other shoppers’ faces.

“I’m voting for psychic,” he said.

“Wouldn’t want to tempt fate,” I replied.

“No, wouldn’t want to do that. Bad karma. Are you free Friday night?”

The desire in his eyes was echoed in mine.

This was going to be a Thanksgiving to remember.

He sits at the desk in the corner, head in hand, slowly drowning in red ink. “I don’t know how we’re going to make it,” he says. “I just don’t know.”

She has been keeping out of his way, letting him get on with it, but now she offers him creamy, cinnamon-dusted hot chocolate and a comforting hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t say it’s okay, but she doesn’t need to.

He makes an effort to smile, to show her that he appreciates the interruption. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so down lately.”

“There’s another job out there. We’ll make it.” Even after all these years her voice still thrills him.

“Sometimes I forget that I’m the luckiest man in the world.” His smile strengthens as he looks longingly at the woman who loves him. The woman he loves. The woman he can’t provide for. “Who needs money when you have love, right?” He almost succeeds in keeping the bitterness out of his voice, and immediately regrets that he didn’t.

“You need to take a break.” She’s still smiling, but he knows he hurt her. “Come on- it’s the holidays! The bills will still be there after we get back from dinner tomorrow. Let’s go for a walk.”

He tosses the pen on the desk, closes the laptop. He can feel the months of frustration and despair boiling near the surface and cannot trust himself to say anything, so he just fetches their jackets and meets her at the door.

======

The cool air eases his mood and as they stroll along the forest path she can feel his hand gripping hers, holding hers, caressing hers as its tension fades away and he pushes his troubles to the back of his mind. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, grins and nonchalantly looks away when she catches his glance, then looks again like a lovestruck teenager. She rewards him with that smile, nothing withheld, all hurts forgiven. Sometimes you’ve got to just walk it off together.

He doesn’t notice how far they’ve gone until they arrive at the gazebo on the top of the hill, a half-hour hike away from their house in the valley. They sit together, looking down at the last of the fall colors. Their troubles must climb a long way to follow them here.

“From up here, the world doesn’t look so bad,” he says. “There are worse things than losing a job.”

She snuggles into his neck, looks up into his eyes. “We will make it”

“I know. I am the luckiest guy in the world.”

=====

They talk on the walk back down the hill, counting their blessings, listing the things for which they are thankful. “I may not have a job, but at least I’m not stuck doing something I hate,” he says. “I can spend more time with you.”

She smiles, locks her fingers with his. “I love you,” she whispers.

He is a different man from the one who went up the hill, renewed and buoyed up by the warmth radiating from the woman leaning happily on his arm.

Tomorrow there will be turkey and family, and afterwards there will still be bills to pay, but after that? She will be there with him, and that is all he needs to know.

“The doctor will evaluate him and then be out to discuss treatment options.” Without waiting for a response, the technician whisked Rosco away.

With the empty leash in my hand, I returned to the waiting room. I paused, surprised by how many people were there. Surprised by how many people had to bring their pets to the veterinary emergency hospital on Thanksgiving.

I stifled a slightly hysterical laugh as I wondered what percentage were here for canine gastronomic emergencies. My embarrassment eased a little as I realized that Rosco probably wasn’t the only one who’d created his own Thanksgiving feast from non-food items.

The waiting room was nearly full so I wedged myself onto a small bench next to an aging hippie dressed in Harley Davidson gear. He could have passed for Santa - if Santa had traded in his reindeer for a motorcycle.

Worried about Rosco, I distracted myself by checking my e-mail. I barely noticed when the vet tech brought Mrs. Foo Foo back to Santa, who cooed over the fluffy kitty and whisked her away with promises of cuddles and a bowl of cream. I had moved on to Solitaire when another body settled onto the bench next to me.

Without looking up, I knew my new bench mate was no Santa look-alike. For one thing, his broad shoulders took up considerably more space, while his hips occupied much less. Intrigued, I snuck a peak out of the corner of my eye. What I could see only increased my curiosity. I angled my phone, hoping to use its shiny surface to get a better glimpse.

“Red jack on black queen.” I jumped as the object of my hidden attention spoke.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, turning to him.

“The red jack goes on the black queen,” he repeated. I concentrated a little harder, trying to figure out his coded message. He gestured to my phone. “You looked like you were stuck, so I was trying to help you out.”

I looked down at my phone - and the game of Solitaire I’d abandoned to spy on him.

“Oh, sorry. I was distracted. Worried about my dog,” I explained.

Sympathy filled his warm, brown eyes. “I know what you mean. I just brought mine in, too.”

“What’s wrong - “

“What’s wrong - “

“Ladies first,” he said. Then he smiled.

His smile lit up the room and sent a strange shiver up my spine.

“What’s wrong with your dog?” I asked.

“Houdini and I were taking out the Thanksgiving trash when we were accosted by an attack squirrel. In his valiant rush to defend me and save our precious garbage, he collided with a vicious pine tree and suffered a grievous wound to his eye.”

“What a brave, brave dog,” I said with a smile. “Will he be OK?”

“They’re checking him out now, but the vet thinks it’s just a scratch. How about your dog?”

“I’m afraid that Rosco isn’t quite as noble as Houdini. While I was at my parents’ celebrating Thanksgiving, Rosco decided to hold his own celebration by eating a tube of Krazy Glue. I brought leftovers home for him last year, and apparently he opted to glue his mouth shut this year rather than face another round of my mother’s turkey.”

He took my hand in his and gave it a firm handshake. His hands were strong, yet he didn’t abuse his strength or try to overpower me. “Congratulations. That’s one of the best Thanksgiving vet stories I’ve ever heard.”

“You’ve heard a lot of them?”

He smiled again and the room seemed to fade around me. For a moment, I wondered if my mom had taken her turkey to a new level...then heat rushed through my veins and the room came into sharp focus. I could feel his hand on mine, smell the faint tang of his cologne. I noticed the laugh lines around his eyes and the way his generous mouth curved up at the sides, as if he was waiting for another chance to smile.

“Houdini isn’t my only dog, and a Thanksgiving emergency trip has become sort of a holiday tradition. There was the year that Waverley ate my grandmother’s chocolate pies - all five of them. Then there was the Year of the Cat, when Max tried to bring the neighbor’s cat home for Thanksgiving. And of course there was the famous The-Christmas-Tree-is-Not-a-Chew-Toy episode, a very unpleasant experience that still haunts Riley’s dreams.”

I looked down, surprised to find that our hands were now intertwined. But somehow it felt...right. I leaned toward him and his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

“So, will this be known as the Year of the Attack Squirrel?” I asked.

He pulled me a little closer. “I have a feeling this will be known as the year I brought home more than just Houdini.”

Maybe a trip to the vet wasn’t so bad, after all.

After high school all of my friends went away to college. They are all over the country, no, the world, experiencing amazing things. I stayed home. I still live in the same boring town with my boring family. I have the same boring job I did in high school. Community college is boring and severely lacking in opportunities. I had the same boring boyfriend too, at least until last month when he dumped me for his anatomy teacher. Apparently he was learning a lot in her class. At first I was devastated, but I have begun to realize that any change can be good change, especially when it’s the only change I’ve experienced in the two years since college started.

Thanksgiving has become one of my favorite holidays because it is the one weekend of the fall semester that my friends are all home. If I had to wait until December I think I would die. My very best friend, Zach, has lived next door to me for as long as I can remember. I used to beat him up when we were kids. Since I am a girl and he’s a man he naturally outgrew me, so now I avoid picking fights at all costs. Zach goes to school on the other side of the country, so I rarely see him.

This Thanksgiving started off in the usual way. Zach arrived home the day before the holiday with a very large suitcase. After spending time with his family he came over to see me. I sat and listened as he regaled me with tales of his new life. He told me about a girl that he had dated, who had in turn broken his heart. I felt a pang of grief mixed with jealousy. The grief understandably came from recalling my own pain, but the jealousy came out of nowhere. I had never had feelings for Zach before; could there suddenly be some after 20 years of platonic friendship? I comforted my friend, and filled him in on my similar situation. We sat in silence, each appreciating that the other understood how they felt.

The next day was spent celebrating with our families, and on Friday we were both busy with other friends. We had agreed to spend all of Saturday together since Zach was leaving early Sunday morning. As promised, Zach knocked on my door at the crack of noon. (We both thoroughly enjoy sleeping in.) Around 9 pm we ran out of things to do. (Like I said, our town is boring.) We decided to go for a stroll on the beach in the moonlight. After walking for a while, we sat in the sand to relax and talk about our lives. In all the years that we had been friends I had never felt so close to him. I tried to push away the romantic thoughts that had popped into in my head.

Just as I was trying not to crush on my best friend, he turned to me and stared deeply into my eyes. I had never realized how blue his eyes were or how symmetrical his face was. (I have a thing with symmetry, so shoot me.) My eyes had been clouded by our friendship; I had never wanted to be attracted to him. Now I was truly seeing him for the first time. I giggled and brushed the hair from in front of my face, at the same time being shocked that I was actually flirting with him. "I never noticed how beautiful you are until just now," he said to me. "Yeah me too, you, I, never mind." I blushed and turned away. Why couldn’t I tell him how I was feeling? "No, Sam, I mean it." He pulled me back. I looked into his blue, blue eyes as he said "I think I’m in love with you." "Wait, what?" God, I am so awkward. He continued, "After I got dumped, all I could think about was getting back here to see you again. Having my heart broken made me realize who I should really give it too."

I was speechless for a few minutes. When I finally regained the ability to use words, I told him "I’ve never thought about you like that before, but the last couple of days have been very different. Obviously I’ve always cared about you, but suddenly it’s in a new way. I don’t know how or why, but I have fallen for you." I was impressed with my eloquence. Zach grinned and then swooped in to kiss me. It was the most romantic moment ever.

There’s no way to tell how this new phase of our relationship will work out, but I know that I have never been so happy before, and for me that is enough. Zach promised to come home more often and I promised to go visit him. One thing is for sure, my life is definitely much less boring.

Sandra was upset. She was upset that mom and dad got divorced; mother remarried, and that she was moved from California to Kentucky at age 16. She was especially upset at the idea of having to go to John's parents for Thanksgiving, she would have preferred to spend it with her dad, but mom wanted to please John, and he wanted her to fit in with his family.

They left for John's parents house; nothing was going to make her call him 'dad' no matter what he did. The place was packed. Younger kids were all over. There was only one other person her age, a guy over in the corner looking as sullen as she felt.

Sandra went into the kitchen to make herself useful. Most of the food preparation was already done, but she found John's mom could always use another helping hand, and she seemed genuinely pleased at Sandra's offer. While they worked she made conversation.

“So, Sandra, how do you like Kentucky so far?”

“Frankly, I would prefer to in California,” Sandra replied.

Kate sighed inwardly at that. The girl had been put through a lot of changes in a short time, so she could understand the sentiment. “Well I am happy you are here anyway. John has never been happier, he always wanted a daughter around the house. And your mom and he make a good couple. I imagine it is hard on you though. Tell me about your dad.”

“He is a good father. He and mom had a falling out because he has to work so much. She was constantly after him to spend more time at home. He just couldn't do it. She got fed up and left.”

“A woman has to feel needed, I understand that,” Kate said. “Did you have to leave anybody behind? Besides your father I mean?”

“No. I didn't have any attachments. A lot of friends, though we still keep in touch.”

“Yes, social networking makes that a lot easier. I belong to a site myself.”

“Really?” Sandra said, and immediately brightened a bit. The two women spent the next hour getting the meal together and talking.

Dinner was delicious. Afterward she went outside to look around. The boy her age was there. In a friendly mood, Sandra went up to him. “Hi, I am Sandra, Cathy's daughter.”

“Yeah, I know. Your mom married my uncle. My name is Sid.”

“Hi Sid, glad to meet you. You look unhappy to be here though. It's your family, what's the problem?”

“That's the problem. Don and Emma treat me as a kid, I get dragged to these kiddy events, and I am tired of it.”

Sandra giggled. “The crowd does seem a little young for us, and most of the adults are off doing adult things..”

“Want to go out with me?” Sid asked.

“You mean like on a date? Aren't we first cousins?”

“We are about as related as any two other people in the world.”

“You have a point there. But it would still be a problem for the family.”

“Yeah, it would really tweak them.”

Sandra thought about it. “OK, you're on. Where shall we meet?”

“After school tomorrow, we'll just hang around, nothin' special”

“OK, see you then.”

The idea of tweaking mom and John was too delicious for words. And Sid was right, they weren't really related; besides he seemed like an interesting person.

They met after school the next day. Then at the library the next. Sid, when she got to know him, was an impetuous person. The exact opposite of her dad, and that intrigued her. Things moved right along, until one day when she got home and her mother was standing there looking like she was ready to spit fire.

“Sandra Michelle Phillips, what is going on?”

Sandra knew when her full name was used, it was not a good sign. “Any particular subject?”

“Have you been seeing Sid?”

“Took you long enough to notice that mom. Yes, do you have a problem with that?”

“Do I have a... you are first cousins!”

“Oh, give me a break mom. We aren't related except by your second marriage.”

“I...”

John came in the room. “Cathy, may I talk to her please?”

Cathy shot an angry glance at Sandra and left the room.

“I figure I know why you are doing this. I want you to remember one thing though: Sid doesn't love you, he is only using you to get at his parents.”

“John, I know that. And nothing is going on, really.”

“Tongues are wagging.”

“Yeah, I know. Pity.”

“I know enough of you to be able to trust your judgment.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“So I am not grounded, or forbidden to see him or anything like that?”

“No.”

“You've managed to surprise me John.”

The next day Sandra met with Sid again. “My parents know.”

“Mine haven't figured it out yet. Let's elope!”

“Pardon?”

“I will take dad's car, we'll drive away and get married.”

“Have you thought this out completely Sid?”

“What's to think? You hate your life here, I hate mine. Let's start one together.”

“I am honored Sid, I really am. But no, I don't hate it enough to ruin mine. How are you planning to support us? Where will we live? No.”

“I will find someone else then.”

“You do that.”

Sandra walked away feeling angry and confused; until she met up with Betty, another girl from school.

“You stole Sid from me, now you are going to get what's coming.”

Sandra shrugged. “You want, him, he is all yours. I am finished with him.”

She slowly walked back home. Sid's mom's car was there. She quietly went in.

“That tramp of yours talked Sid into stealing my car. Now what are you going to do about it?”

“Don, Sandra wouldn't do that.”

“Well she did. She is an gold digging harlot just like her mom.”

“Get out of my house Don.”

“What?”

“Get out of my house!”

Just then another car screeched to a halt in the drive way.

“Don, are you in there?”

“Yeah Fred, what do you want?”

“Your boy just eloped with my Betty. You have a lot to answer for.”

“But I thought...”

“Goodbye Don,” John said.

After the two men left Sandra entered the room.

“I knew I could trust you, Sandra,” John said.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sandra replied.

The fallen tree leaves swirled on the yard’s lawn, the autumn chill was already there and everyone had taken out their coats and jackets. Everyone in the house was busy

with their respective chores, and whoever wasn't doing their business was planning something for the thanksgiving dinner. They were so much into their doings no one

realized at all that 15 year old Alice was sitting looking out the window at the slow movements of the trees. She just sat there, lonely, listening to the whistling sound of

the wind. Her face was quite cold, the wind blew directly on it sliding fancily through her red curls. She sighed.

Suddenly a loud creek broke the room's silence. It was Tim, a little boy who would do anything for you if you gave him cookies in exchange. Despite being such a sweet-

tooth, he was rather a very skinny 8 year old boy.

Startled, Alice exclaimed "What took you so long?"
"I’m sorry I had to leave my bike at home, but don't worry here's your message!" Tim said while panting.
"Don’t just stand there, give me the letter please!" said Alice in an exited voice.
"Here it is!" exclaimed Tim while taking it out from one of his pockets and handing it over to Alice. He had to stand on top of an upsidedown bucket in order to reach the

window, and yet he had to stand on tiptoes.

Alice opened it quickly, her hands were trembling with joy. In a small piece of paper bag she read:

"Let's meet on Thanksgiving Day at the lighthouse, same time as always.
Love,
Forest".

Alice clutched the letter against her chest. She was desperate to see him again, but she had to be careful so no one would notice or else her parents would punish her

severely. She would have to wait one more week before she could see Forest again. She thought of his sweet honey colored eyes staring at hers, and his soothing voice

wispering in her ear.

"Alice? ALICE!" Tim yelled making her jump. "I'm still waiting for your mom's delicious chocolate cookies!" said Tim impatiently.

"Here you go Tim, that's all that matters to you isn't it?" said Alice in a joking way. "I have to leave now". Alice said good bye to Tim and then left towards the library.

Maids were walking from here and there making a lot of noise.

"Does anyone have an explanation of why my cookies keep disappearing?" yelled Alice's mother, but no one even heard, for they were concentrating so hard on their

duties. Except for Alice, who just ignored it while trying to hide a guilty smile.

It was Thanksgiving Day and Alice checked that everyone was distracted enough in order to sneak out of the house. Once outside, she ran over to the road as fast as she

possibly could and headed towards the shore, where she took off her shoes and felt the almost icy sand scraping her bare feet.

She was breathless when she reached the lighthouse, her long locks where loose and messy, and her cheecks where scarlet from the cold. She looked around her, but

saw no sign of Forest nearby, so she sat on a rock an waited. Suddently, she felt someone pull her shoes from her hands. When she turned around Forest gave her a

kiss that warmed up her cold lips while he wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug.

"I missed you so much" said Forest in a whisper while caressing a side of her face, carefully placing a flower on the back of her ear. They stared at each other for what

seemed like ages to them, they found it so pleasing. They talked, joked, and played around the beach, they looked for seashells and fetched each other around. They

enjoyed so much that day they just wanted it to last for ever.

The sun was setting though, and it was time for Alice to go home, Thanksgiving dinner was soon to begin, and people would realize her absence.

"Alice, wait!" exclaimed Forest while searching in his bag. Alice turned around and saw him holding a package in his hands. "I wanted to give you this, so you'll always

remember me. I worked hard all summer to get it". Alice took it and unwrapped it, it was the most beautiful porcelain doll she had ever seen. "It's lovely Forest, I don't

have words to thank you, I'll always keep it, I promise". She gave him a hug , kissed him and left.

Alice was sent to a foreign country to study, which made her very sad, for she was so far from her beloved. Years past and the pain slowly disappeared until any memory

of Forest was gone. She now was an educated girl and assumed he forgot about her too. She thought it was for the best because he wasn’t educated enough for her.

One day, the postman brought her a letter. It was from Forest, the first one. Her heart trembled when she read it, his words were the sweetest, as always. She couldn't

believe she was still in his thoughts, she couldn't believe he would love her forever and would wait for her no matter how long it had to be. Ignoring the letter, but keeping it

with the doll he once gave her, she never replied.

She went back with her parents after some years. Forest was waiting for her but she ignored him, and never even talked to him. She lived her life as if he just wasn't there,

close to her. Years past, and she left again to live in another country, leaving a heartbroken Forest behind.

Remembering this, a tear ran down the face of a 28 year old Alice, when she came back home for another Thanksgiving Day with her family and saw a married Forest

playing with his child on the beach where they used to see each other.