I could take care of you in her place. That includes helping you knead dough for rolls. You have to let me do my job, or I’ll feel like I’m failing you and Lucy.”
Winnie sighed. “I don’t feel good about dumping everything on you. You’re not the one who invited a dozen people over for dinner.”
“A dozen? I thought there were only ten.”
“I’m counting you and Christopher now. I can’t just expect you to do it all.”
“You have to. I insist, Winnie. This is the whole reason I’m here.”
“To help me take my meds, not to feed my friends.”
“To do whatever you need, and that includes Thanksgiving dinner,” she corrected. “We talked about this last night when I helped you get ready for bed. I might be a little late to the party this morning, but I think we can still make it work.”
She sensed Winnie wavering, probably because she was struggling to knead the dough with only one hand.
Abby pressed her advantage. “As I told you last night, I’m not the greatest cook in the world, but I take direction very well. I’ve already made a list of what I need to do.”
“That might be a problem. I’ve never been very good at delegating. You can ask anyone.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she said cheerfully. “Christopher and I will bring in a comfortable chair for you, and you can oversee the entire proceedings from there. How would that work?”
“I don’t know. I feel guilty about just handing it all over to you. On the other hand, I won’t lie, this ankle is biting at me.”
“Ankles can’t bite,” Christopher informed her knowledgeably. “They don’t have teeth.”
Winnie chuckled. “I just meant it was hurting me. I would like to know why my broken wrist hurts less than my sprained ankle and bruised ribs. It makes no sense.”
“Your wrist is supported by the cast. It’s still going to hurt, but it’s not being jostled like your ribs every time you breathe. Also, you’re putting weight on your ankle, which you’re not supposed to do. Of course it’s going to hurt. You’ll feel better once you sit down, I promise.”
The older woman sighed. “Fine. I suppose there are still plenty of things I can do while I’m sitting. Snap beans. Fold napkins. That kind of thing.”
“Excellent. Teamwork. That’s the way to get the job done. Now, what chair would be most comfortable for you, and where can I find it?”
Winnie pointed to a seating area next to the kitchen, dominated by a gas fireplace that glowed merrily in the room. “My favorite chair in the house is that big red thing next door.”
Abby headed in that direction, where she instantly found a thickly padded club chair and matching ottoman tucked into a comfortable corner near the fireplace. Several books, magazines and notebooks were neatly stacked on the side table. This must be Winnie’s own cozy retreat. She could definitely see why. Next to the fire, a little Christmas tree decorated with antique bobbins and spools of thread twinkled brightly.
Fortunately, the chair was sturdy but not heavy, and she was able to slide it on an area rug across the hardwood floor of the sitting room and the tile floor of the kitchen.
As soon as she found a space for it in the kitchen, Winnie settled into it with a sigh of relief that told Abby all she needed to know about Winnie’s pain level.
“Christopher. Help me move the ottoman.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
“I think we can use the same rug and slide it.”
“Can I have a ride?”
She couldn’t think of any reason why not. Her son giggled like they were at Disneyland as she tugged him the short distance between the sitting area and Winnie’s new corner in the kitchen.
“That looks like fun. When my ankle is better, maybe you can pull me around,” Winnie said to the boy, which sent Christopher laughing again at the idea of trying to pull an almost eighty-year-old woman through her grand house on a makeshift sled created out of a throw rug and an ottoman.
“All right. Thanksgiving. Where do we start?”
Abby had never cooked dinner for more than a few friends before. She had to admit she found the idea of being in charge of serving twelve people beyond daunting, though Winnie seemed certain she could handle it.
“I’ve found it’s best to write out a schedule for what needs to be done when. The turkey doesn’t need to go in for another hour,” Winnie said. “I think the