spend Thanksgiving with us?” I asked carefully, with no emotion.
“Yeah,” said David, almost surprised. “I guess I did.”
I just pointed down the hill for a moment, then said, “We’re going to the Dills’ house, but I can call Mrs. Dill. . . . I’m sure you’d be welcome there.”
In an instant, David’s eyes narrowed into disappointment.
“The Dills’?” he said with distaste.
“Yeah, it’ll be fun. There’s going to be a whole bunch of people there.”
Now he gave a bitter laugh.
“Laurel, I didn’t come all this way to have dinner with people I don’t know.”
“You’ll know us, and the Dills. . . .”
David shook his head. “Forget it,” he said, then moved back toward the car.
“So you’re leaving?” I asked, trying to be calm, but it came out high and squeaky.
“If I go now, I can still make it to the Cracker Barrel.”
David opened the driver’s-side door and slid into the seat. Away from me.
Wait! A minute ago you were touching my shoulder!
I thought quickly of calling Mrs. Dill, explaining why we needed to cancel. Nana would go along with it. We could buy one of those depressed last-minute turkeys at the store and cook it in time for dinner . . .
No. We had an obligation. Meg would never forgive me. And then I looked at his face, indignant and insulted, and suddenly just felt angry.
“David—”
“I said, forget it!”
Now I was angrier. Actually, furious. “Let me finish!” I barked at him. He jumped a bit and looked up at me, genuinely surprised. “How can you show up here and expect us to have a table set for you, with a complete Thanksgiving dinner? Without calling, or emailing . . . You just can’t do that.”
David stared at me, his surprise turning to simple sadness, his mouth twitching.
Then he just said, “This was a mistake.”
With that, he slammed the door and started the car. I only had time to step back before he sped backward out of our driveway, leaving a dirty cloud of dust behind him.
“I put rum in these Diet Cokes,” whispered Meg, her breath spicy with onion dip.
We were seated next to each other at one of three large tables Mrs. Dill had set up in their dining room and foyer. Meg was psyched because it was the first time they didn’t have a kids’ table in the kitchen; she was with the grown-ups now. Nana was across from us, next to an elderly uncle, and I wondered for a second if it wasn’t a setup.
Some part of my body was still shaking from that morning. Every time I blinked, I could see David’s face changing from earnestness to regret, sliding away from me in a second. And I’d let it. I’d let it go.
I hadn’t told anyone about David coming. Not Nana, who came back from the Mitas’ just five minutes after he tore off, whose day I just could not complicate any further. Not Meg, who seemed preoccupied as usual with something of her own.
I remembered that I did have somewhere to go, David had said. His voice and face, open and honest, and trusting. I cringed at the thought, and tried to be happy he’d come in the first place. It was like he’d opened a window. Maybe in his rush to leave, he’d forgotten to shut it.
I took my Coke and sniffed it. The rum made it smell like the ARCO station. Mrs. Dill, at the big table across the room, stood up and raised her glass.
“Before we dig in, I’d like to thank all of you for coming. Every one of you means so much to me in your own way . . . and seeing your faces here in my house . . .” She started to choke up, and Mr. Dill reached out his hand to her elbow, but she shook it away. “I’m fine, honey. I’m just . . . happy. So happy! To being together and being thankful!”
Everyone took their cue to clink, then drink, although I only took a tiny sip of what tasted like gasoline with bubbles. To being together. I thought of David, eating a chain restaurant turkey platter somewhere near Washington, DC. I hoped he was with people he liked.
As Mrs. Dill sat down, neatly wiping a tear from each eye, I noticed that Meg was staring at her, frowning.
“Is she okay?” I asked.
Meg shrugged, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I hope so. She just went on new medication, and I think it’s making