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  She stared at him for a moment, no emotion passing over her face as she turned his words over in her mind. “You know, you’re wrong about that, Mark,” she said in a calm, controlled voice. She looked at Rick. “Rick, would you please go upstairs and remove the television from Mark’s room?”

  Mark looked up at her. “Remove it? Why?”

  “Because the tone of your voice tells me that temporary grounding from it isn’t going to do it. We need to remove it from your room altogether And if you continue to talk to me the way you do, you’ll lose all of your other possessions, one by one.”

  “But my dad gave me that TV,” he said. “You can’t take it away if he gave it to me.”

  “Then I’ll return it to him,” she said. She looked at her older son. “Rick?”

  Rick looked as if he was considering objecting, but then he seemed to think better of it. She imagined him taking inventory of his own possessions, and realizing he could be next. “I’m going,” he said. He went upstairs and came back a few minutes later, holding the television in his hands. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Just put it on the floor in the dining room,” she said. “You can take it with you to your dad’s this weekend.”

  “That’s it,” Mark said, throwing the bacon strip down. “I’ve had it. I’m going to live with Dad.”

  She knew that her ex-husband wasn’t interested in full-time fatherhood. Every time this had come up before, he found some way of talking the kids out of it. She hated seeing their hearts broken, even when she was so angry.

  “No, Mark, you’re not going to live with him,” she said. “You’re going to stay right here and you’re going to learn how to behave.”

  Rick returned to the kitchen and den area, and plopped into the recliner in front of the television. “Rick, come back over here.”

  Groaning, he got up.

  “Now, we’re going to go over a few things that will make me very happy,” Cathy said.

  “Are we going to learn Scripture?” Annie asked, propping her face on her hand.

  Cathy remembered what Brenda had warned her about teaching the kids Scripture when she was angry. Then it occurred to her that she was always angry at her kids. When could she teach them Scripture if it wasn’t when she was mad?

  “No, we aren’t about to learn Scripture. We’re going to learn manners.” She drew in a deep breath. “Now, when we get to Steve’s, we’re going to go into the house, and I want each of you to say, ‘Hi, Steve. How are you?’”

  “I’m not gonna say that,” Rick argued. “That’s cheesy.”

  Cathy shot him a threatening look. “Rick, so help me, you’d better say it.”

  “So you want us all to walk in one by one and repeat exactly what the one before us says?”

  She couldn’t believe they were making this so hard. “You don’t have to repeat it exactly, as long as you get the same effect.”

  “’Cause I was thinking about saying, ‘Hey, Steve, how’s it going?’”

  She thought that over for a moment. “I guess that would be all right, as long as you shake his hand.”

  Mark sat straighter. “Can I say, ‘Hey, Steve, whassup?’”

  She looked at her watch, glad she had gotten them up four hours early. It was going to take every minute. “Why don’t you just go in and shake his hand and say, ‘Thank you for inviting us over’?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Mom. I can’t say that.”

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought smoke was beginning to waft out of her ears. “Then just say hello.”

  “What about me?” Annie asked. “Do you want me to curtsy?”

  Cathy offered a saccharine smile. “No, thank you, Annie. You can just flash him one of your beautiful smiles and tell him the food smells good.”

  “Yeah,” Annie said, “that’s a good one. It smells good. I like that. What are we having, anyway?”

  “Don’t ask him that,” Cathy said. “That’s rude.” She looked from one child to the others. “So let’s go over this again. We walk into the house, and instead of groaning or plopping on the couch, you each say your piece.”

  “’Hello there, Steve. How is it going?’” Rick said, like a bad actor. Mark grinned.

  “No,” Cathy said, “that won’t do.”

  He feigned exaggerated politeness and reached out to shake his mom’s hand. “Hello, Mr. Bennett. How-do-you-do?”

  He sounded like Ernest T. Bass on the “Andy Griffith Show.” She tried not to smile, and turned to her daughter. “Your turn, Annie.”

  “The house looks great, Steve!” Annie said with an overly bright smile. “Something smells great, and whatever it is, I know we’ll eat every tasty bite.”

  Laughter pushed into Cathy’s throat, but she knew that if her children saw that she was amused, she wouldn’t be able to teach them another thing. “Okay, that’s good,” she managed to say. The mirth was taking over, and she couldn’t fight it. “Real…real good.” She covered her face and began to laugh.

  The kids all burst out laughing, too.

  After a moment, Cathy tried to get serious again. “Okay, we’ve got the greeting down. I don’t suppose you could all promise not to say another word until we leave?”

  Fresh gales of laughter blew over them.

  After a moment, she tried to get control again. “Guys, I’m serious. Sometimes you do tend to pull my strings when we’re with other people. I really want to make a good impression.”

  “Why, Mom?” Annie asked, more seriously. “Are you gonna marry him?”

  “We haven’t talked about marriage. I just don’t want you to embarrass me. And let’s face it. You know it’s your favorite pastime.”

  They looked at each other with amused, guilty eyes.

  “Okay, so every time they address you, you say yes, ma’am or yes, sir.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rick said with a grin.

  “And when they offer you something to eat, you say ‘thank you’ or ‘no thank you.’”

  “Mom, we already know this. We weren’t raised in a barn.”

  “And when we’re at the table, you don’t start demanding to leave the moment you put the last bite of pie in your mouth.”

  “What kind of pie?” Annie asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “So how long do we have to stay?” Mark asked.

  “Until we finish visiting and it seems like the right time to go.”

  “What if it seems like the right time to go as soon as we put the last bite of pie in our mouths?” Rick asked.

  They all grinned again.

  “I’ll decide when it’s the right time to go,” Cathy said. “Annie, I’d appreciate it if you’d spend some time with Tracy. She really likes you.”

  “I like her, too. She’s a good kid. Sure, I’ll play with her hair, and paint her nails. She likes that.”

  “Do we have to sit there like little statues?” Mark asked. “Or can we watch TV and play with his computer…Because I shouldn’t be grounded on a holiday, you know.”

  Cathy smiled. “I guess it’s okay for just the length of time we’re at his house,” she said, “but as soon as we come home you’re grounded again.”

  “Cool,” he said. “I can watch the football game.”

  “No way,” Annie spouted. “We’re watching the soaps.”

  “Annie, you’re not watching the soaps. You’ll all watch whatever is on when we get there.”

  “What if he doesn’t care what we watch?”

  “Just promise me you won’t fight over the television.”

  “We won’t, Mom,” Rick said. “Come on, we’re not going to embarrass you.” He started to get up from the table. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

  “We have to go over our table manners,” she said. “Does anybody know what the small fork is for?” They all moaned, but Cathy didn’t let it stop her.

  CHAPTER Forty-Five

  Tory considered having hot dogs for Th
anksgiving dinner to vent her anger toward Barry, but she realized that her children didn’t deserve that. They deserved the whole works, turkey and cranberry sauce, dressing and pumpkin pie. She decided she was going to do exactly what her mother would have done on Thanksgiving Day, whether she was speaking to her husband or not.

  Barry spent most of the day outside washing the car and cleaning out the garage. He enlisted Brittany and Spencer to help him, which thankfully kept them busy while Tory cooked.

  Just before noon, his mother called to wish them a happy Thanksgiving. Tory could hear the pain in her voice. It was the first year since they’d been married that they hadn’t shared Thanksgiving with her, and Tory knew she must be lonely. It was impossible to explain why they hadn’t come—without setting Barry off again—and even harder to explain why they hadn’t invited her over. As Tory tried to make polite conversation with her mother-in-law, she found herself wanting desperately to tell her the truth. When Betty finally blurted her concerns out, Tory began to struggle with her guilt.

  “Is Barry mad at me, Tory?” her mother-in-law asked. “Did I do something?”

  “No, of course not,” Tory said. “He’s just been under a lot of stress at work. He’s been a little depressed. I think he didn’t want to be around you because he was afraid you’d sense it.”

  “Sense what?” his mother asked. “All I wanted to do was feed him Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Tory blinked back the tears in her eyes and looked out at her family in the wet driveway. “All I can say is pray for him, Betty.”

  “Was it something I said when he dropped by a few weeks ago?”

  Tory frowned. “He came by?”

  “He didn’t tell you? He said he was in the area, and stopped in for lunch. I made him a sandwich, but he didn’t eat it. He was sitting with Nathan, and then all of a sudden he seemed to get emotional, and he ran out. What’s wrong with him? Tory, are you two having problems?”

  She sighed. She knew that he didn’t want her to tell his mother anything that might upset her. But all her speculation was upsetting her, anyway. “Things are a little tense,” she evaded. “He’s been really busy at work, and I’ve been busy with the kids…”

  “I miss my grandkids,” she said. “Will you at least be here for Christmas?”

  “If I have to come without him, we will,” she said. “In fact, I considered coming without him today, but I didn’t think that would go over too well.”

  Betty was quiet again. “Something’s going on, Tory. I sure wish you’d tell me what it is. I hate to think you’ve just decided to quit celebrating with me. Nathan and I sure do look forward to the holidays because we get to see you.”

  Tory knew that wasn’t true. Nathan never looked forward to anything. “No, of course we haven’t quit. This is a one-time thing, Betty.” She rubbed her face. “All I can say right now is there’s a reason, okay? When we finally tell you, you’ll understand completely and you’ll know it didn’t have anything to do with you. Just know for right now that Barry needs your prayers, and so do I.”

  She called Barry to the phone, and listened to his polite, but distant conversation as she moved around the kitchen. As she did, she silently prayed that God would touch him through his mother’s pain, and lead him into confessing the truth to her. His mother was the last person on earth who would want him to abort a retarded child. Tory knew that Betty could return Barry to his senses.

  But he didn’t break down and tell her. When Barry was off the phone and back outside, Tory went to her computer. While the last few items for their meal baked, she e-mailed Sylvia and asked her what she thought about enlisting the help of Barry’s mother. Should she defy him a second time and tell her, or should she respect his wishes to keep the pregnancy quiet for now?

  She sent the e-mail, then went back into the kitchen and checked the oven.

  Not an hour later, her computer made the sing-song noise that told her she had mail. She hurried back into the laundry room and sat down in front of the screen.

  Sylvia had written back.

  Don’t do it, Tory, don’t tell his mother. He’s losing your respect. He doesn’t need to lose hers as well. I know what you’re thinking, honey. You’re thinking that if you force his hand by telling his mother, that he won’t be able to demand this awful thing. But it also might drive him away. I don’t want to see you wind up single and struggling to raise kids on your own. For the sake of your children, all three of them, you need to try to keep your marriage together. Barry will tell his mother when it’s time, just like he would have told the children. But right now you’ve got to give him more time. Please, Tory. I know you’re not listening to everything I say. You never do. You didn’t listen about telling the children, but trust me on this one.

  Tory wiped her eyes and wished that Sylvia could be here to help her through this time. Brenda was wise and Cathy was refreshing, but only Sylvia had the maternal touch that Tory needed right now, especially when she couldn’t even share the pregnancy with her mother-in-law.

  The smell of turkey wafting in the air, the rolls baking in the oven, the pumpkin pie, all reminded her of her childhood when things seemed so simple and her mother was still here. She longed for those days again. With all her heart, she missed her mother.

  She heard the door closing and quickly tried to dry her eyes. She heard footsteps, then glanced behind her to see Barry standing in the doorway of the laundry room. Their eyes connected, and for a moment she saw less anger and more compassion as he took in her tears. She saw him swallow.

  “Is dinner about ready?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Just another five or ten minutes. As soon as I get the table set.”

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “The kids are washing up with the hose. They’ll probably be soaking wet when they come in, but at least they won’t have dirt all over them.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m glad they’re having fun with you.”

  He nodded and kept standing at the door, watching her as if he wanted to say something about the tears, or about the pain that seemed to radiate between them. Finally, she looked up at him. “I sure would like to tell your mother about this,” Tory said, wiping her eyes and carefully avoiding the word baby. “She’s the only mother I’ve got, and the only person close to me who’s ever been through this. I need to talk to her.”

  His face hardened again. “Don’t do it,” he said. “Tory, don’t you do it.”

  She started to cry again and turned away. “I wish Sylvia was here.”

  He nodded. “I wish it, too.”

  “Why?” she asked. “She wouldn’t take your side, you know.”

  “I know,” he said. He breathed in a deep breath as if he didn’t know what else to say. Finally, he turned and went to the kitchen, and started getting out the plates. She followed him, checking the oven and deciding the turkey was done. She pulled the big roasted bird out of the oven. This was absurd, she thought, to go to all this trouble for a four- and five-year-old. But she wanted them to have the memories of Thanksgiving scents and tastes and feelings. This might be the last year—for a long time—that she would have the time to do it. She hoped they wouldn’t grow up feeling the pervading sense of heaviness over the day, remembering the time that their mom was pregnant with their little sister, and their dad moped around as if he’d lost his best friend.

  Somehow they got through the meal without Tory or Barry having to exchange too many words. They focused on the children as they ate their Thanksgiving meal, and avoided the subject of gratitude as they did.

  CHAPTER Forty-Six

  On what was Thanksgiving Day back in the States, Sylvia managed to put out the clothes that her friends from Cedar Circle had sent her. Though she and Harry hadn’t been able to take time off to celebrate, she felt that the gratitude among these people was appropriate to help her remember the day.

  She was grateful that Tory, Brenda, and Cathy had put the clothes on hangers and stacked them by size
, so that she wouldn’t have to take valuable time to do it, and so the poor victims of Hurricane Norris wouldn’t have to dig through mounds of clothing to find something they could use.

  She carried little Carly on her back, in a backpack with the holes cut out for her legs. It was the best way to care for her and still have the use of her hands. Now and then, Carly got fussy and wanted to get loose. Then she would hold her for a while, or put her down and let her practice walking, clinging to both of Sylvia’s hands. It amazed Sylvia that she never got tired of taking care of the baby.

  Harry came out of his clinic with his stethoscope around his neck, and crossed the compound. He rubbed noses with Carly, then kissed Sylvia on the cheek.

  “The clothes are almost all taken,” Harry said. “What are you gonna do when you run out?”

  “The girls will send more,” she said. “We can count on them.” She turned her back to Harry. “Will you get Carly out for me?” she asked.

  He picked the baby out, carefully pulling her legs from the holes. She giggled as he buried his face in her stomach and tickled her with his nose. “You know, you could let Julie and her people at the home watch her just for today,” he said.

  She shook her head. “No, I want to take care of her. God gave her to me.”

  His smile faded, and he handed the child to Sylvia. “Sylvia, God didn’t give her to you. She has a family somewhere.”

  “I didn’t mean to say that,” she said. “I just meant that I feel responsible for her, and I like that feeling.”

  “You like it too much,” he said. As she put Carly on her hip and bounced her, Harry touched her face. “Sylvia, don’t make me watch you get your heart broken. Her mother could still come.”

  “I don’t think she’s going to,” Sylvia said. “I think Carly’s an orphan.”

  “But you can’t count on that, Sylvia. God didn’t bring us to Nicaragua so that we could start raising another child.”

  “How do you know?” she asked. “How do you know that isn’t exactly why he brought us here?”