Installment 16 Holly Springs

Pastor Chris challenged the youth group to list things they were thankful for today. Frankie sat on her bed in the early morning hours of Thanksgiving Day. Her pen hovered over a blank page in her journal. She had a hard time coming up with items to list. Resentment against her mother was growing in her heart and turning to hatred. This was uncharted territory for Frankie. Her mother had always been her best friend, and they shared everything.

The sound of pots and pans banging in the kitchen drew her out of contemplation. She cringed at the thought of how the turkey would turn out. Hopefully, they didn’t get Salmonella poisoning from an undercooked bird. She scribbled in her journal, “I am not sick from mom’s turkey,” under the heading “Things I am thankful for,” and closed the book. It was going to be a long day. She flopped over on her mattress and tried to go back to sleep, but her mom was making too much racket for rest to be possible. She buried her head beneath the pillows to block out the noise.

An unexpected knock on the bedroom door startled her from her lethargy. “Hey, Kiddo, wanna help me stuff the turkey?” Rachel said as she stuck her head inside Frankie’s room.

“I’ll pass,” Frankie rudely replied and rolled toward the wall turning her back to her mom. It was bad enough that she had to spend this Thanksgiving at home instead of going to Faith’s grandma’s as she had in years past, but she wasn’t about to play Susie Homemaker with her mom pretending everything was hunky-dory.

“You know, Frankie, at some point, you are going to have to move past this anger toward me,” Rachel’s voice was calm and caring, “I have apologized to you, but I can’t change what happened. I am so grateful for Michael and that night because I am thankful that you happened, Sweetheart.” Rachel sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed Frankie’s silver locks through her fingers.

Frankie sat straight up in bed, knocking her mom’s hand away. Her eyes burned with anger, “If he hadn’t shown up in Holly Springs, would you have ever told me the truth?” the question had been burning in the back of Frankie’s brain for weeks.

“I honestly don’t know, Honey,” Rachel began as she picked at a loose string on the bedspread. “Every time I started to tell you, something held me back.”

“I know!” Frankie raised her voice, “You would never have told me. Hell, after seventeen years, what’s the point? Right?” Veins formed on her forehead. “Winters showing up here ruined your ideally kept secret!”

“Watch your language, Missy. You know I don’t allow cursing in this house.”

“Whatever.” Frankie pulled the blankets back over her head.

“Not today, Young Lady. Get dressed. We are having a Thanksgiving dinner with a friend in a few hours, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Friends? You invited people over?”

“No, I invited stray cats and rabid squirrels.”

“Hilarious, Mom. You don’t even know how to roast a turkey, yet you invited people over to sample the Salmonella. How about you pass around some good ole E. Coli for dessert?”

“Give me some credit. I have been cooking turkeys since you were born. I stopped because you refused to eat turkey for years after your Pre-School teacher, Ms. Kilmer, the animal rights activist, taught your class the song, ‘I Don’t Want to Eat The Turkey.”

“Is that the song where the dad was going to kill the turkey for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“That’s the one. She caused quite an uproar in the Pre-School by having your little classmates participate in a ‘Sit-In.’ At four years old!” Rachel shook her head, “You cried all day that year because I dared to make a turkey. I had to throw it away and buy you a Happy Meal. She got fired the next Monday.”

“Well, this dinner will be a disaster too. I can feel it.”

“Only if you let it.”

“Who did you invite, anyway?”

“Mrs. Hubert, from downstairs. She is alone now. I thought inviting her to eat with us would be nice.”

“Oh,” Frankie said, feeling guilty that she was so wrapped up in her problems she had forgotten about Mr. Hubert.

“Thanksgiving is a time for friends and family. Nobody should spend it by themselves.”

Frankie’s phone dinged on her bedside table as Rachel exited the room. “Ten minutes,” she warned and closed the door behind her.

Faith: Happy Thanksgiving, Sugarplum!

Frankie: Thanks! You too.

Faith: How are things on the homefront?

Frankie: Crappy. Mom just informed me that she invited people for dinner AND I have to help her cook!

Faith: What? Who did she invite?

Frankie: God only knows. This day is going to suck! I wish I were with you guys at your grandparents.

Faith: Me too. It isn’t the same without you. I hate to cut out so fast, but I gotta go peel potatoes. I will be home tomorrow morning.

Frankie: I can’t wait! Have fun with those potatoes! Love you!

Faith: Love you too, Sweet Pea!

Frankie tossed her phone on the bed and got dressed. She guessed she wouldn’t be hiding in her room all day, so Frankie decided to make the best of it and enjoy the pumpkin pie she smelled baking in the oven. Her mom couldn’t screw that up, could she?

After dinner, Frankie scooted her chair back from the table and rubbed her stomach. She had eaten way too much food. To her surprise, the turkey seemed fully cooked, tender, and delicious. However, she would never admit that to her mom. The afternoon hadn’t been the disaster Frankie thought it would be. Even though Frankie and Rachel were still at odds, or more accurately, Frankie was still at odds with her mother, having Mrs. Hubert, there was a good buffer. Mrs. Hubert was charming, but her loneliness was evident. Frankie noticed more than once, Mrs. Hubert’s eyes clouded over with a far-off look, and her shoulders drooped during the meal. Frankie could relate. Her heart was conflicted with bitterness toward her mom and missing how things had been. She hadn’t lost her mom physically, but the relationship was forever changed.

Frankie got up from the table, leaving the dirty dishes where they sat, and plopped her butt on the couch, moaning. She felt the tryptophan coma coming on after eating all that turkey.

Her mom cut her eyes at Frankie but said nothing in front of their company as she carried a stack of plates to the sink. Frankie had been raised to clear the table immediately after dinner, as it was the “Southern way.” She knew her mom would reprimand her later.

“Frankie, Honey, please help me bring the desserts to the living room.”

Rachel was busy pulling a cheesecake, pumpkin pie, and a peach cobbler from the refrigerator when Frankie finally hoisted herself from the couch with a huff. She did, however, grab a pan of leftover stuffing and one filled with mashed potatoes from the table on her way to the kitchen. She hoped that would help appease her mother for the time being, but if not, that was okay too.

“Are these desserts store-bought?” Frankie asked in a snarky tone.

“They are not. I made them.”

“Why did you make so many desserts for three people?”

“Oh, well, I invited a few friends to stop by for dessert if they wanted,” Rachel remarked quickly but avoided eye contact with her daughter. “From work mainly.”

“Dang, Mom. Why didn’t you mention this earl-” the doorbell rang, cutting Frankie’s rant short.

“Get the door, please,” Rachel hurried to the living room where Mrs. Huber sat. “How about some coffee with dessert?”

“Ugh…” Frankie stomped toward the door. She wasn’t in the mood to meet any of her mom’s friends. She jerked the door open and froze.

“Hi, Frankie. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Mr. Winters?” Frankie swallowed hard, rapidly blinking her eyes, ensuring she saw who she saw clearly.

Her mom called from the living room behind Frankie, “Perfect timing, Michael. We are just serving dessert,” her mom was all smiles. “Frankie, please take Michael’s coat,” Rachel’s tone wasn’t nearly as friendly to Frankie as it had been to Mr. Winters.

“Thank you, Rachel,” Michael shrugged off his coat and handed it to Frankie. She was left speechless in the doorway, holding her teacher’s coat while Rachel made the introductions between her guests. What on God’s green Earth was her mother doing? Why did she invite him? Why didn’t she tell Frankie he was coming? What was she supposed to do now? Now the day had officially become the disaster predicted earlier that morning.

Frankie stared at the coat slung over her forearm, and her eyes widened. One of his curly, brown locks was sticking up from the collar of Mr. Winter’s jacket. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. A sample! Her mind screamed. If she could get the hair from the coat without being spotted and looking like a creeper, it was perfect for the Discreet Paternity Test! She was so excited her hands started shaking.

“Uhm, I will just put this in the hall closet,” she stammered, backing away from the group in the living room.

“Thank you, Sweetheart,” Rachel cooed and returned to Mrs. Hubert and their conversation.

Frankie hung up the coat, peered over her shoulder, ensuring she wasn’t being watched, and snatched the hair from the jacket. She couldn’t wait to tell Faith! After securing the sample, she raced to the bathroom, wrapped it in toilet paper, and hid the specimen in a box of tampons under the vanity. She was pretty sure nobody would go snooping in her tampons during dessert.

Frankie returned to the dining room and began clearing the table. She would not sit in the living room with Mr. Winters. Frankie would have it out with her mother as soon as they all left. Until then, she washed the dishes.