Abbey could see his frustration, and she wanted to help, but Nick was on the other end of the phone, and she was too busy trying to control her nerves. Nick probably has a chef bake his pies, she thought.
“Get it into the oven as quickly as you can, Abbey. We’ve still got the turkey to bake,” her mother said before Abbey could wave her quiet. Abbey turned around and shook her head, pointing to the phone with the spoon.
“I’m sorry to call on Thanksgiving, but I’m trying to tie up a few loose ends. I wanted to find out what your timeframe would be,” Nick said. “I remember you needed to check your schedule to determine what times and days you’d be available, and I’d like the house finished by Christmas.”
She’d only told him she’d check yesterday. Nick Sinclair did not wait very well, did he? And now he was calling her on a holiday. Even though he’d apologized, it indicated to her that he didn’t seem to put a lot of importance on the special day. Abbey wondered if she would be able to slip away later to check on Caroline. She didn’t want her spending the holiday all by herself.
“I have the dates for you,” she said, setting down the bowl and spoon and grabbing her calendar from her handbag. With pumpkin on her fingers, she thumbed through the pages. “I can start tomorrow…” She told him the hours each day when she was available, glad that Max would be in school for most of them.
Before she could finish the call, there was a crash! It scared her so much she nearly dropped her phone, fumbling to keep it from hitting the floor. She turned around to find Gramps shaking more than usual, bits of ceramic and splattered pumpkin mixture all over the floor. Señor Freckles had suddenly appeared and was licking it off the ceramic pieces. Her mom came running in, Max following.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m making a pie at my mom’s, and I now have pumpkin pie mixture all over my floor. Can I call you back?”
“I apologize,” Nick said, clearly startled. “I’ve interrupted your holiday.”
“It’s fine. It’s not your fault.”
She motioned for her mom to take Max into the other room. Her mother would only worry about everyone, and Abbey could easily clean it all up. Gramps was irritated—she could tell by his face. He wiped his hands on the kitchen towel, his head bobbing worse with his anxiety.
“It’s okay,” she mouthed to him.
“You don’t have to call me back. Again, I’m so sorry,” Nick said. “I’ve got the dates now. It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re at your… mother’s?”
She could hear remorse in his voice, uneasiness as he cleared his throat before trying to end the call. She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. As she bent down to pick up the pieces of broken bowl, Señor Freckles darted away, leaving orange paw prints across the floor.
She ended the call as gracefully as possible. Gramps was grumbling when she finally put her phone away. “It’s really fine, Gramps.”
“No, it’s not. Those pills don’t do a damn thing. I can’t even make a pie anymore. And now, on Thanksgiving—the only time we ever eat pumpkin pie—I’ve gone and ruined it.”
“You know what?” She moved in front of him. “The pie is ruined, but it doesn’t matter. We’re all going to have a nice dinner. We’ll sit down, talk about everything and anything, and we’ll forget about this one, lost pie,” she said, her arms full of shards of ceramic.
His face stayed taut, annoyed.
“It’s just a pie, Gramps.”
With a thud, the pieces of ceramic hit the bottom of the trashcan.
* * *
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Gramps said after Abbey had slid the turkey out of the oven and put it on the burners to cool. Max was at the table, coloring, and her mom was going through her serving dishes, setting them out on the counter. “I just get irritated. It bothers me that I can’t do the things I used to do.”
Max watched him out of the corner of his eye for a minute and then looked back down at his coloring book.
“I know. It’s okay, Gramps.” Abbey carved slices off the turkey and began arranging the slices on a serving plate.
They were beginning to settle in to the final Thanksgiving preparations when the doorbell rang. Abbey and her mother looked at one another. Who would be coming by on Thanksgiving right at dinnertime?
“I’ll get it,” Abbey said, pulling a piece of foil from its roll and draping it over the turkey to keep it warm.
Still wiping her hands on the kitchen towel, she opened the door to find an unknown man holding a picnic basket. “Hello,” she greeted him, unsure of his motives.