back to the dining table I'd dash, and smile, and eat a
bite before I had to get up again to blow my nose in
another room. I answered three telephone calls that I
made to myself from the private line in my bedroom. I had to disguise my voice so no one would guess, and I really did want to bring you slices of pumpkin pie, but John had it sliced and already put on the dessert plates, so what could I do? He'd have noticed four
missing pieces."
She blew us a kiss, bestowed a dazzling, but
hurried smile, and disappeared out the door. Good-golly day! We sure did complicate her life,
all right! We rushed to the table to eat.
Chris bowed his head to say a hasty grace that
couldn't have impressed God very much on this day,
of all days, when His ears must ring with more
eloquent phrasing: "Thank you, Lord, for this belated
Thanksgiving Day meal. Amen."
Inwardly I smiled, for it
was so like Chris to get
directly to the point, and that was to play host, and
dish up the food onto the plates we handed him one by
one. He gave "Finicky" and "Picky" one slice of white
turkey meat apiece, and tiny portions of the
vegetables, and to each a salad that had been shaped
in a pretty mold. The medium-sized portions were
mine, and, of course, he served himself last--huge
amounts for the one who needed it most, the brain. Chris appeared ravenous. He forked into his
mouth huge gobs of mashed potatoes that were almost cold. Everything was on the verge of being cold, the gelatin salad was beginning to soften, and the lettuce
beneath it was wilted.
"We-ee don't like cold food!" Carrie wailed as she
stared down at her pretty plate with such dainty
portions placed neatly in a circle. One thing you could
say for Chris, he was precise.
You would have thought Miss Picky was looking