Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

NINE

From “A Natasha Thanksgiving”:

For a dramatic centerpiece, hollow out eight small pumpkins. Randomly make holes in all of them with an electric drill. Be sure you drill matching holes on the sides so they can be joined in a circle. Use screws and bolts to fasten the pumpkins into a circle. Place a votive candle in each pumpkin and you’ll have a sparkling showpiece for the center of your table or your buffet.

Hannah bounced into the kitchen, typically oblivious to the chaos in my life. “I’m taking a bath and doing my hair while Craig is out. Don’t want him to see me in hot curlers.”

I could have used some help, but if she was going to hog the only full bathroom for a while, she probably ought to do it now.

Dad grumbled a bit about Bernie having taken over the den. I gathered he’d planned to hide there with the newspaper. Instead, he and Daisy hit the brick sidewalks for a stroll.

Unlike Mars, who’d rather have died than spend the morning with three women in the kitchen, Bernie puttered about in his bathrobe, completely comfortable. He put on the kettle for tea, sampled cranberry sauce that had gelled, stirred roux for the gravy until it turned golden and smelled delicately nutty, and asked June about her sister.

I wondered if his unorthodox upbringing in so many different households had something to do with his ease and obvious desire to cozy up in the kitchen with us.

While she talked, June’s knitting needles flew like they were on autopilot. “In the forties, an elegant socialite named Perle Mesta hosted intimate dinner parties for select guests in Washington. Legend has it that more than one international deal was sealed at her dinner table. She knew who to put together, you see, in a gracious setting, so that political deals could be worked out.”

She paused to untangle Mochie’s paw from her yarn. “Given that group of pompous political wannabes Natasha had at the house last night, I’d say she aspires to Perle Mesta fame.” She tsked. “Explains why she had to sink her claws into Mars. Anyway, Faye never quite reached Perle’s stature but she entertained Washington glitterati here. Things were different then. Women wanted jobs and entered the workforce, and being a domestic diva lost its glamour for a good many years. But that never deterred Faye. She put on her orange miniskirt and tie-dyed tops and hosted everything from séances to elegant midnight dinners. That’s why the dining room is so large. She put the addition on the back of the house so she could accommodate big parties.”

A mug of tea in his hand, Bernie walked over to examine Faye’s picture. “We should hold a séance to see if we can contact her.”

I bit my lip and waited to see if June would mention talking to Faye.

June simply smiled and said, “She never was the prettiest girl at the party but she sure was the most fun.”

Time sped by with Mom and me arguing over whether basting a turkey actually makes a difference in moistness. I claimed it didn’t and that opening the oven to baste only dropped the temperature. Mom insisted that drizzling the top with juices made for moister meat.

With the side dishes well under way, I faced the challenge of Thanksgiving hors d’oeuvres. Some guests don’t want anything before the heavy meal but others choose to nibble. I mixed a batch of my light-as-air one-bite cheese puffs to bake in the oven as guests arrived. For those willing to eat a little bit more, I stuffed mushroom caps with a zesty crabmeat mixture.

All the dishes under control, I pulled on my sweater and popped out to the backyard with a basket and pruning shears. Though I hated to steal them from the birds, the orange pyracantha berries growing along the back fence would make a perfect centerpiece. Low enough for guests to see over, yet vibrant and cheery. I cut enough to fill several small vases. Natasha would have done something far more elaborate but I liked the simplicity of the berries. While I was out there, I righted the pots the Peeping Tom had knocked over.

Back inside, I pulled out one of Faye’s ultra-long tablecloths of woven green, amber, and pumpkin plaid. When we inherited her sizable collections of china patterns and silver, I wondered what we would do with it all. Now I was thrilled to have a dozen matching place settings to use.

I felt certain Natasha had planned to use fancy-schmancy china and was almost sure that was the reason I chose sage-green earthenware plates and soup bowls. I added inexpensive wine and water glasses that I had bought because I loved the iridescent amber glass of the goblets. I bunched berries in three-inch vases and arranged them in clusters down the center of the table, mixing in colorful ceramic candlesticks.

Stepping back, I appraised the table. Festive and not at all stuffy. Perfect.

Mom peeked in the doorway. “It looks lovely, dear, but you need to add one more place setting.”

I did the math again in my head. “No, it’s an even dozen.”

Mom gave me that look I knew from my childhood when she had a secret.

“Mom!” She didn’t know anyone up here besides my brother, and he and his family were out of town. “Who did you invite?”

The doorbell rang. Perfect timing for Mom to avoid my question.

My stomach flip-flopped. I’d been dreading the moment Natasha and Mars would arrive.

Mom flicked a piece of fuzz off my shoulder. “Couldn’t you have worn something that showed a little cleavage?”

What could she possibly be thinking? I didn’t have time to contemplate it. I sucked in a deep breath of air, pasted a smile on my face, and answered the door.

Complete chaos ensued. Dad returned with Daisy, who shot into the house. Mars arrived with Natasha at the same time that the colonel and MacArthur strode up the walk followed by Craig.

They paired off quickly. MacArthur, the bulldog, romped with his old buddy, Daisy. Dad and the colonel commandeered the den.

Natasha, wearing her smiling TV hostess face, handed me a wreath of sugar pumpkins. A votive candle rested in each hollowed-out pumpkin.

“You didn’t have to bring anything.” I examined it closely. She’d made little holes for the light to shine through. “When could you possibly have had the time to make this?”

“It didn’t take long. I borrowed a few things from the hotel maintenance department. Thanksgiving’s a slow time for them. They didn’t mind.” She held out her arms and cried, “Hannah!”

With barely restrained southern graciousness, she fussed over my sister. “I haven’t seen you in years. Just as pretty as ever. You know I always said if I could have a little sister, I’d want her to be just like you.”

Hannah introduced Natasha to Craig, which brought on a fresh torrent from Natasha. “Only seven months until the wedding? That’s not much time. You have to tell me everything you’re planning.”

Little did Natasha know that a recitation of the details could last right up to the wedding day.

Hannah wore a buff-colored sweater set and tiny pearl earrings, a major change from her usual hot-pink clothes and bold jewelry. More of Craig’s influence? Her blonde tresses bouncing from their hot curler treatment, Hannah ushered Natasha and Craig into the sunroom.

Mom suggested sending Mars and June into the living room for the private time June had wanted with her son but I stopped her and handed her the pumpkin wreath. “I’d like a word with Mars, if you don’t mind. Would you find room for this on the buffet?”

She raised an eyebrow at me but acquiesced, grinning. “I’ll help your dad serve cocktails.”

Mars tilted his head. “Natasha said you’d try something like this, but I insisted we were past that. Sophie, hon, seeing you yesterday rekindled some feelings, but I’m not ready to leave Nat.”

“You flatter yourself. I need to talk to you about June.”

“Oh, no, not you, too. Nat thinks it’s time for Mom to move to a home for the elderly.”

“I don’t want that, but I am worried.”

He followed me to the kitchen entry. I held out my hand to stop him from going in.

We could hear June saying, “That couldn’t be helped. But don’t you see, this is an opportunity to get Sophie and Mars back together again.”

Mars muttered, “Aw, Mom.” He walked into the kitchen and looked around. In a kind voice he asked, “Who are you talking to?”

She didn’t drop a stitch of her knitting when she said, “Your aunt Faye.”

Mars’s eyes couldn’t have opened wider if he had actually seen Faye’s ghost. He kneeled beside her. “Mom,” he said in the most gentle tone I’d ever heard him use, “Faye has been dead for several years.”

June kept knitting. “You didn’t think she’d leave this house, did you?”

“You think Aunt Faye’s ghost is haunting this house?” Mars gripped the edge of the chair, looked up at me, and winced as he waited for her answer.

“Haunt doesn’t seem right. That has spooky implications. I feel her spirit here.”

Relief flooded Mars’s face. “So you don’t really hear Faye talking.”

“Oh, no! I hear her very well. It’s lovely having a visit with her again.”

Mars bowed his head, no doubt to hide a worried expression. “Sophie and I don’t hear Faye.”

“Maybe you’re not listening.”

Mars rose and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Mom, you need to face reality. Faye is dead and Sophie and I are divorced. I’m with Natasha now.”

“I know that. I’m not daft.”

I tried, too. “June, it’s lovely that you’d like to see us reunite but that’s not going to happen.”

June’s knitting needles stopped and she turned her attention to Mars. “Not married to Natasha yet, are you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You see?” She grinned. “There’s always hope.”

Mars suggested they retire to the living room to talk but on his way out of the kitchen, he pulled me aside. “Do you think Mom’s losing it?”

“She seems okay otherwise.”

“Let’s not mention this to Natasha. She’ll have Mom institutionalized by next week if she finds out Mom thinks she’s talking to Faye. Especially now that Mom burned down half of her house.”

“Are you sure your mom started the fire?”

“Nat’s certain.”

Their private time didn’t last long. Mars’s younger brother, Andrew, arrived with Vicki.

“Thank you so much for including us today,” said Vicki. “We were at Natasha’s last night when the fire broke out. It was awful. And we didn’t have alternative plans. I had visions of us eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Thanksgiving.”

I was shutting the door when a timid knock came from the other side. A slight man with fine hair so blond it verged on white said, “Hello, Sophie.”