Shopping for a turkey was less than pleasant, and going back to the market a second day in a row seemed like a punishment for forgetting about my sister. I needed help. It was Friday afternoon, and I knew Ginger was free. I thought I heard Dawson outside, too, so I reached for my jacket and went for an impromptu visit.
I surprisingly found the front door open and pushed it in a little farther, stepping inside with curiosity. “Hello?” I called, walking through the living room.
“Mari! We’re in Daddy’s room!” Ginger called from the back of the house. I did, indeed, find them in Dawson’s room and was even more surprised to find them busy tidying up.
“What’s going on here?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing much,” Dawson said. “Just Ginger, making me work for my food.”
Ginger leveled a serious gaze at me. “We need to do some cleaning. Sarah’s mother does it every year before Thanksgiving, and it’s nice.”
“Does she?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. I glanced at Dawson to see he shared my puzzlement.
“Would you like to help, Mari?” the girl asked.
I coughed to cover a laugh. “I would, baby, but I think you’ve got it under control. Besides, the house doesn’t need a lot of cleaning anyway.”
Dawson shrugged and bent to pick up a t-shirt, probably collected from another room, and put it in the laundry hamper. “Then will you just watch, Mari?”
This time, I threw my head back and laughed. “Sorry, sweetie, I have to go shopping. Again. I came to ask if you’d like to come, too, but I see that…”
“Oh, we’re coming!” Dawson shouted, interrupting my assumed rejection. “Isn’t that right, Ginger? Shopping for the perfect Thanksgiving dinner.”
She scrunched her nose, obviously torn between choices of entertaining activities. But finally, she said, “Okay. Do you have a shopping list?”
“I know what I’m going to buy, baby.”
“But you need a shopping list!” she insisted. “Or you’ll forget the most important thing, like Daddy always does.”
“Is that so?” I gave Dawson a meaningful look, amused by Ginger’s bossiness. I had to give it to her – she was right. “You are a very organized girl. Shall we make a list together, then? I still need the ingredients for your cranberry sauce anyway.”
“Of course you do. Let’s do it.” She led the way with a determinate march that would make the Third Reich jealous. “Daddy, can you show Mari the recipe? It’ll make it easier to make the list.”
The syntax was a question, but Ginger’s tone was commanding. Dawson was already searching for the recorded cooking show as I grabbed a pen and notebook, waiting patiently. “Shall we?” he asked, sitting beside me. Ginger sat at the head of the table, supervising the procedure.
“We shall.”
I turned to face the TV. The operation went smoothly, and I jotted down what I needed, after which we came up with suggestions for the rest of the meal. Ginger asked a thousand questions, many on subjects she still knew nothing about, and I felt like I was back in class, something that apparently amused Dawson greatly. I threw a couple of side glances at him, but all went well, and we were soon the proud owners of a hefty shopping list.
“Are we done?” Dawson ran an impatient hand through his hair.
“It only took half an hour!” I joked, standing to stretch.
“’It was only half an hour,’” he mocked.
“Can we go now?” Ginger called, already standing by the front door.
I nodded. “Come on, Mr. Dawson. Time to shop.”
He made a face but complied in silence. Outside, he ran to my car, shouting, “I’m driving!”
Giggling, I threw him the keys and settled Ginger in the back. By the time I took my seat, he had the engine rumbling, eager to be useful. He hadn’t been much help in determining whether to use mandarins or blood oranges. “Where to?”
I looked at him like he asked if we could fly to another planet. “Um, to the supermarket.”
He pouted his lower lip but drove off.
“Can I play a game on your phone, Daddy?” Ginger asked.
“Sure,” he told her. He gave me his phone, and I turned to pass it to Ginger. “Doesn’t she have a phone?” I whispered as she searched dozens of apps.
“No, her phone only accepts calls. No games, no apps. And she only has my number to call. Speed dial 1.” He winked, and I, once again, saw the responsible father. Absently, I reached for the dial to turn on the radio, in the mood for music. But it seemed Dawson had other ideas. “Why haven’t I heard of this mysterious sister before?” he asked.
I pulled back from the radio and frowned. “Because we don’t see each other very often. We have an annual tradition on Thanksgiving, and that’s about it. Sometimes she calls, maybe a couple times a year.”
“Why don’t you call her?” he suggested. Or maybe he was digging.
I stared out the window. “She’s a bit wild. Always traveling and changing numbers. Last time I heard from my baby sister, she was working at a casino in Vegas and living with an indie metal band. And she had a motorcycle.”
“She sounds interesting.” He was banking on the bike.
I dashed his hopes. “She can’t ride a motorcycle.”
A moment passed, and we both laughed. “Why did she get it?”
“She said she liked how it looked. And she’d just won a small fortune playing slots.”
“Aren’t casino employees prohibited from playing?” he asked suspiciously.
I nodded, smiling reluctantly. “That’s why she got fired the next day.”
“Now, I’m definitely interested,” he teased.
I scoffed. “What am I, chopped liver? Am I that boring?”
“Not at all. But you have to admit, you’re a good girl.”
I didn’t know quite what to think. Was he just teasing, or did he really have a problem with that? “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” I crossed my arms, a bit injured at his words.
But he reached out a hand to caress my cheek. “No, a good girl is exactly what I need.”
His low tone and husky voice made the butterflies in my stomach rise and flutter in a wicked dance, and I felt my cheeks flush. After a moment of silence, I said, “I think you’ll like her.”
“I’m sure I will. I trust your instincts, babe. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” The conversation trailed off, and I started to relax. But after a while, he asked, “What about your parents? Are they coming?”
I cleared my throat. “My parents are dead.”
He frowned, and I saw the regret in his eyes for asking. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I shrugged. “It’s not that bad. My mother had cancer, and it was a long illness. She died when I was eighteen, and we all expected it. I was there, and it was peaceful.” I felt his eyes on me, but I kept looking out the window. My past didn’t have a lot of drama, but it still hurt not having my mother. And as well as I held to my promise to respect her wishes and not be sad, I still had moments of tears about those times and felt like they wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want a moment like that now, so I kept my words short.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, resting his hand on my thigh. I thanked him silently, covering it with mine. He squeezed my fingers, the gesture warm and comforting.
I cleared my throat and continued, “My father died last year of a stroke. He was much older than my mother and struggled with his blood pressure all his life. And he loved his bacon.” I tried to be flippant. He said nothing, just squeezed tighter, and I added, “That was the last time I saw my sister.”
“Is that so?”
I nodded. “I think she takes after our father.”
He tilted his head in question. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, for starters, she loves her bacon, too.” He glanced at me, gauging my mood. I smiled, and so he chuckled. More seriously, I added, “He was a free spirit, an artist. And my sister…”
“Is just as interesting,” he finished for me as he pulled into the supermarket parking lot.
I watched Dawson maneuver my car into the only spot available – a tiny one – and I got out. The chill in the air settled me. I needed to get back into character. Ginger wouldn’t like it if I lagged behind, lost in thought and moody. I helped her out with a grin and checked her jacket, making sure it was straight. “Shall we?” I asked, holding my hand out to her.
She took it. “Let’s go.”