The Thanksgiving meal was on the table. Cedric had successfully deep fried two turkeys without exploding either one of them. There were pans of dressing, sweet potato casserole, green beans, butter peas, Jello salads, rolls, cornbread muffins, corn, spaghetti, salad, and fruit salad.

Jack was suddenly thankful for his broken ankle, since it meant he could eat what he wanted without worrying about a game on Sunday. The Lions were on and the Cowboys were up next, though certain people here had to switch to the college games to check the scores there.

A piercing whistle cut the air.

“All right, y’all. Here’s the deal. Everybody but Jack, you get a plate and go around and get what you like. Jack, I’ll make you a plate. Dessert is in the kitchen”—and she looked sternly at her children and also some of the rookies—“you have to eat your meal BEFORE you get dessert. Cedric’s going to say grace, we’re going to go around the room and say what we’re thankful for, and then we’re gonna eat. And if you make a mess, clean it up.”

Cedric’s prayer was heartfelt and simple. “Father-God, We’re just so thankful to be here, in this house, with these people today. We thank you for waking us up this morning. We thank you for life, for health, or in Jack’s case, for good medical care, for love, for each other, and most of all, for your Son Jesus, and what he’s done for us. We thank you for all the many hands that prepared this meal, and we ask you Father to bless it to your service in faith, love, and justice. And for everyone who doesn’t have what we have here, Jesus, the food, the family, and friends, we pray you would provide for them today. And now Jesus, those of us who pray, we’ll pray your prayer together.”

The folks who knew it and wanted to say it, joined in as he led them in the Lord’s Prayer.

The around-the-table gratefulness ranged from the flippant “this meal I’m going to smash” to the heartfelt, that Benjie’s mom was cancer-free (Jack flinched at that).

Rochelle pursed her lips for a moment before she answered. “Well, I’m so thankful for Cedric and Ceci. I’m thankful for Jack. I’m thankful for my family back home and that they’re doing better. And I’m thankful that God’s will is for justice.” Her face was calm as she said it, but Jack saw her hands clench.

“Amen, sister.” Cedric murmured appreciatively. “Jack, you’re up.”

Jack looked around the room. He’d been planning what he would say—he’d known this was a thing the Gormans did. He was going to be thankful for Rochelle, for Cedric and Ceci, and for everything he learned from all of them. But instead of triumphantly emerging from his mouth, it squirmed and died under the scrutiny of those faces. Rochelle was thankful for justice, which she hadn’t even gotten. He was…thankful for his own work?

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I’m sorry, I gotta go.” He pushed his chair back from the table and had to hop ignominiously to where his crutches had been put out of the way for the meal. He went out the back door, almost fell over going down the steps to get to the lawn, and he collapsed into the Adirondack chair.

The deal was it was one thing, talking to Rochelle about all this, talking with Cedric, watching his and Ceci’s life. But once those words came out of his mouth, then he admitted he had things all screwed up. In a room full of Black people.

He wasn’t worried about what they would do to him, of course, but was he ready to ask forgiveness? Back at almost the beginning when Rochelle had shown up with those signs, he’d thought, “Sure, my Black teammates know I care about them.” But once he said this, then he had to acknowledge that “on the field” he didn’t realize he had added internally. Fuck.

The creak of footsteps on the porch stairs made him look up. Rochelle was headed towards him, a concerned look on her face. “Jack, are you okay?”

“I can’t do this right now, Rochelle. Go finish your food.” He didn’t mean it to come out like that, did he?

“Excuse me? Did you just tell me what to do?” Her voice was pissed off, the look on her face one he hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Yeah. And you should listen. I’m not the man my mom wanted me to be, Rochelle, I’m not even who you think I can be. All the Ta-Nehisi Coates articles in the world aren’t going to fix it. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.” Well, there it was.

“Oh.” She said one word, barely a breath, and turned and walked up the steps and back inside. Jack closed his eyes and just felt. Turned inside out. Empty. Mean. Hopeless.

More footsteps made him open his eyes again. Cedric was carrying a full plate and a beer. “Ceci said that even if you were going to disrupt our meal you still needed some food. It’s not as hot, but it’s still good.”

“I’m not hungry.” He sounded like a petulant five-year-old, but Cedric did have kids, so maybe he’d know what to do.

Cedric pulled over a table that held a planter in warmer times and put the plate and the beer on it. “Listen, man, you know you don’t have to do this by yourself, right?” He patted Jack on the back and pulled over the matching chair—but instead of sitting in it, he positioned it so Jack could rest his ankle.

“What?” Jack reached over and took the beer. It was right there, after all.

Cedric chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You think we don’t see you? Jack, we know you. We see you looking at Rochelle. I see you looking at that sign in our yard, like you don’t know whether to kick it or wave it around.”

“Y’all have done so much for me already. I wouldn’t have made it these past few weeks without you. I mean, roof over my head, food on my plate—and at my place at the table. Before this season, I was always able to take care of myself, and now I need y’all for so much already, and I hate it!” Jack wasn’t ready for all that truth to come flying out at once. He put the beer bottle down to firmly on the arm of the chair and it splashed on him. “And the more I learn, the more—like, y’all shouldn’t be helping me. Serving me.”

“Yeah, we could’ve left you in the hospital room. We didn’t have to rearrange the furniture so you could stay downstairs. But we did. Should or shouldn’t, we’re in a position to choose what we want to do now, and we chose to help you. Suck it up.” Cedric’s big hand squeezed his shoulder. Maybe a little tighter than necessary. “Now tell Uncle Cedric what the fuck is wrong with you, and why you made that sweet girl look like someone had punched her in the stomach.”

“She just wants so much.” Was this really going to all come up, like a vomit ball of good intentions and past failures? “And I know she’s right, but I keep adding up the cost, and I know it’s worth it, and the cathedral said it was blessed to suffer for justice, but I want to figure out the best way, and how to do it, and now I just want to throw up. How can she thank God for justice when it’s obvious that she’s never going to get any?”

Cedric’s smile was smug. “Ceci was right, huh? The cathedral got to you.”

“Yeah.” Jack heaved out a sigh. It made him tired, to be known like that.

“Okay,” Cedric said. “All those costs you’re counting, you’re not doing it alone, you don’t bear them alone. It’s a lie from the pit of hell that you can do any good thing alone. Folks have been doing this for a long time. Now tell me about the blessings.”

“Well, Rochelle, she’s the biggest blessing. But I’m so scared I won’t be enough, that I’ll fuck it up again and again. I’ve seen her mad, and it hurts.” The skin on his stomach contracted as he remembered the punches she’d hit him with after the New Orleans game fiasco.

Cedric nodded and then tilted his head expectantly. “Any other blessings?”

“It’s hard for me to see past her,” Jack admitted.

“Maybe friends that love you and that bring you food even when you’ve stomped off in a huff?”

“Oh right, that’s a good one. Y’all are a blessing.”

“That’s right. You can’t earn us, Jack. Friends are a grace. And since Ceci said the spirit moved her after she saw your sad face after you broke your ankle, we’re friends.”

Jack ran both his hands through his hair and pulled on his neck. God, if this was just a person he could tackle. He knew that, he was good at that, he enjoyed that. “Thanks, Cedric.” It killed him so much of this was just being still.

“Now, tell me what you were thinking about, that would make such a big cost.”

Jack sighed. Since the cathedral, he’d been gripped by one single idea.

* * *

Rochelle walked away from Jack, past the crowd of people and her half-eaten plate and went straight to her room. She clung to the peace from the cathedral. She’d been feeling peace and even joy when she’d said her thankful things downstairs. And now there was still peace, but it was bleak. Jack had been dismissive before, a little slimy, but never, never had he been straight up unkind. Did he really mean it? Mary’s face at the cathedral came to her again. Yeah, he could mean it.

She folded and unfolded her hands, twisted them together. Had he broken up with her? Were they together before? Definitely friends. Possibly friends who liked to cuddle. Hell, he was her family’s benefactor. They both tried to forget that as often as possible. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.

Okay. He didn’t have to do it. She still had her life and her peace—long-searched-for peace. She didn’t actually need him to do anything. Was it supposed to hurt this much though? Should’ve never hopped in to that truck.

She’d come to St. Louis for answers—she’d gotten too many. She’d gotten a taste of what life could be like as she watched the Gormans, and now she knew she wouldn’t have it. She took a breath and let the bleakness settle over her.