Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

by Susanne Shaphren

Thanksgiving Miracle

Juji and Talisa are happily settled in front of the TV, watching one of the stack of bargain movies we rented just after Mr. Reliable called.

My fingers fly over the computer keyboard, but I haven't even made a dent in the seemingly endless stack of dictation tapes.

All this extra work seemed like a blessing when I thought Talisa and Juji would be spending Thanksgiving with Mr. Reliable and his newest girlfriend. I'd be much too busy to even think about missing them. Thanks to the triple holiday bonus pay, Santa would come right on time even if the child support check got "lost" in the mail AGAIN.

Whatever was I thinking? If Mr. Reliable had ever been that, I'd still be Mrs. Reliable and there would be a turkey and all the trimmings in the fridge instead of one lonely TV dinner in the freezer.

Three dictation tapes later, Marmalade, the cat, and I do our stretching and head for the kitchen. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, milk and carrot sticks for Juji and Talisa. A piece of petrified pizza for me. I reach for Marmalade's favorite food, the last can on the shelf.

"Who wants to take the bus to the grocery store?"

"Me!" "Me!!" Not me. But there's no choice. If we don't make the trip, there will be nothing to be thankful for tomorrow.

No wonder my mother did most of her shopping the Saturday before Thanksgiving. She was smart to stock up on fresh cranberries, sweet potatoes, russets, celery, and marshmallows. No wonder she ordered the perfect fresh turkey to pick up at the last possible minute. There's nothing left!

I do my best to sound excited about chicken drumsticks and stuffing mix. I'll make something special for dessert.

"Remember last year when Dorothy had Thanksgiving dinner with us?"

"I remember." Dorothy was the lost soul we saw on our daily trips to and from the bus stop. Talisa made an extra sandwich every morning for Dorothy. Juji suggested giving her the old blanket we cuddled under while watching TV.

"I used to live here." Weeks after we met, Dorothy walked us blocks out of our way to show us the grey frame house with periwinkle shutters and boarded up windows.

Dorothy agreed to think about going to the soup kitchen at our church, but refused the list of women's shelters. "Too many rules."

I swallowed hard, casually let it slip that our apartment building maintenance man often left the back door ajar. "The basement is always warm and fairly dry if you need a safe place to sleep."

My mother's voice echoed a warning when I invited Dorothy to Thanksgiving dinner, but I reassured the figment of my imagination and myself that Dorothy was harmless.

Santa brought Dorothy an early Christmas present, a bright red heavy coat from the thrift store. We looked for that coat at the bus stop every day. Talisa and Juji always had a piece of fresh fruit or candy or a cookie tucked in their pockets for their special friend. When I could spare it, I'd tuck a few dollars in the pocket of her coat as we hugged good-bye. I knew Dorothy was too proud to take it from me any other way.

Just before Christmas, Dorothy disappeared. I described her to the volunteers at the soup kitchen, asked if anybody remembered her.

"She came almost every night for a while, insisted on helping clean up after dinner. Haven't seen her in the past couple of weeks though. Maybe she hitched a ride to someplace warmer for the winter."

"Maybe."

I pray Dorothy is someplace safe and warm this Thanksgiving with plenty of food on her plate.

The bus lurches to a stop. I put a protective arm around Juji, Talisa, and the groceries, brace for the gust of icy air as we get off.

A flash of ever so familiar red and Dorothy's sweet as molasses Southern voice. "I've been waiting to invite you to Thanksgiving tomorrow. My house."

"Are you sure, Dorothy? It's much too cold for a picnic."

"You won't recognize the place all fixed up like when my daughter was Talisa's age."

"What can I bring?"

"Spice cake would be nice ... with apples and raisins."

"Of course." I'll have to ask a neighbor to watch Juji and Talisa, trek back to the store for apples ... and for the cat food I suddenly realize I forgot.

When we get inside, there are surprises to unpack. Four Granny Smith apples and three tins of Marmalade's favorite food. None of it on the receipt.

"Must have been our guardian angel making sure you didn't have to go out again in the cold." Talisa explains as she carefully washes and dries our thrift store treasure, a hand-painted angel plate.

I'm much too old to believe in guardian angels. There's a perfectly logical explanation for what happened. "We probably just got part of the order ahead of ours. We'll pay for it next time we go shopping." Still, it does seem like magic that we accidentally got exactly what we needed.

No buses running on Thanksgiving. We bundle up until we can barely move, ever so carefully follow Dorothy's instructions. Much too cold to risk getting lost.

Dorothy looks so different, somehow younger and absolutely beautiful in the simple grey dress with a white lace collar. Like a mother hen, she makes sure we sit in front of the roaring fireplace while she takes care of last minute details in the kitchen.

There's an exquisite linen tablecloth on the dining room table. I whisper a gentle warning to Talisa and Juji to be extra careful not to spill anything.

"We give thanks for special blessings on this special day ... good food and good friends. Amen." Juji's prayer is shorter than the blessing he practiced so carefully at home. I think the steaming platters are just too tempting for him to wait one minute longer.

Dorothy's stuffing is exactly like my mother's, full of celery, carrots and slivered almonds. There's a crystal dish of freshly ground cranberries with orange rind and sugar just like my Aunt Fran always made. Sweet potatoes mashed with orange juice, brown sugar and just a touch of cinnamon under perfectly melted marshmallows. A picture perfect turkey with three drumsticks. How on earth did Dorothy guess how much that would mean to me? I always give my favorite piece of the turkey to Talisa and Juji, pretend I want a wing or slices of the thigh.

We eat until we're ready to burst, rest a bit and then attack the cake.

"Best I ever had," Dorothy proclaims.

"You can keep the rest, but you have to wrap up one piece for Mom's breakfast." Juji kisses Dorothy on the cheek.

Plenty of time to work on the computer after I tuck my happily stuffed children into bed.

Barely dawn when Juji and Talisa wake up and insist we invite Dorothy for Christmas. We walk briskly to stay warm, carefully retrace our steps from yesterday, can't find the house.

Only a vacant lot where we're positive Dorothy's house should be. A vacant lot with a shiny black car parked out front. A young woman with Dorothy's smile greets us like family.

"Mama painted such vivid word pictures of you in her letters that I feel like I've known you forever."

"We came to invite Dorothy for Christmas."

"I assumed you knew. My mother died last December."

"That's impossible! We ate Thanksgiving dinner with her. The house was all fixed up ..."

"The house was bulldozed last month. I didn't know until after she died that Mama could barely afford to pay the property taxes out of her Social Security check. She sent me beautiful letters every single week, told me all about her special friends. I never dreamed she was living on the street. We finally got the property rezoned for apartments; the developer is meeting me here to sign the final papers."

"Mom, look!" Talisa points toward the center of the lot, right where Dorothy's dining room used to be. A grey and white cat happily polishes off the last crumb of spice cake, daintily licks the one-of-a-kind angel plate.

My mind is a jumble of confusing thoughts. The plate and the cake are tangible proof that we were here yesterday. If there was no house and no Dorothy, what happened? What possible explanation can there be for the wonderful meal and the love we shared? Surely Talisa, Juji and I couldn't have had exactly the same dream. And if it was just a dream, how do I explain the plate?

"Can we keep her, Mom?" Juji picks up the cat before I can warn him she might scratch or bite. My heart skips a beat when I see the cat has deep blue eyes just like Dorothy's. It doesn't take much imagination to transform the pattern of grey and white fur into the dress our hostess wore yesterday.

So many questions, but the first one I have to answer is my son's. There's enough money in the emergency budget envelope for the vet to examine the stray and vaccinate her. Marmalade loves other cats. I'm just not sure I'm ready to take on another mouth to feed.

"Her name is Dorothy, Mom, just like our guardian angel." Little Juji has all the answers.

Copyright © 2004 Susanne Shaphren

About the Author
The author is a native of Phoenix, Arizona. Susanne's articles and fiction have appeared in an eclectic alphabet soup of print and online venues including: Authorship, Adventure Fiction Online, Better Communication, Children's Playmate, Dana Literary Society Online Journal, Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine, Monthly Short Stories and The Writer. Her short story, "Arrangements," is included in Mystery Writers of America Presents Show Business is Murder.