Works and Days

Thanksgiving

Continued

It was Wednesday afternoon and there was enough chill in the air for Russell to wish for his brown parka. When he got to 1735 Breckinridge Avenue, he wanted to keep walking, less because it no longer felt like home, and more because the day was so beautiful and many of the trees still green.

It was strange to be in the large bedroom with the balcony that overlooked the Corley’s yard.  By the lack of dust, Russell realized his mother must have cleaned up. He collapsed on the bed, blinked at the ceiling a few times and was surprised when the doorbell woke him up in a darker room with the sun mostly gone. He heard laughter and sat up, listening to the conversation before he decided to go downstairs.

“Oh, my God!” he heard his Aunt Jackie, and then a familiar voice, “Jackie! Aw, Jackie!” and there was the noise of children.

It must have been Uncle John.          

John Mc.Larchlahn was the only man beside Chayne that Russell had ever broken into the a run for, and he came down the hall, and then down the stairs to where his mother, Jackie and John stood in a clump surrounded by three towheaded children shrieking and running circles about them.

“Russ!” John looked up at his nephew. “Let me get a look at you. God, you’ve grown!”

Russell flung himself into John’s arms, and the older man tried to pick his nephew up, but almost failed.

 “Huge!” he grunted and put him down.

John Mc.Larchlahn did not resemble his sister. In fact, he looked more like Thom than anything else. He was only a little taller than his brother-in-law and he was dark complexioned with full red lips, full chin and full nose, full smile, and dark lashes over coal dark eyes. He was, like his three fair children, blond, but his hair was darker, and to the sides, where it was shaved, it was almost brunette. John resembled his and Patti’s mother, whom—it was reputed—had Italian blood in her, though she wasn’t admitting it.

“Patti, who does Russell look like?” John asked. “Jackie?”

“I always thought he was a changeling,” Jackie shrugged.

“He looks like Dad,” Patti said. “Only attractive.”

“He doesn’t look anything like Dad,” John differed. His sons were tugging on him, “Enough, boys,” he said gently. They ignored him and he ignored their tugging.

“Red hair, green eyes,” said Patti, “Pale skin. Yes he does. He just isn’t shaped like a potato the way Daddy is. And he’s got Aunt Devon’s build. The same build Mary and Laura have.”

“Great Russell, you’ve look like half the women of the family,” John grinned at his nephew wolfishly.

“Stop John,” Patti chided. “He looks like Maureen’s kids.”

“Ryan and Jayson? Shit, he does!” John realized.

Russell had given up on remembering names. When both families got together, they talked about cousins no one had seen for years, far flung branches of the family that had once been together. “And a little bit like Laura’s boys.”

“I’ve never seen Laura’s boy’s.” John said.

“Yes you have...”

Russell knew who Laura was. She had grown up with his mother and her siblings in Chicago. Once he’d even seen her children and her husband when Patti had brought Thom and him to a dinner in Chicago, but he didn’t really remember them or just how Laura was related to his mother. So he looked at Jackie, as if to say, “I know who you are, though,” and she shrugged.

Russell felt a pull on his trouser pocket, heard a roar, and looked down, “Hey, Frankie!” he said to his cousin.

“Rushell!” Frankie shouted up, proud of himself for no apparent reason.

“Wassup, Russell!” Tommy yelled up, and Russell was about to answer when the other little boy laughed and ran into the kitchen.

“Aunt Patti! Aunt Patti!” Ross shouted up, “Cookie!”

“Whaddo you say, Ross?” John reprimanded the boy.

“Please, Aunt Patti. Cookie!”

“I think,” Patti allowed, “we can manage a cookie or two.”

“Can we manage a little more than that, Sis? I’m starved.”

“You know we don’t cook the night before Thanksgiving. We’re gonna be in the kitchen all night as it is.”

John kept staring at her. “Alright. Get the phone book and we’ll order a few pizzas. I’ll get the money from Thom when he comes in the house.”

“You strapped, Sis?”

Patti looked at John puzzled and then said, “No.”

 

As Thom came in the house through the front door, John got up to greet him and there was a buzzsawing outside as a motorcycle roared into the driveway with a sputtering stop.

John and Thom stopped in mid embrace, eyebrows raised. Russell and the kids looked at each other. Jackie and Patti looked at each other wisely, and then there was a knock at the door, and through the panes they saw him before Patti opened the door.

Thom cleared his throat and prepared to say the name before his sister said, half in scorn and half in admiration, “Finn!”

“Sis!”

Even when he opened his mouth wide and grinned, Finn Lewis seemed to be mumbling.

“Bro,” he gave a sideways grin to Thom. “Hot Mama,” he drawled in Patti’s direction, clapping her ass, “Little Russ.”

John and his children were, “Peoples!”

Finn was ruddy like his sister with the dark Lewis hair. Though one wouldn’t have known it because he was dressed from head to toe in studded leather, had an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and shades that almost never came off, he was, like Thom, regarded as being breathtakingly handsome. He was twelve years younger than Thom though, and unlike his brother, Finn was tall. He had been ten when Russell was born, and Russell’s middle name had been given in honor of him because he’d been so attentive to Patti.

It was not the shades or the leather or his attractiveness beneath the leather that anyone took notice of though. It was the short woman who hung on Fenian Valerie Lewis’s shoulder, shorter than Thom and definitely older.

“Thissis Meg,” Finn smiled and maintained, tugging the cigarette that Russell thought might by a joint, behind his ear while chewing gum and chucking the woman under the chin. “She’s got great tits, right?”

“Aw baby,” the brunette laughed and kissed him on the mouth, “You say the sweetest things.”

 

Frank, Denise and Sara Mc.Larchlahn arrived the same time as Kathleen Lewis. Both of Patti’s parents were actors, though admittedly not very good ones, and so was Kathleen, so they all entered the house with a flourish, in the midst of the second pizza. Kathleen, being the worst actor, made the best entrance, sweeping in and crying, “Darlings!” while Thom leaned over and asked Jackie where the hell Mom had gotten a British accent from.

“She’s from Caton, West Virginia for God’s sakes!”

“Thom, stop—”

“Jaclyn, darling!” Kathleen said, breathlessly. “You look heavenly.”

“Right back at you, Mom.”

“It’s nothing a little exercise—”

“And Miss Clarol—”

“You’re a wicked one, Jaclyn. Patricia, you look delicious. Russell! Ah, Russell!”

Kathleen Lewis was short and wide as a minute. Her hair was still blond by just the auspices Jaclyn had pointed out, though the tanning booth had made her skin a little more Samsonite than it should have been. She wore the same shades as Finn. Kathleen Lewis always made him feel like the only grandson, and then he realized that despite all of her children, he was the only grandchild though—looking at Finn—he suspected there were unclaimed cousins left in the wake of wherever his bike had gone.

After Kathleen, Russell submitted to being swallowed up by his other grandparents. Frank did resemble a potato. He had no chin and no one ever had any clue what he was talking about. Sara’s hair was still brown, and she did have John’s face. Even as she was doting over Russell, Frank reached into his pocket to give Russell a rumpled set of bills.

“Don’t spoil him, Frank,” Sara was saying while she handed Russell a folded check.

John’s boys came downstairs, shrieking, “Grandma! Grandpa!”

Momentarily they were simpler to placate than Russell, pleased by a shiny quarter pulled from behind the ear.

Denise lagged behind and had to wait for Patti to come and greet her. Now it is said that there is “one in every family” and Denise Mc.Larchlahn was the one in this family. She and Patti were of a height, indeed they could have been twins except that Denise actually had Russell’s luminous green eyes. She was blond, and she was angry, and she was two years older than Patti.

“Hi, Denise.”

“Hello, Patricia.”

Denise could suck the pretended joy out of any friendly overture her sister tried to make. The newest of her crises had been going on for a year and a half, namely that her worthless husband—and everyone could agree on the fact that he was worthless—had left her, but not taken his debts with him, and she’d had to leave the large house in Evanston and return to her parents’ on the southside of Chicago. Denise Lewis never left her room, and she would never have children. She had been reputed to be that Old Testament word—barren, that modern word, sterile. It turned out that Todd was the sterile one. But now Todd was gone.

Meanwhile, Kathleen was in her own conversation.

“Oh, you must be Kathleen, I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Kathleen smiled, waiting for the woman to continue.

“I’m Meg Rice. I’m with your son.”

Kathleen looked from Finn to Meg and then asked, “Do you babysit him, dear?”

 

The sexes were separating. The television was on in the living room, and the women were migrating to the kitchen to begin the long process of cooking. There were a few who flitted from company to company, Meg, who never felt comfortable with women, Russell who could not believe he was becoming a man, and the boys who went in the direction of the most attention before settling down to nap under the dining room table.

Thom saw headlights flash outside and a car rumble up the driveway, and he and John went to the door.

“I can’t believe it took Reese so long!” Kristen was saying before anyone could say hello. Reese made to say something, but the other men clapped him on the back, welcoming him in, and Thom tried to exclaim, “Hello Kristin!”

Kristen found her way to the kitchen, followed by Reese who thought the only polite thing to do was greet the women before sitting down with the men.

“Oh, my God, he’s so cute!” Meg declared.

“Kristen,” Patti said levelly.

“Kristen,” Jackie said.

“Darling!” cried Kathleen who was doing damage to a carrot.

“Who died and made you British, Mother?”

Kathleen only raised an eyebrow at her oldest child as she leaned against the counter. Kristen was tall and witch eyed with very long, gold brown hair, and she was dripping in the jewelry Reese Keillor, he short, blond, Norwegian husband had put her in. Though they’d been married nearly twenty years, they had no children. Jackie always said that Reese’s semen froze to death the moment it entered Kristen.

“Jackie, are you still doing that art thing?” Kristen asked.

“Yes,”

“How pleasant.” Kristen smiled and reached into her handbag for a cigarette.

“Still single?”

“No, not at all,” Jackie plastered on a smile. “Chip will probably be here tonight.”

“Oh dear,” Patti murmured.

“Chip?” Kristen pronounced the name like an ice chip hitting the ground. “Is it serious?”

“It’s…” Jackie sought for a word. “It’s going along.... nicely. I don’t know.”

“Well,” Kristen murmured lighting her cigarette. “That’s our Jackie.”

“Reese how are you?” Jackie talked over her sister to the little man from Minnesota in the grey business suit.

“Oh, I’m—”

“My God, I thought we would never get here!” Kristen went on. “Reese was driving so slow.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t Reese’s fault,” Kathleen said. “The highways must be crowded.”

“And all the way from Minnesota,” Reese went on.

“But if he’d gotten off of work on time,” Kristen said. “That wouldn’t have happened. I mean, really, I don’t think he had to work at all. But he just can’t keep away from the office. You know men. He’s just like Thom, isn’t he Patti? Work. Work. Work.”

“How else will he keep you in all that jewelry?” Jackie wondered, raising an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” Kristen looked at her younger sister.

Patti cleared her throat and thought to herself that it was going to be a very long night.