Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [423]
“What did you need to talk about that couldn’t wait until Thursday?” she asked Maggie.
“Thursday?”
“Thanksgiving. You didn’t forget, did you?”
Another flinch.
“Oh, jeez, Mom. I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it.”
“But you must. I’ve already bought the turkey. It’s in the fridge. Practically fills up the entire damn thing.” Oh, Jesus, she shouldn’t cuss. She needed to watch her language or Reverend Everett would be upset. “I’m thinking we’ll have dinner at five o’clock, but you can come earlier, if you like.”
She remembered that she still needed to buy cranberries and that bread stuff. Where did she leave her list? She started searching the tabletops.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
“Oh, nothing, sweetie. I just remembered a few things for Thursday. I wanted to write them—oh, here it is.” She found the list on the lamp stand, sat down and jotted cranberries and bread stuff at the bottom. “Do you know what that bread stuff is actually called that you use to make the stuffing?”
“What?”
“The bread. You know those small pieces of dry bread that you use to make stuffing.” Maggie stared at her like she didn’t know what she was talking about. “Oh, never mind. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
Of course, Maggie probably didn’t know. She was never much of a cook, either. She remembered the girl trying to bake sugar cookies one Christmas and ending up with rock-hard, burnt Santas. Then she refused to be consoled when one of the guys from Lucky Eddie’s suggested they paint them and use them for coasters. Poor girl. She never had much of a sense of humor. She was always so sensitive and took too many things to heart.
When she finally looked up from the list, Maggie was staring at her, again. Uh-oh. Now she looked pissed.
“What else should we have for our Thanksgiving dinner?” Kathleen asked.
“Mom, I didn’t come here today to talk about Thanksgiving.”
“Okay, so what did you come here to talk about?”
“I need to ask you some questions about Reverend Everett.”
“What kind of questions?” she asked. Father had warned them about family members wanting to turn them against him.
“Just some general stuff about the church.”
“Well, I have an appointment I need to get to,” she lied, glancing at her wrist only to find no watch. “Gee, Mag-pie, I wish you would have called. Why don’t we talk about all this on Thursday.”
She walked to the door, hoping to lead Maggie out, but when she turned back, Maggie stood in the same spot, clear across the room. Now Maggie frowned at her. No, not a frown. It was that worried, angry look. No, not anger. Well, yes, anger but also sadness. She had the saddest brown eyes sometimes. Just like her father, just like Thomas. Yes, she knew that look. And yes, Kathleen knew exactly what her daughter was thinking even before Maggie said it.
“I don’t believe this. You’re drunk.”
CHAPTER 53
Maggie knew as soon as her mother called her “Mag-pie.” It had been her father’s nickname for her. One her mother had adopted, but only when she was drunk. Instead of a nickname, it had become a signal, a warning, a grate on her nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.
She stared at her mother, but the woman didn’t flinch. Her hand stayed firmly planted on the front doorknob. God! She had forgotten how good her mother was at this game. And how god-awful she was, because she let the emotion rule and carry her away—the emotion of a twelve-year-old. Suddenly, she found herself pacing the short length of her mother’s living room.
“How could I have been so stupid to believe you?” Maggie said, annoyed that her lower lip was quivering. A quick glance showed no change in her mother’s face. That perfected combination of puzzlement and innocence, as if she had no clue what Maggie was talking