Thanksgiving

Nehorai Gold

 

The porch light was on, but Mr. Grousby could see from the street that the windows of his house were dark. It appeared to be empty. Melinda was hardly ever out this late but perhaps she was visiting one of her girlfriends or maybe grocery shopping for tomorrow’s dinner. Mr. Grousby would often walk to work and leave the car with Melinda in case she needed to run any such errands and tomorrow was a big day. Either way, he didn’t debate his wife’s absence too long before unlocking the front door and stepping inside, eager to withdraw from the cold, rainy November evening.

He flicked the lights on and removed his coat. The living room had never looked so tidy and clean. Not a single feathered pillow was wrinkled. Every book was perfectly organized on the mahogany bookshelf. The coasters were neatly stacked on the coffee table and the carpet looked newly vacuumed. The television set had been wiped down of dust and even the fireplace sparkled as though soot had never once touched it. Loosening his collar, he walked forward into the room, examining its every detail. If cleanliness was next to godliness, Mr. Grousby was convinced that his living room would have been heaven on earth.

After haphazardly slinging his tie onto the sofa, he walked into the kitchen, which was just as pristine. The telephone on the freshly disinfected countertop blinked at him, indicating an unheard message. He pressed the button and listened. After the answering machine’s mechanical voice announced, “One new message,” followed by a beep, Mr. Grousby heard his wife’s voice.

“Vincent. I’m just calling to let you know that Helen Stromberg invited me over for dinner so if I’m not home by the time you get this message then that’s where I am. Oh! And Rebecca’s husband William isn’t feeling well. She called and told me he won’t be joining us tomorrow, but he’s a bit vapid if you ask me so I don’t mind terribly. One less place setting and more intelligent conversation, I say. All right. I’ll see you tonight, darling. Bye.”

A terminal beep sounded and the red light stopped blinking. Vincent looked at the clock above the stainless steel stove. Nearly ten o’clock. Melinda would often go to dinner with her girlfriends but such affairs rarely extended this late. He picked up the telephone and began to dial. He held the receiver up to his ear and waited for someone on the other end to put a stop to the repetitive calling tone. After a few rings, Mr. Stromberg answered.

“Good evening.”

“Hello, David?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Vincent Grousby.”

“Oh, Vincent! How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. And you?”

“Excellent, excellent. To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night call?”

“You can thank my wife for that. Is she there, by any chance?”

“Oh, yes. She’s right here.”

“May I speak with her?”

“Certainly. Just one moment.”

A few seconds passed before Mr. Grousby heard his wife’s voice on the other end.

“Hello, Vincent.”

“Melinda.”

“Did you just now come home from the office?”

“You know how the office gets this time of year.”

“Of course, darling. David walked through the front door himself not two minutes ago.”

“So it was Helen who invited you to dinner? I thought she was out of town this week.”

“No, no. She returned yesterday. Her father is in such poor health.”

“Pity.”

“Gives us something to be thankful for, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed.”

“Speaking of which, I told you that William won’t be coming tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Good. I find that man absolutely insipid. I am glad Rebecca will be joining us, though.”

“Yes, she’s a lovely girl.”

“She is.”

“Will you be coming home soon?”

“Yes, yes. Helen and David and I have been having the loveliest chat and I guess I just lost track of the time. I’ll be home soon, though.”

“Stay as long as you wish. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I am, darling. I’ll stay for some coffee and I’ll be home within the hour.”

“All right. Good bye, then.”

“Good bye.”

He hung up the telephone feeling relieved and ascended up the stairs, surveying the immaculate living room once more before turning off the light. He walked down the hall and into the empty bedroom. The pale moonlight shone through the bedroom window giving Vincent enough light to see the unmade bed in the darkness. It was the only room in the house that did not reek of perfection.

He removed his shoes and crossed to the dresser with them in hand. He put them away quietly and unbuttoned his shirt. He reached into his pants pocket and tightly clutched the black velvet ring box inside. He cautiously took it out and opened it, watching the moonlight glisten off of the white gold ring inside. He moved it slightly from side to side, watching the diamond in the center sparkle softly. It was just her taste and looked even more beautiful in the moonlight. After a few minutes, he slowly closed the box and placed it on the dresser. Vincent got under the covers, pleased with himself for having bought such a lovely present. He thought of how happy she would be to receive it and fell asleep to the sound of the rain pattering hard on the window.

 

§

 

Melinda walked over to him and handed him another tie. This one had blue and black swirls of all sizes sewn into the silky fabric. He took the tie and put it on. One look in the mirror was enough to tell him it did not match his brown suit at all. Melinda insisted on it.

“It’s nice. It makes you look ten years younger, darling.”

“It’s a tie, Melinda. Not a time machine.”

He examined it in the mirror more closely and wrinkled his brow.

“It’s too flashy.”

“It’s not flashy at all.”

“It doesn’t match my suit.”

“Then maybe you should change your suit.”

“I’m not changing the suit.”

Vincent pulled off the tie and exchanged it for a modest solid red one. Not flashy at all.

“Honestly, Vincent. It’s so plain.”

“It’s Thanksgiving dinner, Melinda.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t look nice.”

She certainly did look nice. Age had taken its toll on her but she looked exquisite nonetheless. Her sleeveless black dress snugly hugged her slim figure in all the right places. Her thin, graying hair fell down just past her shoulders, a refreshing deviation from the tight bun she always had. The makeup she wore accented her big hazel eyes, plumped her lips, and endowed her sunken cheeks with some rosy innocence. A delicate silver necklace hung around her narrow neck and two silver earrings dangled freely. Her bony fingers, one of which was garnished with the wedding ring that had comfortably sat there for twenty-four years, effortlessly fastened her black shoes firmly to her slender ankles. Vincent had not seen his wife dressed this nicely in a long time. But perhaps it was also the sunset behind her that gave her such a radiant glow.

“You look very nice.”

“What? Oh. Thank you.” She gave him a weak smile and turned toward the dresser. “You would too if you changed that horrid tie.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s far too boring. If you don’t like the blue one then at least wear something like this.”

She handed him a glossy light green tie. Vincent smiled. He removed the red one and put on the green one. It wasn’t flashy like the swirly blue one and much more elegant than the plain red. It was just what he needed.

They heard the doorbell ring downstairs. Vincent turned toward the clock. Six-thirty exactly. As long as he had known them, Helen and David Stromberg were always annoyingly punctual. Before he could turn back to his wife, she was already rushing down the stairs to open the door for their waiting guests. Vincent looked at himself in the mirror one final time, fixed his thick mustache and his thinning hair a bit, and headed downstairs as well.

David Stromberg stood in the living room dressed in a nice black suit and tie. Melinda was holding a pumpkin pie that he, no doubt, had brought. He greeted Melinda’s husband with a pleasant grin and a firm handshake.

“Vincent! Happy Thanksgiving.”

“David. Punctual, as always.”

Melinda walked toward her husband holding the pie. Her wedding ring scraped the tinfoil of the pan, making a sound that Vincent found jarring.

“David brought this for dessert. Isn’t that nice of him?”

“Quite.” He turned to David. “And where, if I may ask, is your charming wife?”

“Unfortunately, my wife isn’t feeling so well. She had a terrible headache and needed to rest. I would have stayed at home with her had she not insisted otherwise.”

“You know Helen. She always has to have her way.”

Melinda chuckled at her remark. David sifted through his thick silvery hair with his hand, following her with his eyes as she left them to put the pie away. He cleared his throat a bit.

“So who else are we expecting?”

Vincent shifted his weight, swaying back and forth slightly and locking eyes with the hardwood floor.

“Just Mrs. Reed, now that Helen won’t be joining us.”

“Rebecca Reed?”

“Yes.”

“She’s a friend of Melinda’s, is she not?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Won’t her husband be joining us as well?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He isn’t feeling well, either.”

“Oh. What a shame.”

“Yes, it really is.” A few moments passed in silence. He looked at David. “Would you care for a drink?”

“Certainly. Scotch, if you have it.”

Vincent walked over to the drink table and poured a glass of scotch as David began to wander around the living room. He smiled politely as he handed David the glass.

“I’m sorry to hear about your father-in-law.”

“Huh?”

“Helen’s father. Melinda mentioned he isn’t doing so well.”

“Oh, yes. He’s been dreadfully ill for quite some time. Regrettable, really.”

“It is.”

Vincent did not know what else to say. David silently took a small sip of the scotch. They stood there for a few moments, neither making the heavy effort to continue the conversation. Vincent contented himself with scrutinizing the floor but jumped at the opportunity when the doorbell rang. He turned to David, who was busy examining a mediocre painting of a half eaten apple that Melinda had bought years ago.

“Excuse me.”

David hardly seemed to notice as Vincent walked toward the front door, straightening his silky green tie as he went. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he grasped the bronze knob and opened the door. The vision he beheld when his eyes finally opened took his breath away.

Mrs. Rebecca Reed was absolutely captivating. While a few budding wrinkles and graying hairs gave away her age, her warm smile and lively disposition echoed those of a much younger woman. Her flowing green dress came down to the floor, shimmering with the wind that accented her full and shapely figure. Her alluring brown eyes gently looked at him and then down to the floor. A few strands of her long light brown hair fell in front of her face as she blushed modestly. She wore some faint green eye shadow to match her dress and a bit of dark red lipstick. The thin silver bracelets on her wrist chimed as she brushed the hair away from her face. Her white gold earrings glistened. She looked back at Vincent and greeted him sweetly.

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

“To you, too. Please! Come in, come in.”

He stepped aside to let her through and closed the door. Before he could turn around, David started up with her.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Reed.”

“Likewise, Mr. Stromberg.”

“That’s a beautiful dress you’re wearing. Truly exquisite.”

“Why, thank you.”

David reached out and, with the hand not holding his scotch, touched the sleeve of her dress. He rubbed the fabric thoroughly with his fingertips, feeling every stitch.

“I love the color.”

“Oh, yes. Forest green.”

“Magnificent.”

Vincent forced a smile and approached her. His voice was shakier than he had imagined it would be.

“You look lovely this evening.”

“Thank you, Vincent. I love your tie.”

“Oh, thank you. Would you like a drink?”

“No, no. I’m quite all right.”

“Very well. If you two will excuse me, I’m just going to go check on Melinda for a moment. I will be right back.”

Vincent flashed them both a polite smile and started toward the kitchen. As he walked away, he heard David spit out a few more compliments about Mrs. Reed’s dress between sips of scotch. The empty dining room table was beautifully set for four; Melinda had used the fancy china and the floral silverware for the occasion. The sheer quantity of various foods, from mashed potatoes to the enormous sacrificial turkey on the table generated a heavenly aroma that filled the room. The pie that David had brought sat on the countertop, still covered in tinfoil. Melinda was nowhere to be seen.

He climbed up the stairs and into the empty hallway. At the end of the hall, he noticed that the bedroom door was slightly ajar. Mr. Grousby continued forward, calling his wife’s name. He found her in their bedroom, sitting at the foot of the bed, her eyeliner a bit smudged from the tears. Next to her were four embroidered napkins. In her hand was a black velvet ring box.

“Vincent.”

His throat closed up. She sniffled lightly.

“I just… I don’t know what to say.”

He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t breathe.

“It’s beautiful.”

He couldn’t move. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple.

“I love it.”

She carefully took the ring out of the box and held it with her finger and her thumb. She moved it slightly from side to side, watching the diamond in the center sparkle softly. A tear fell and caressed her cheek, carrying with it some residue from her makeup. Her bottom lip trembled. She froze for a moment and then held the ring out to her husband. She looked up at him and smiled heavily through the tears.

“Put it on me?”

As if in slow motion, he moved toward her and reached his hand out. He knelt down on one knee in front of her and cautiously took the ring in his fingertips. Melinda extended her right hand to him, her eyes focused solely on the ring. Vincent did all he could to breathe as naturally as possible as he positioned the ring right in front of her middle finger. His mouth was unbearably dry. Sliding the white gold ring onto his wife’s bony finger took all the strength in the world. Time stood still as he slowly let go of the ring, now definitively planted at the finger’s base. Melinda lifted her hand to examine the ring and watch it glitter in the light, but the sun had already set and the window was dark. Feigning satisfaction as though the ring had sparkled for her, Melinda smiled, lowered her hand, and turned to look at her husband.

“Thank you, darling.”

She began to tear up again, smudging her eyeliner even more. Her mouth twisted into a smile, dark and contorted. Vincent’s heart was in his stomach and his constricted chest made him choke on his words. He could barely look at her.

“Of course, dear.”

Her smile widened. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Wiping the tears away, Melinda stood up and tried to compose herself. Grabbing the napkins, she exhaled heavily and began to walk away.

“We should return to our guests. Dinner is getting cold.”

Vincent slowly rose to his feet as Melinda left the room. He watched her walk down the unlit hallway and disappear into the living room below. His heart was still racing. Turning to look out the window, he could see the navy blue sky, growing steadily blacker with every passing minute. His eyes moved down onto the untidy bed, where the empty velvet ring box lay opened on its side. He picked it up and inspected it through watery eyes. It was useless now. Black and beautiful, but worthless all the same. After a few moments, he snapped it shut and put it in his pocket. He turned around, switched off the lights, and calmly returned to the company of his dinner guests.