In Situ

In the November that she turned fifty, Claudia Herrick, mother of two and retired nurse

anesthetist, underwent surgery to remove a small Stage 0 cancerous tumor from her colon and

decided that she would host Thanksgiving. Her parents, she told her brother on the phone, were

getting too old to do it, and all the cooking and shopping was a burden on their mother, who had

a bad knee. Carcinoma in situ was hardly even cancer. She was recovering well. Her prognosis

was good. There was a good chance that the cancer wouldn’t even return. Claudia felt good,

great, perfect; and yes, she was sure this was a good idea. She purchased both a turkey and a

honey ham, blended pumpkin pie filling to the perfect consistency, and enlisted her teenaged

daughter to remove the fallen needles from the cotton skirt of “snow” around the newly acquired

Christmas tree.

The tree had been Claudia’s husband’s idea. It was early, but James wanted to select and

decorate the tree as a family when their son Ethan, a college freshman, would be home. If they

waited for when Ethan returned for winter break, all of the good Douglas-firs would be picked

over. Claudia hated real trees. She arranged her own artificial one in the dining room and

decorated it with Swarovski Crystal collectible ornaments, a new one of which was released

every year.

In the four garbage bags of laundry he had brought with him, Ethan had neglected to pack

a single pair of nice slacks. Claudia’s frantic spelunking expedition in his closet, on

Thanksgiving morning, turned up only the spring clothes he had left behind: khaki shorts and a

kelly-green striped golf shirt that would no longer fit him, but even if shorts had been

appropriate, the khakis sported a large slash across the right hip pocket. Most of Ethan’s pants

were like this. His right pocket was where his cell phone, and thus his hand, always resided.

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Meanwhile, the cat puked twice, and all of the spoons from the nice silverware set went

mysteriously missing. Claudia had no recourse but to force Ethan into his father’s clothes, from

dress shoes to belt to tie, all of which Ethan had also forgotten. The fit was passable, if imperfect.

Although Ethan was stouter than his father, James was broader across the shoulders, so while

Ethan’s neck and shoulders were shrouded in a cowl of excess material, Claudia could discern at

a casual glance where his belly button was. Claudia would have fretted over this, but it was

exactly the kind of avoidable stress that the oncologist had advised her to eliminate from her life.

Ellie laughed when she came into the kitchen and saw her brother.

“You know what you look like?” she said. “What are those things called? Those stand-up

cardboard people at touristy places with a hole you can stick your head through and take

pictures? That’s what you look like, Ethan. Dad’s body, your head. You know?”

The more extroverted Ethan could withstand the holiday’s chaos casually, but it

overwhelmed Ellie until she was wound-up and giggling at everything. Claudia was glad to hear

her laugh though. After she was diagnosed, Claudia had found an online article about colon

cancer and holistic healing entitled, “Understanding Your Tumor,” and shared it with Ellie,

thinking it was just the kind of thing that her daughter would find funny:

To understand your tumor, it helps to think like one.

You open your eyes and find yourself in a fleshy tunnel (a

colon) and the only thing you know is this: You must dig out of

that tunnel. Escape. Spread.

That's what you were born to do, and that's what you'll try

to do until someone stops you.

Instead of laughing, Ellie had perched on the other side of the computer desk, hugged her

elbows, and tucked her lowered head against one shoulder, her feet dangling.

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After the diagnosis, when Claudia told Ethan that she was going to be okay, he accepted

it, but Ellie needed to know which kind of okay and how much, and how long this type and

amount of “okay” could be expected to last.

“Seriously though,” Ellie said to her brother. “You look nice, Kitty.”

“Thanks, Kitty!” They had been calling each other this since they were children, since the

introduction of the family cat: a term of respect, like a Japanese honorific, and even as teenagers,

they continued to revert to baby talk when they were together.

Ethan pointed at Ellie and cooed, “Pret-ty!”

“You do look pretty?” Claudia agreed, but it came out with a faint question mark at the

end. Ellie was pretty, but she habitually dressed in loose flowery blouses that billowed about her

body as if obliquely suggesting her. This modesty was something, Claudia supposed, that a

mother of a teenage girl should be thankful for.

“Is that what you’re planning on wearing for dinner?”

“…yes?”

“Or were you planning on dressing up more?”

“I guess I could always change my blouse…”

“Don’t you have that nice new lilac dress from Banana Republic that you could wear?”

“I’ll find something.”

Claudia sighed. A look of extreme consternation crossed Ellie’s face. She left and, shortly

after, returned to the foot of the stairs in the lilac dress and a plain black choker. Normally there

would have been more argument over what Ellie would wear, but Claudia’s illness had restored

her to that childish state where everyone always instinctively let her win.

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“I thought you were going to wear the other necklace with it, the fancy one with the silver

hearts?”

Her daughter’s skirt swished up the stairs again, and Claudia immediately felt guilty for

taking advantage. She almost wanted Ellie to tell her in a quiet voice, as she had the one

infamous year Claudia had hosted Christmas Eve, that she didn’t like how Claudia became “that

one tyrannical kind of batshit crazy….You know?” when she entertained, a shocking but apt

addition to her daughter’s lexicon.

James came into the kitchen in a wave of Polo cologne. “Hello family! Well don’t we all

look nice!” He noticed Ethan. “Hey, Bud. Nice duds!” James placed his hand on his wife’s

shoulder and said, in aside, “Claud, your brother is here.”

“What? I told them to call before they came.”

“They want to know where to put the cheesy potatoes.”

“It’s only one-thirty!”

“They brought your mom and dad with them. Grandma made cherry pie.”

“She doesn’t like it when we call her Grandma. Only the kids,” Claudia reminded him.

“And I’m still in my pajamas!”

James rubbed her shoulders in soothing circular movements. “Yes, yes, my dear, but they

came all the same.”

“Don’t let them in here yet! Nothing’s ready! Ethan, you can set the table. El, the veggie

tray is in the refrigerator in the garage. I’m going to go finish getting ready.”

“Well, first you have to at least say hello.”

“Hello?” It was Claudia’s father’s voice.

“Hello, hello!” echoed Claudia’s mother, and the family came into the kitchen.

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Her parents, and her brother Pete, his wife Carol, and their son Austin, who was Ellie’s

age. With the exception of Claudia’s mother, James and Claudia had renamed all of the adults in

accordance to the relationship with the kids: Grandpa, Uncle Pete, Aunt Carol. All wore jeans

and sweaters, with the exception of Austin, who had on a t-shirt with a cartoon trout that said,

“Reel men fish.”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Uncle Pete bellowed. “Is this a bad time?”

“For Thanksgiving?” Ellie whispered mischievously to her father, who snorted and

elbowed her, but it wasn’t until Claudia looked at her that Ellie withered with apology.

“Yes, yes, of course it’s a good time!” Claudia’s bathrobe sleeves waved as she made a

sweeping gesture that she hoped resembled welcome more than martial arts. “It would’ve been

better if you’d called first like I asked, obviously, but…”

Everyone hugged or clasped hands, except for Austin, who tried to maneuver his

impossibly long arms and legs inconspicuously into the alcove next to the pantry. He leaned

against the wall with his hands hidden in the bib of his long t-shirt. This behavior worried

Claudia until she noticed that he was texting. This made Claudia pissed at Uncle Pete for letting

him, until she noticed that Ethan was also bent over his phone. She wondered if they were

texting each other hello.

Claudia’s father stepped forward and planted a menthol-and-peppermint-scented kiss on

her forehead. With great ceremony, he said, “Claud, darling, I just wanted to say thank you. This

is a beautiful gesture—”

“Beautiful gesture!” chimed her mother. She often repeated the tail ends of others’

sentences in a very excited tone, as if she and the speaker had just-so happened to reach the same

brilliant revelation at the exact same moment. Probably because Claudia’s father was a man of so

5

few words, she had gotten in the habit of stretching anything that anyone said to its maximum

potential. It had never bothered Claudia before, but now it sent her into a dizzying sort of fugue.

“Just a beautiful gesture on your part, you offering to take the holidays off of us old

folks’…”

“Shoulders!”

“Hands. Especially considering everything that’s happened…”

“Yes, everything!”

“Yes, sis… Claudia, how are you do…” Uncle Pete trailed off, and even Claudia’s

mother did not complete this sentence.

Overwhelmed with something like vertigo, Claudia clutched the edge of the counter,

manicured nails scrabbling at the granite, and told them that they were welcome.

Uncle Pete tried again. “Really, you look good, sis. How are you feeling?”

“Furious that you’re so early. Did you really have to ask?”

James politely suggested that they all follow him to the bar while his wife got dressed.

“But first, let me take that for you,” Claudia protested, reaching for the crock-pot in

Uncle Pete’s arms. “I know it’s such a hassle, but thank you so much for making the—” Claudia

lifted the lid and peered inside. “—cheesy potatoes?” The family traditionally used shredded

potatoes for the recipe, but these were chunked.

Aunt Carol tapped Claudia’s shoulder, turned to her, and whispered, “It’s Pete. He’s

been… cooking,” she concluded ominously.

“Go with James,” Claudia told them all. “Please. He’ll get you a drink.”

Claudia looked around for her children. Ellie had already taken her grandmother’s cherry

pies outside to the garage and was now returning with the veggie tray. Ethan just stood there in

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his father’s funny monogrammed shirt. Claudia had already made an appointment with the

allergist about Ethan’s reaction to the dust and mold in the fraternity house, and while she

understood that his plugged sinuses rendered Ethan less garrulous than usual, she wished that she

had at least warned him against snorting and sniffling so much in front of the company.

“Buddy, you can take everyone’s coats. And tell your sister to get out the ornament

things so you can get started while you wait, okay?”

It was traditional for the children to make their own Christmas ornaments on

Thanksgiving: sleds crafted out of glued popsicle sticks and, as the cousins aged, more ambitious

artistic pursuits that involved glass orbs and paint markers. The tradition had disbanded years

ago due to lack of interest from the teenaged cousins, but when Claudia had suggested a revival

this year, they—of course— humored her.

“And remember to put down newspaper,” Claudia added. “The paint markers stain.”

Ethan said that he would tell Ellie, and tromped off, clearing his throat with a noise like

gargling pushpins.

Returning from the bar, James paused to give Claudia a goofy lopsided smile. He would

not fuss like Ellie, but this joviality was his way of checking in to see how she was doing. “Hey

there Clauds,” he said. He punched her, too gently, on the arm. “When did you get so pretty?”

Claudia groaned and formed the shape of a smile with her mouth. She touched her matted

hair, cinched the tie on her ratty robe, and climbed the stairs.

Before she showered, Claudia browsed through the medicine cabinet, selecting two

Advil, an Excedrin tension headache, and four Echinacea—an herbal supplement that was

supposed to ward off infection. She took all seven pills with a Vitamin C tablet dissolved in

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water. This habit was something else that her daughter used to laugh at but wouldn’t anymore,

how her nurse mother loved her placebos: “It’s just… you think that’s the cure for everything.”

As Claudia looked at it, the master bathroom jerked to one side and then stabilized.

Claudia rubbed her eyes. She was sweating. She considered calling the oncologist. He had

warned her that she would feel tired. He had also told her to call him if she experienced anything

worse, but it was so hard to tell which symptoms were from the surgery, which from menopause,

and which might be from something worse, it seemed silly to alarm anyone.

After Claudia stepped out of the shower, she closed the medicine cabinet, rubbed the

steam from its mirrored surface, and she sat on the counter to apply her makeup with her toes

touching the edge of the sink. Her cheek brushed against the frosted window, and sitting still was

so unexpectedly soothing, she took her time before moving.

* * *

When Claudia finally rejoined the family, the children were painting Christmas

ornaments and the adults leaned against the breakfast island with their wine flutes. Austin bent

over his work, frowning like he was sincerely curious about how close he could get his hairline

to his eyebrows with hard work and persistence. In her skirted pantsuit, wrapped in that familiar

burnt-floral scent of perfume and curling iron, Claudia felt like herself again, cheerful even. She

came around behind her nephew’s chair and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How’s it going, Austin? You look stressed.”

Austin regarded her hand distrustfully. “Yeah,” he grunted. “I guess.”

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“Austin’s not artistic,” Aunt Carol interjected, coming to sit at the table with the children.

“In fact, he’s probably a bit scarred. Claud, Claud, Claud, did I ever tell you about that time

when he was in third-grade art class—”

“Mom,” said Austin.

Claudia noticed that Aunt Carol’s complexion was already a florid Merlot color.

“Austin was in third-grade art class, and they had to color in pictures of Santa for

Christmas.”

“Busy work,” Austin added.

“And this one,” Aunt Carol elbowed her son, “this one got a C- because he decided it

would be really nice to color it all in dull pencil lead.”

“I didn’t know it would be a grade.”

“So, I talk to the art teacher, who agrees to let Austin redo it, and I just stand over him all

night, just yelling, ‘You will color that picture! You will not get a C- in third-grade art, young

man! Santa’s suit is red, goddammit, red!”

Everyone else laughed, but Claudia excused herself.

“The turkey should be almost ready,” she explained.

When she passed her husband, she whispered, “Thank you for getting my sister-in-law a

drink.”

“You were upstairs for a whi—”

James had no time to defend himself. Noticing him, Aunt Carol rounded on him like he

had only just entered the room, although he had been listening the entire time. “Hey, Jim, I was

just telling Claud about the time Austin was in third-grade art class…”

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By the time Claudia told everyone to take their places for dinner, she was forced to

compete with Aunt Carol, who was again baying, “Santa’s suit is red, goddammit. Red!”

It only took five minutes after Claudia had finished her toast to family and health for

Uncle Pete to bring up the absence of their sister. April had refused to come to town, citing work

obligations.

Apropos of nothing, Uncle Pete said, “What do you think April’s eating today: tofu with

cranberry sauce?”

“Cruelty-free turkey,” Aunt Carol suggested. “Hey, aren’t the kids spending the day with

their dad and his—”

“Partner,” said Grandpa.

Claudia’s mother said, “Friend!”

“Hey man, that reminds me.” Austin addressed Ethan. “You seen Alex’s Facebook status

today?”

Ethan took his time dislodging a ball of phlegm before he responded, slowly and

carefully, “Yeah, I have seen it.” He glanced across the table at his mother.

“Is this story appropriate?” Claudia asked, but Austin was already chuckling. “Oh that

one… you think he got Facebook-reported for that one?”

“Oh, that one. Oh, I don’t know, buddy,” said Ethan, “I don’t know.”

“You seen it, Ellie?”

Ellie shook her head.

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“Okay, well, Alex has been at his dad’s right? Well, his status the other day was ‘My Dad

said to be sure to keep the firewood away from the dog. She likes to eat wood. And I thought,

hey, so do—‘”

“Cruelty-free turkey?” Ellie loudly addressed her Aunt Carol across the table, drowning

the rest out. “That’s what you said before… Cruelty-free turkey? What do you think they have to

do to get to be called cruelty-free, like, play the turkeys Baby Mozart CDS while they slaughter

them?”

She let out a shrill, skittering laugh, and then she flushed and began to ladle cranberry

sauce on top of her cranberry sauce. “Or…some…thing…like that.”

“How is everything, Ethan?” Claudia intervened. “Better than frat food, right?”

“Don’t know. Can’t taste anything. You might as well just give me a plate of sand.”

“Everything is great, Mom,” Ellie broke in.

Ethan added, “Yeah, yeah, right everything does look great though, really.”

“Wonderful, dear,” James contributed. “Great job.”

“Now what’s this that’s on Alex’s internet page?”

Claudia’s mother, who had been listening to Grandpa, Uncle Pete, and James talk

politics, had missed the conversation. Claudia had a brief but horrible vision of her repeating,

with zeal, “Likes to eat wood!”

“Nothing, Grandma,” said Austin, and the other grandchildren quickly backed him up.

All at once, Claudia had something new to be really thankful for.

“It’s really too bad,” Claudia’s mother sighed, “that Alex couldn’t be here, but with that

new job of April’s… She’s working a lot of hours. Dad and I talked to Alex on the phone today,

and he was just so quiet.”

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How like April. Even when she wasn’t there, she still managed to make everyone cater to

her and worry about her son, leeching everyone’s concern from miles away with her woes over

the latest man who didn’t love her and her eating disorder posing as a deep concern for all living

creatures that manifested itself in no other area of her life. Same as when they were children.

“This is just like her—” Claudia said, cut the last word a little short, dabbed at her mouth

with her napkin.

“Who?” asked her daughter.

The conversation had moved on without her, cleaving down the middle of the table into

smaller and smaller talk. Claudia hadn’t planned to elaborate, but she felt inappropriately furious

that things like Facebook, college football, Jersey Shore, and poor poor April had the gall to exist

at a time like this.

“She always does this. She wanted us all to drop everything and come to her, and Mom

wanted to, but I gave her a ‘come-to-Jesus’ talk: I told her, I said, ‘Mom, you can’t keep enabling

her like this. Mom, I’ll have Thanksgiving this year, and if spending time with her family matters

enough to her, she will come.’ It’s been seven years; she can’t keep using the divorce as an

excuse. For goodness sake, I just… had surgery, and she can’t even buy a plane ticket.”

Claudia wasn’t sure who she had been talking to. She kept her eyes straight ahead of her,

trained on the china cabinet, all those wan blue-white enameled figures: “She always does this.”

At the other end of the table, Austin was trying to pass the gravy boat, but no one noticed

him.

“All I want,” Claudia’s mother said quietly, “is to see my grandchildren for the holidays.”

Now that she had called attention to herself and the family looked on sympathetically,

Claudia realized that she didn’t actually want to talk about her illness.

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“Oh—Mom, I didn’t get the chance to tell you, but I took Grandma’s cameos to the

jeweler,” she said instead. Claudia’s grandmother, who had died of breast cancer last year, left

behind several nice pieces of jewelry, but it had taken months to begin deciding what to do with

them. “They took them overnight to clean, but they said they’re in very good condition. I think it

would have made her very happy, to see them worn again.”

Claudia’s mother, brows knit, responded: “Yes, yes, thank you dear. She always did want

Ellie to have her opal ring,” although this wasn’t strictly true. The opal ring had always been

considered Claudia’s inheritance, but after having two children, her fingers had swollen and the

ring was too delicate to resize.

Ellie did not look up from her plate, but she frowned in that way of hers that somehow

involved the corners of her mouth, puckering, a preview of what Claudia’s daughter would look

like when she was old.

“Shirley’s a good car,” Ethan added. He had inherited his great-grandmother’s sedan and

named it after her. And now that Grandma Shirley had been mentioned so casually for the first

time since the funeral, it was inevitable that they decide how to remember her.

James mentioned how she and her friend Flo would watch the cat when they were away

on vacation, how they would drive to the bank and throw away the cat litter in the trashcan there,

and tell Claudia on the phone—giggling like girls—that they had made a “deposit” that day.

Uncle Pete mentioned her love of slot machines, the time she proudly brought them all free

cowboy hats from the casino’s Wild West Day, and Aunt Carol had said to Austin, “Promise to

have a talk with me, if I start doing things like that when I get old.” Claudia’s mother

remembered Grandma Shirley’s recipe for apple pie.

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“Ever since I was a child, she would never measure, just took a pinch of this and that and

always knew when it was perfect. She never wrote it down.”

“Yous,” Ellie mumbled.

“What? Speak up, dear.”

“Yous: she always used to say ‘yous,’ like, ‘So nice to see all of yous.’”

“Scared us—isn’t that right Anne—” Grandpa said, “when we went to see her in hospice

near the end. Putting her hand to her lips like she was drinking from a glass, but there was

nothing there. The morphine…”

“Scary,” repeated Claudia’s mother.

Under the table, James pressed Claudia’s hand. When she failed to return the pressure, he

squeezed. Ellie was staring at her, and Ethan began coughing uncontrollably.

“Remember the flowers?” Claudia cut in. But no one else remembered the story about the

flowers.

“Yes, yes, the morphine,” Claudia’s mother said. “It wasn’t her; it was the morphine; I

remember.”

So that was what remained of Grandma Shirley: cat litter, cowboy hats, pies, yous, and an

imaginary drinking glass. Claudia pushed out her chair. When the family asked where she was

going, her response was: “Something in the kitchen,” and just like the ornament-painting and

Ellie with the lilac dress, they humored her. She folded her napkin neatly on her empty seat and

placed James’s hand back in his lap.

As she stood, he reached for her shoulder, grazed her elbow instead: “Claudia…”

“I’ll be right back. Can I get anyone anything? No? You’re sure?”

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The kitchen table was stained with red and green paint marker. In the center of the table,

a few leftover glass ornaments spooned innocently with the bananas in the fruit bowl. Ethan

hadn’t remembered to put down enough newspaper like Claudia had asked him to.

Claudia licked her finger and touched it to one of the splotches, then buffed it with her

nail. A white tip broke off of her French manicure, but she didn’t care. She would handle this

stain. She blinked several times, rapidly, dizzy again, and turned down the hall to the laundry

room and climbed on the dryer to reach the heavy-duty cleaning supplies in the high cabinet. The

cat, imprisoned there for its earlier acts of gastronomical violence against the cream-colored

carpet, sulked at her from under the washing tub.

Once she had retrieved what she needed to clean up the mess, Claudia scrambled down,

pivoting the basket of supplies on her hip. As she opened the door one-handed, a bottle of wood

cleaner fell and as she bent to pick up, a black shape streaked past.

Claudia dropped the basket and chased the cat, determined to catch it before it did any

more damage. She followed the animal down the basement stairs and from the landing, she

watched it pause for a moment between the two rival Christmas trees. It licked its paw and

brushed its ear as if considering its options, and then it reared its front legs, and darted up the

green plastic trunk of Claudia’s Swarovski Crystal tree.

Alternately chanting, “No, no, no” and making desperate kissing noises to hopefully

soothe the cat, Claudia hurried to catch the falling tree. The bell on the cat’s collar jingled, and a

single crystal ornament, a star, fell and shattered musically on the fireplace tiles.

Claudia stabilized the tree and slumped to the floor. The ornament that broke was the one

from 2009, last year’s collectible, which they no longer made and which she would not be able to

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replace. Claudia sifted sharp grains of crystal through her fingers like sand and tasted warm salt

water in her mouth.

“Claudia?”

“I know. It’s stupid—I know it’s stupid and childish,” Claudia defended herself, before

she even lifted her damp eyes to see that it was James. “It’s just an ornament. It’s just a thing, but

I—”

“I’ll get the vacuum. Looks like our buddy Doug has dropped a few more needles

anyway.”

He pointed at the Douglass fir and said, “Thing really is a pain.” Claudia smiled thinly,

and by the time he came back into the room, she was calmer.

“Do we have to go back up there?” she said after a while.

“What?” cried James over the whistling vacuum.

“Do we really have to go back up there?”

James clicked off the vacuum and sat next to Claudia on the floor by the fireplace. “No.”

His tone was joking, but his eyes didn’t match.

Serious and reflective, they revealed too much relief when Claudia responded, “Good,” in

the same tone and leaned gently into his side with her sharp knees curled against his thigh. He

had been so great through everything, came with her to every doctor’s appointment—almost

more comfortable with hospitals than Claudia, the medical professional—and he had taken care

of her and listened to her fears, but sometimes the way he looked at her, even when he was

teasing the kids or stealing a kiss… When she was Claudia’s age, a brain tumor had taken

James’s mother, Eleanor.

Claudia leaned closer. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured into James’s upper arm.

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“I remember the flowers.”

“What?”

“The story about Grandma Shirley and the flowers that you mentioned before. This

reminds me of it.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Okay… It was the day of Ethan’s graduation party, right? Grandma Shirley was in

hospice, and for a while, we thought we were going to lose her that morning. When the doctor

called, you and your mom were across town at the florist—they had to be just the right flowers

for the centerpieces on the tables—“

“Ethan’s school colors...”

“Ethan’s school colors.”

“And Ethan thought it was really ‘gay.’”

“When you heard, you and your mom drove right to St. Angela’s, and all the flowers

wilted from sitting in the backseat in the sun. You both felt so bad that it upset you at all, at a

time like that—”

“ And my mom started to get angry that I’d even ordered the flowers.”

“And you were arguing about it, and Grandma Shirley—”

“We thought she was asleep.”

“And Grandma Shirley said—”

“She said, ’Well, isn’t that just a shame,’” Claudia finished. A chill threaded its way

across her temples. “She was eighty-six when she died. Eighty six years old.”

Gently, James framed the side of her face with his fingers. “And if I’m remembering

correctly, those flowers were red, goddamn it, red.”

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Claudia let out a teary, gargling laugh.

From the top of the stairs, Ellie called, “Mom?”

The potatoes were not as good as they could have been if they had been shredded: lumpy

and metallic-tasting, but by the time Claudia and James returned to the table, an oblivious Ethan

had already shoveled down most of the contents of crock-pot. Conversation was civilized, stable,

and Claudia managed to wring a few laughs out of the story of the Christmas tree and the cat.

As they passed on their way to bring dishes from the dining room to the kitchen sink,

Claudia noticed that, behind the platter of leftover stuffing she carried, Ellie’s eyes were glazed.

“What’s wrong, Ella-belle?” She had never called her that before.

“You seem stressed,” Ellie said.

Claudia threw up her hands.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy!” Claudia insisted.

Ellie shook her head and quietly addressed the stuffing: “This dress itches.”

* * *

After dinner, the family settled in the living room, and Claudia’s mother insisted that

Claudia sit and join them.

“But the pie…” Claudia protested. “And the spoons. We don’t know where the good

spoons went.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

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“But Mom, your knee…”

“…will be fine.”

“I’m just trying to save you steps.”

“I’ve been resting all day.”

“Okay, but let me know if you need anything upstairs. I don’t want you to do stairs.”

Claudia’s mother did not ask the obvious question: why on earth she would need

anything from upstairs to serve pie. As she limped out of the living room she brushed the back of

Claudia’s hand with the palm of hers. All of the women in their family had the same prominent

veins in their hands and forearms.

Claudia waited a few moments and then followed her mother. She was about to round the

corner into the kitchen and insist that there must be something she could do, when she heard the

bubbling tones of her own daughter’s giggle—the natural one, not the nervous one. Claudia

turned on her heel and stood in the doorway.

The cheering and whistling of the football game on the television had blurred into one

sustained howl. It had the soothing quality of a storm overheard from inside. Ellie sat on the sofa

next to her father. Both of them warmed their fingers around mugs of strong black coffee. James

was watching the football game, but Ellie was intent on Ethan, who snored restively on her other

side, head lolling on her shoulder and then onto Austin’s, until he woke himself, for a few

seconds, with a congested snort. His cousins exchanged glances and laughed quietly, so as not to

rouse Ethan and ruin the entertainment.

“College students,” observed Uncle Pete, but he quickly turned back to the game. “Pick!

Pick!” he and James roared, punching their thighs.

Ethan snuffled in a faintly startled manner but did not wake.

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“I could just about burn down that frat house,” Claudia cried. “It’s not just the mold. If

they hadn’t been keeping those boys up late every night and making them clean the place…”

“Settle, settle,” James placated, and he tugged her arm gently until she took the armchair

next to him. “You’d probably be doing them a favor. Place is a pit.”

Grandpa turned from his chair by the fire with interest. “Ethan, you like this fraternity?”

he asked. “He still sleeping?”

“He likes it,” James answered for him. “We think. Though pledging was a lot of silliness.

They had to jump through a lot of hoops.”

“Two-hundred-and-fifty-word summaries of the Porno Clip of the Week,” Ellie said

quietly.

“What!”

Ellie blushed. “Oh, he didn’t tell you about… that…?”

“Anyway,” said James, “it’s a great opportunity for Ethan to network, or so we

thought…”

“He wants to go into advertising, just like his dad.” Claudia couldn’t resist beaming as

she said this.

“And how is the ad game, Jay?” Grandpa asked.

“Good as anything can be right now, I guess,” James said with dignity. His agency had

just been purchased by a larger one, and many people below James had lost their jobs.

“Did he tell you about his old boss’s party?” Claudia asked. James had not. “It’s a funny

story. James and a couple of his coworkers decided to throw a retirement party for him. Because

he was retiring.”

James and Ellie began to chuckle.

20

“What, what’s so funny? Do you want to tell it? Anyway, it was a surprise party for him

and he didn’t know about it.”

James and Ellie howled with laughter.

She always used to accuse her husband and daughter of ganging up on her, of speaking

some secret language, but since the diagnosis, she had missed this. She had missed moments like

the time when she had lost a glove while shopping and called the department store on the phone

to say that she was looking for the Lost and Found. Afterwards, she had entered the other room

to find James halfway out of his chair with hilarity, and Ellie had croaked, “Looking for the Lost

and Found! That’s got to be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard!” from her supine position on the

wood floor.

“Huh?” Ethan sat up and rubbed his temples just as his grandmother reentered the room

and handed him a huge piece of pie. “Oh, hey, pie,” he said groggily. “Thanks. Hope I taste

this.” He, his sister, and his cousin rose to help their grandmother serve everyone.

They ate their desserts with teaspoons, James and Ellie still exchanging glances that

occasionally evolved into grins.

“What? What is it? What is so funny?” Claudia demanded. She pretended to be offended,

but this was the happiest that she had felt all evening.

“I have a surprise for you, Claud,” Uncle Pete said, once a commercial came on.

“Coming three hours early wasn’t the surprise?” Claudia shot back, but she was smiling.

“I was thinking we could start a new tradition.”

A collective groan, led by Austin, rose.

21

Claudia asked what he had in mind, and Uncle Pete produced a box of flying paper

lanterns from his bag. All you needed to do, Uncle Pete explained, was light the wick inside the

lantern and let them go. “Carol’s side of the family does it all the time at reunions.”

“So let me make sure I understand: you light them on fire and then you just let them go.”

“Well, you’re supposed to make a wish first...”

“I’m going to wish to be able to taste again.”

“To taste again!” Carol’s mother trilled.

“What if they, like, land somewhere?” Austin asked, sounding as if the possibility deeply

engrossed him.

James laughed. “If we hear about a five-alarm fire on the news tomorrow…I guess we’ll

know what happened.”

“What happened!”

Aunt Carol, who had been snoring in the corner, started awake. “Wha-happened?”

“Now that still doesn’t sound very safe, now does it?” Claudia said.

“Relax, sis, it comes with an instructional DVD.”

“Well then it must be fine,” James deadpanned and slipped a smirking Ellie a sidelong

look.

In the end, however, they decided not to light the lanterns. It was raining a little, and the

boys were distracted, having hauled out Ethan’s Wii and resolved to teach their grandfather how

to “bowl.”

“I’ll be darned, well I’ll be darned!” Claudia could hear him saying all the way from the

foyer, where she stood at the window and watched her daughter, who had lagged behind

unnoticed, and was now trying to light a match, alone, in the street outside their home. After a

22

while, the wick caught and the paper lantern began to expand rapidly. Ellie let out a surprised

“hah!” and almost released it too soon. In the glow of the lantern, Claudia could see her more

clearly now.

The fine drizzle had stippled the bodice of her lilac dress with deeper spots of mulberry.

Despite all Claudia’s attempts to force Ellie to finally buy an outfit that actually fit her, when her

daughter leaned forward over the lantern, a dimple of excess fabric gathered under her chin, and

at this observation, Claudia lost all awareness of the noises from the other room, the distant

crashing of simulated pins. She watched her daughter let go, watched her tilt her head back to

watch the colorful tunnel of paper spread and escape, beyond the limits of her vision and the

extent of her ability to stop it.

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