By Invitation Only Read online

  This was such a great idea! Look how happy they are! I mentally patted myself on the back.

  We climbed on board and Ann sat right across the aisle from us.

  “This is freaking amazing,” she said, running her hand over the burled walnut paneling. “I feel like Beyoncé rolls like this. Right?”

  “She probably has a fleet of planes and helicopters,” I said. “And six yachts.”

  “And a big house in Malibu. With a pool. Hanging off a cliff. Overlooking the Pacific,” Frederick said, deadpan.

  I don’t know why we thought that was so hilarious, but at that moment it was. Maybe we were, all of us, just ripe for something to tickle our funny bones. We started to giggle.

  “Well, it’s not my plane,” I said. “It belongs to my dad’s business.”

  “Don’t let the IRS hear you,” Ann said. “They love to audit for stuff like that. Improper use of a business asset. I know this because my boss had to pay a fine for the same thing.”

  “Listen, ethically it’s probably a no-no, but my dad wouldn’t give us the plane if it was really that terrible. I mean, I’m sure he’ll repay the company what he owes for personal usage.”

  “I think it’s weird that we are even having this conversation,” Frederick said. “Anybody want a sandwich?”

  “Sure,” Ann said. “What kind?”

  “Turkey or roast beef,” Frederick said.

  “I’ll split a turkey with anybody . . .”

  From Morristown it was an hour and fifteen minutes to Charleston. There was a car waiting for us that would take us to the farm. Tomorrow at noon, another car would take us back to the airport. Dad planned everything for us. He was so great.

  “So that’s what Pop’s death did to me,” Ann said. “It shocked me back into the real world. Look how terrific my dad’s been to us all these years.”

  “Uncle Floyd is the undisputed greatest,” Frederick said. “He made some huge sacrifices for all of us.”

  “So did Aunt Diane. That’s exactly why I’m so glad we’re doing this. We need to start doing a better job of being a family,” Ann said. “I think they need us, especially now.”

  “This is a great beginning,” Frederick said. “Sophie was really disappointed she couldn’t come. But she’s spending the holiday in Bali with some friends.”

  “Not so bad,” I said, thinking I’d like to go to Bali.

  “Yeah, and Stephanie met some guy,” Frederick said.

  “He’s a shepherd,” Ann said. “No lie. A shepherd.”

  “I didn’t know they had shepherds in Vermont,” Frederick said. “Don’t tell Uncle Floyd.”

  “No kidding,” Ann said. “It’s bad enough as it is with her. And he hates hippies.”

  I started laughing again. “I didn’t know they had shepherds in the United States!”

  “Seriously,” Ann said. “You can’t make this stuff up.”

  I was enjoying Ann’s company more than I remembered, but then the only time I’d met her was at Pop’s funeral. I mean, who’s trying to charm anyone at a funeral?

  We touched down in Charleston and a car was waiting for us on the tarmac. Our pilot and his copilot transferred our luggage to the trunk of the car. Soon we were on 526 East, almost in Mount Pleasant. There was no traffic.

  “The driveway is just up there on the left,” Fred said.

  The driver made his turn and we bumped along the gravel for a minute until he came to a stop. We got out of the car, took our bags, and went into the house. No one was there except Gus, who was completely uninterested in us.

  “That’s a sweet little Christmas tree,” I said, looking across the living room.

  “At least they put up a tree,” Frederick said.

  “They must be at Dad’s,” Ann said. “Let’s just leave our luggage right here.”

  “Funny they didn’t hear us,” Frederick said.

  “Maybe they’re playing Christmas music or something,” I said. “Let’s go see.”

  Sure enough, the closer we got to the trailer, the louder the sounds became. It wasn’t music. It was BJ and Floyd, yelling at each other.

  Wow! Who yells? I didn’t know anyone who yelled like that. It was kind of exciting but scary at the same time.

  Suddenly we saw BJ burst from the house and throw her bags in her car.

  “You’re as crazy as every devil in hell, Floyd! And you’re stupid too! I’m never coming back this time!”

  Then Uncle Floyd appeared, still not seeing the three of us standing in the driveway like garden statuary. He leaned on her car door to say something and she stomped on the gas pedal. He stumbled and nearly fell as her car lurched forward, coming toward us at full speed. We jumped aside so we wouldn’t get run over.

  Then she saw us, came out of her stupor, and stopped her car. She lowered her window.

  “Well, Fred! What a wonderful surprise! Shelby. Ann. Ann, your dad and I have had a difference of opinion. Sorry to leave this way, but I have to go. Merry Christmas, y’all.”

  Then she stomped on her gas again, leaving us in a cloud of dust and flying bits of pea gravel. By this point, Floyd spotted us, and despite the drama, he was grinning from ear to ear at the sight of us and coming to greet us.

  “Merry Christmas! Would y’all lookie what the cat dragged in!” He stopped and spread his arms wide.

  “Daddy!” Ann said and all but flew through the air into his arms.

  “Merry Christmas, baby. You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”

  “I love you, Daddy!”

  “Best news I’ve heard all day!” Uncle Floyd said.

  “Hey, Uncle Floyd!” Frederick said. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Fred! My man! Merry Christmas! Welcome home!” They man-hugged with enthusiasm like football players do after a touchdown. “Hey, Shelby! Merry Christmas to you too!”

  “Merry Christmas, Uncle Floyd,” I said and gave him a polite hug.

  Yep, I called him uncle. I called him uncle because I couldn’t wait to be a part of their crazy family.

  “So what happened to BJ?” Frederick said.

  “Fred, you just can’t make some people happy. She’ll be back. We can’t let that ruin Christmas, can we?” Uncle Floyd said. “Come on in. We were just about to eat!”

  We continued walking toward the trailer.

  “No, really. Y’all aren’t really breaking up, are you?” Ann said.

  “I doubt it. She didn’t like her Santa from me,” Uncle Floyd said.

  “Why not? What was it?” I asked, knowing it was none of my business.

  “A custom bugout bag,” he said. “Now, who wouldn’t want to have that?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  Chapter 19

  The Best Gift Ever

  “Best Christmas ever!” Shelby said.

  “Mom is hot for Alden,” Fred said.

  “Mom! Gram! Merry Christmas!”

  For a split second I thought I was seeing things. It was my Fred! He was home! With Shelby and Ann! Oh, how wonderful!

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” I threw my arms around him and hugged him with all my might.

  My friend Kathy, who had gone to church with us and come for dinner, said, “Well, I’ll be darned! We were just talking about y’all—well, before the fun began with BJ, that is.”

  “Hey, Miss Kathy. Merry Christmas!” Ann said. “Yeah, what the heck happened with her?”

  “And to you too!” Kathy said. “BJ? Who knows?”

  “You daddy needs sensitivity training,” I said.

  “No kidding,” Ann said. “I mean, we all know that.”

  “We wanted to spend the day with y’all, so here we are,” Fred said. “It was actually Shelby’s idea.”

  “It was? Oh, Shelby, thank you! You’re such a dear, dear girl!” I said, choking up from excitement. I hugged her tight, and then surprisingly, she hugged me back. She wasn’t such a cold fish after all.

  “This day just keep
s getting more unbelievable,” my mother said under her breath, observing the hug.

  “Gram! Merry Christmas!” Fred said.

  The very second he turned his attention to her, she lit up like the fake tree in the corner of the room. Just for the record, in the interest of living space, Floyd had taken wire cutters and trimmed his tree into a shape that resembled a rocket or a bomb from World War II. Then he covered it with every kind of light on the market, not necessarily removing burned-out strings. It stayed decorated from year to year, stored in giant garbage bags in the barn. Floyd was a practical man, not an interior decorator. But he had cleaned the place for Christmas. Or BJ did.

  “Ah, my darling boy!” Mom said as she held his face in her two hands. “I’m so happy to see you!”

  I couldn’t help but notice Shelby’s reaction to my mother’s affection for Fred. Her face literally changed to something very sweet and tender. I loved her a little more then, for understanding how important Fred is to us.

  “Dad? Is the other card table still under the bed?” Ann asked.

  “Maybe,” Floyd said. “Go look. We could probably use another table. And there are some folding chairs in the back of my closet.”

  “I’ll help her,” I said. I hurried to the back of the trailer to Floyd’s bedroom, where big old Moses was having a nap in the middle of his bed. Ann was on her hands and knees, sliding the folding table out. “Is there another tablecloth?”

  “I doubt it. That one looked new to me,” she said.

  “Okay, Plan B. Is there a big white flat sheet around here?” I said.

  “If there is, it would be in the linen closet,” Ann said.

  Linen closet was a misnomer. Whatever linens Floyd owned were either on a bed, hanging from a towel rack, or in the kitchen draped over the handle on the oven door. To my surprise, there was an unopened set of king-size white sheets. BJ must’ve been shopping a white sale. But there were no more linens. There were flashlights, batteries, sleeping bags, blankets, and all sorts of things Floyd would need if some foreign enemy and aliens from outer space dropped a bomb on us at the same time. He was really close to going off the deep end. And what made him think that BJ would want what he bought her as a Christmas gift? I opened the package and took out the flat sheet and pushed the rest of the package back into the closet, squeezing it in between all Floyd’s emergency supplies.

  Ann and I took everything off the holiday table BJ had set so nicely, pushed the second card table against the first one, and draped the big white sheet over them.

  “Let’s push this over to the sofa so we can use the sofa as seating,” I said.

  “What a good idea!” Ann said.

  “You can let it hang to the floor in the front,” Shelby said. “The sofa side doesn’t matter because you can’t see it.”

  We stopped and stared at her.

  “I’ve done this before,” she said. “And use the holiday cloth this way.”

  She shook it out and over the center of both tables on the diagonal. Now you couldn’t see where the tables didn’t quite meet.

  “Brilliant!” Ann said.

  “Thanks!” Shelby said. “Our apartment is tiny. We don’t have a dining room. Just a breakfast bar. So if we have friends over for dinner, this is what we do.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Ann said.

  “There are no more holiday plates,” I said.

  I was looking in the cabinet where Floyd kept his dishes. There was a stack of white plates. I took out three.

  Shelby said, “Use the holiday plates and glasses every other place setting. We’re seven, I think. Right?”

  We each counted heads and came up with the same total. Then we reset the table, warmed up all the food, and put the turkey on Floyd’s largest cutting board to carve.

  “Damn!” he said, looking around.

  “What’s the matter now?” my mother said.

  “BJ left without making the gravy!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Relax,” I said. “I’ll make gravy.”

  He was right. She had not made it. The turkey stock was in the refrigerator in a huge mason jar. I took it out, unscrewed the top, and scraped off the fat with a spoon. Then I nuked it for a few minutes, made a roux in the last clean pot he had, and slowly added the hot stock, incorporating it with a whisk. Last I poured the drippings from the roasting pan into a Pyrex measuring cup, let the fat rise to the top, removed it as well as I could, and poured the goodies into the gravy, turning it from blond to the color of a pecan shell. Beautiful.

  There’s nothing like a well-made gravy, I thought, and corrected the seasoning. Maybe next year someone would buy me a gravy separator.

  The meal, being served buffet style from the stove, was just under way when there was a knock at the door. Floyd put down his carving knife and went to answer it. To my complete surprise, there stood Alden. He was holding a beautiful red poinsettia wrapped in gold foil.

  “Well, Merry Christmas, Bubba!” Floyd said. “Come on in!”

  “Thanks.” He shook hands with Floyd and waved a little wave to everyone, his eyes stopping on me and then moving on to the others. “Merry Christmas, everyone! Oh! Fred! Ann! And Shelby’s here too! Isn’t that great? When did y’all get in?”

  Fred said, “About an hour ago. Merry Christmas, Mr. Corrigan.”

  “Call me Alden, Fred. So how long can y’all stay? Oh! I’m interrupting your dinner!”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “Actually, we leave in the morning,” Shelby said.

  “So soon?” I said, and my heart sank.

  “Yeah. Sadly, Daddy wants the plane back,” Shelby said like she’d just borrowed her father’s bicycle. “He’s going to London or somewhere. Board meeting, I think.”

  “Oh, no!” my mother said. “But you just got here!”

  “We’re coming back, Gram,” Ann said. “A lot.”

  Mom took Ann’s hand in hers and kissed it. Then she started to cry. Right there in front of everyone on Christmas Day. Everyone was so startled that no one said a word.

  “I miss him, you know? It’s just not okay without him.”

  I felt so sorry for her then. My mother never lost her composure. Never.

  Alden worked his way across the room and knelt at her side.

  “I brought this for you, Miss Virnell. Please don’t be so sad. Pop wouldn’t want you to cry. I know he wouldn’t.” Before I could pull a tissue from the box on the kitchen counter, Alden produced a freshly pressed linen handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  “You’re right, of course. Thank you, Alden.”

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing today. That’s all,” he said.

  “You’re such a dear, thoughtful man,” Mom said and blotted her eyes.

  I looked at Floyd as if to say, Isn’t he? And Floyd looked at me as if to say, He’s a pansy suck-up, that’s what.

  “How ’bout a beer?” Floyd said, giving hospitality a stab.

  “Or dinner,” Mother said. “We just sat down. Please join us!”

  “Oh, that’s so nice. No, thanks, I can’t stay. Dinner’s in the oven, so I have to get back or I’ll burn the house down.” He laughed a little and my mother smiled, looking at him like he was the crown prince of some place important.

  “Come on. I’ll walk you out,” I said.

  “Okay, thanks. Merry Christmas, y’all!”

  “To you too!” Fred said.

  “Have a good one!” Floyd said.

  We got outside and I said, “So, how’s Betsy?”

  “She’s a sweetheart. She sends her best to y’all.”

  “Well, that’s so nice,” I said, thinking I wished only the worst for her and reprimanding myself in the same breath. “It was very sweet of you to come by. You really didn’t have to, you know. We’re okay. Really, we are.”

  Alden gave me the strangest look, and I saw that maybe I’d said it all wrong. Lawsa, he had beautiful eyes.

  “A
lden, I think that came out wrong. What I meant was . . .”

  “It’s okay, Diane. I understand. I just thought this might be a tough day for everyone.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Oh, God,” I said as he turned and walked away.

  Once again, he had not understood me. He thought I was telling him not to be coming around here if he was all in love with his Betsy. Betsy Beyer the Kewpie doll. Betsy Wetsy. Please!

  Floyd stuck his head out the door. “Come on! Dinner’s getting cold!”

  “Coming,” I said.

  “Didn’t go right?” he said.

  “Right,” I said.

  “It’s okay, Lady Di,” Floyd said and squeezed my shoulder with brotherly affection. “He’s an imbecile anyway.”

  Not a nice thing to say.

  “I don’t know if that’s so, but he sure is slow to process sometimes.”

  “Whatever. Let’s eat. He’ll be back.”

  “I doubt it,” I said, because as far as I could tell Alden was totally happy with Betsy.

  I went back inside and we had our Christmas dinner with all our traditional side dishes and no mention of BJ except to say her turkey was a little dry and her dressing was too. I knew it wasn’t BJ’s fault. The poor bird and the stuffing simply sat around too long. Every time you reheated birds or microwaved bread dishes, they died a little more. But the meal was saved by gravy. And hot biscuits.

  “You hardly need teeth for this meal,” Floyd said. “Everything except the bird is creamed.”

  He was right. We had whipped rutabagas, sweet potatoes, and beets, and creamed spinach and onions. The cranberry sauce was smooth and the biscuits literally dissolved in your mouth. No teeth required.

  “This is the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever had,” Shelby said.

  “Really? Why’s that?” my mother said.

  “Well,” Shelby said, “for one thing, it’s delicious. It doesn’t taste like club food at all.”

  “What do you mean, ‘club food’?” Floyd asked.

  “Food from her parents’ club,” Fred said.

  “Your mother doesn’t like to cook?” I asked, knowing the answer before she said a word.

  Shelby got the giggles. “Listen, if my dad and I changed the kitchen into a sauna, it would take her a month to notice it was gone. No, my mother is not a great cook. At all. I mean, even last night on Christmas Eve, we had takeout!”