The next morning found Mary in the kitchen putting final touches on a variety of dishes. Once her sister had committed to coming home for Thanksgiving Mary had decided to make all the favorite dishes their mother had made when they were younger. It was going to be too much food for just the six of them but then there would be leftovers to carry them through the weekend.
“Hey sleepy head. Coffee is made.” Mary greeted her sister as Helen entered the kitchen, gesturing toward the coffee pot she knew her sister would be looking for. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in weeks.” Helen said opening a cupboard door, searching for a coffee mug. “Looks like you have been busy this morning. Need a hand with anything?”
“I’ve got it under control. At least for the moment.” Mary said.
Helen nodded, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down on one of the stools next to the butcher-block table Mary had in her small kitchen.
“I can at least keep you company while you slave away putting together what looks like a fabulous feast.”
Mary focused on the ingredients she was measuring into the bowl in front of her not sure why she was feeling uncomfortable with her sister in the house. True it had been a couple of years since they were last together, but that shouldn’t have changed their relationship that much. She could feel Helen sitting behind her and shifted her position at the counter to where she could see her out of the corner of her eye. Helen looked more rested this morning, but there were still dark circles under her eyes and her face wasn’t as tan as it usually was. It seemed the casual approach to fitness and health Mary embraced worked better than latching on to the latest craze in improving your health Helen had been spouting.
“You look just like mom.” Helen said. “My fondest memories are of the three of us in the kitchen. Remember when mom would bake bread. We had our own small loaf pans and she would give us each a small bit of the bread dough to knead. We always seemed to end up covered with flour.”
“I remember how good the bread was at lunch time. In the summer we would have a picnic out in the backyard with warm fresh bread, along with cheese and fruit and fresh squeezed lemonade to wash it down with. I haven’t made homemade bread in a long time. There just doesn’t seem to be time for that kind of stuff these days.”
“Life does get busier as we get older doesn’t it?”
Mary’s oldest daughter, Becky, came into the kitchen, interrupting further conversation. She gave her aunt a quick hug and opened one of the cupboards to pull out a box of cereal. She didn’t say a word to either woman while she poured cereal into a bowl and pulled the milk out of the refrigerator.
“Good morning.” Helen said, addressing her niece.
Becky looked around after she finished pouring the milk. “Morning.”
“I’m surprised you are up so early.” Mary said. “Your brother and sister are still in bed.”
“I heard dad get up and thought I would see if you needed any help.” Becky said carrying her bowl of cereal over to the dinning room table.
Mary was quiet for a moment while she washed her hands at the sink, having Helen around certainly changed things around here. She could not remember the last time Becky had offered to contribute to any family function other than her unwilling presence.
“Okay then. When the two of you are done with breakfast you can pull out the good china and linens and get the dinning room table set. It’s just going to be us for dinner, but I thought using the good dishes would be nice.”
The day passed quickly with everyone eating too much, everyone except Helen. Mary couldn’t help but notice her sister’s slight appetite. She remembered Helen’s love of good food, it was one of the reasons Helen became fanatical about exercising. She loved to eat and keeping active let her indulge her taste for delectable cuisine. The small portions seemed out of character and Mary filed the thought away for questioning her sister when they were alone.
After dinner and the dishes cleaned up, Tom urged everyone, including his reluctant wife, out to the back yard for a friendly game of touch football. It felt good to be out in the crisp autumn air after spending the morning in a hot kitchen cooking and eating more than she intended.
Her participation in the game was more of a run to a spot, stand there and then run back to the line of scrimmage to wait for the next snap of the ball. It gave her time to watch her family, to enjoy the unusually warm November day, with the call of geese headed south overhead and the crackling of leaves underfoot. Then her ten-year-old son, Ryan yelled for her. She looked back at where he stood, football in hand, looking like a young John Elway before he launched the ball toward her. She gave a squeak as she watched the oblong ball come at her and in self-defense raised her hands, catching it to her utter surprise.
“Run.” Ryan shouted.
Still in amazement that she actually caught the thing she looked up at her family charging toward her. She turned, picking up speed as she made the effort to cross the invisible goal line stretching between the corner of the garage and the far edge of the vegetable garden before she could be tagged. Just as she thought she was going to make it, her sister caught up to her. In a throw back in time to their younger years Helen threw her arms around Mary, tackling her to the ground.
“Tag.” She said grinning at Mary.
Mary’s first reaction was to laugh back as the soft grass cushioned them where they lay, their arms tangled, their hands grasping the ball. She breathed in the smell of the dried grass along with the scent of decay, the scent of things newly dead bringing to mind the smell of a dead mouse caught in a trap under the basement stairs. She looked deep into her sister’s eyes noticing, not for the first time, since she had picked her up at the airport the lack of sparkle in them.
Helen disengaged herself from Mary and stood up. She raised her hands above her head, dancing a victory dance as the rest of the family ran up to them. There were hoots and hollers and some dissention on whether or not Mary had gotten the ball across the goal line before Helen tagged her.
Mary climbed to her feet handing the football over to her daughter. She stood watching Helen not sure what was wrong with her sister, feeling a growing sense of unease. She noticed the sun low in the western sky. A shiver ran up her spine and she rubbed her arms in an effort to dispel the chill.
“Hey, anyone for pumpkin pie?” She called out. “It’s getting too dark to see the ball, much less see where the goal line is.”
Cheers answered her question as she turned toward the house with the others following. Mary felt an urge to get inside the house and out of the growing darkness in the yard. The increasing reports of people becoming unstable with grotesque changes in their appearances, disappearing from their homes during the day only to return in the night to attack their family and neighbors had her uneasy about being outside after dark. It seemed prudent to go inside before the sun went down.
