Reinventing Leona by Lynne Gentry

hospitality, Maddie had made beds for unexpected company her whole life. Like a woman intent on seeing her offspring rise to the top of the Christian graces, Momma honed Maddie’s domestic skills on furloughed missionaries, traveling evangelists, and all sorts of people down on their luck. As a kid, Maddie never knew who would be sitting at the Harper table come suppertime. The parsonage teemed with visitors, from university presidents to vagrants needing a decent meal. And Momma expected her daughter to help things run smoothly.
    For the most part, Maddie had enjoyed the kaleidoscope of people. But tonight she wanted to hole up with what was left of her family and keep the needy world at bay.
    “Tater, get off Melvin’s bed.” She nudged the dog from his claim in the center of the clean sheets. The disturbed squatter jumped down, then came and sat at her feet, his adoring brown eyes awaiting her next command.
    “That dog’s a pain in the—”
    “Grandmother, you don’t have to watch me. I know how to make a bed. In fact, you might be surprised at all I can do.”
    Her grandmother’s thin brows rose slightly, but she made no effort to move from her post blocking the entry, her arms crossed over her suspiciously perky chest. “I didn’t expect you to go to so much trouble for my hired help. My chauffeur can get a motel room.”
    “Momma says the Double D is full.” Maddie avoided looking at her grandmother’s breasts. The motel was not the only thing bursting at the seams.
    “Well, my driver can sleep sitting up, so I’m certain he can make his own bed.”
    “Not in this house. Momma would have my hide.”
    “Here’s a clean towel and washcloth for Melvin.” Maddie’s mother edged past Grandmother and laid the fresh linens on the bed. “I just heard the weather. The roads won’t be clear before morning; besides, tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. . . . Oh no.” Defeat dulled Momma’s brave-fronted face. She sank onto the corner of the thin mattress as if someone had just let the air out of her tires.
    Maddie dropped a blanket on Melvin’s bed. “What is it, Momma?”
    “Thanksgiving.”
    Her mind racing, Maddie searched for the hidden meaning behind Momma’s one-word explanation. “Thanksgiving?”
    “I forgot to thaw a turkey.” Momma hands came up to support her drooping head.
    “For Pete’s sake, Leona.” Grandmother leaned against the doorframe, examining her manicured nails. “You’ve got enough leftovers crammed into your fridge to have three Thanksgiving meals. Why do you need to roast a turkey?”
    Momma lifted her head, her bewildered expression melting into a torrent of tears. “Because I always roast a turkey.” Her head returned to its dejected position, sobs growing in volume.
    This was not good. Maddie had not seen her mother melt down since David shouted out in church, “Daddy, please don’t let Momma beat me again.”
    “Settle down, Leona.” Grandmother crossed the room and put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Her voice held a trace of unfamiliar softness. “Why don’t you and the children pile into my limo, and we’ll have Thanksgiving in the city? We haven’t done it in years. We can go to the club, have an elegant meal, maybe even catch a movie afterward.”
    Tater growled.
    Maddie squatted and smoothed the spiky hairs along the ridge of her dog’s neck. Although the offer may have sounded good up front, she guessed she wasn’t the only one who remembered the last time they spent the holidays with Roberta Worthington. Tater ended up sequestered in the old woman’s laundry room while the discount-store Harpers ate with haute couture stuffier than the dressing in the giant bird crisping under the country club heat lamp. When they got home, Momma promised her little family they’d never have to go clubbing again. In turn, Maddie swore the same on a stack of Bibles to Tater, and she never went back on her word.
    But while going to the country club was out of the