Snowflakes and Coffee Cakes by Joanne Demaio Page B

horizon, folks.”
    She knows what her wish is. Vera rushes to her stove to see if it’ll come true and pulls open the oven door. The oven into which she slid a turkey on a roasting pan hours ago. A pan that is only lukewarm to the touch. “No way.” She looks quickly at the temperature gauge, which is properly set to the right degree, then back at her partially raw, uncooked and more than likely spoiled turkey, before letting the oven door slam shut. Because food-poisoning her family is not an option today, nor any day.
    She rushes upstairs and first puts her hand to the bedroom window, then decides to throw on her long, layered silky maxi skirt, ankle boots and bulky fisherman’s sweater before running out to the grocery store, which she’s sure will be open for only a half day and isn’t sure she’ll get to in time.
    *  *  *
    Derek stands in front of the small chickens, picking up one, then another, checking the weight. Christmas carols play on the sound system and the store is surprisingly busy.
    “You’re in luck, we’ve got two left,” he hears the butcher tell a shopper as he carries a large precooked turkey to her cart at the end of the meat case. “Have a nice holiday now.”
    Derek considered precooked, but they’re too big so he’s settling for a chicken instead.
    “Derek?”
    He looks up to see Vera approaching with the one-of-two precooked turkeys in her carriage. “Vera. You’re the precooked?”
    “I’m the what?”
    “Precooked. I mean, it’s just that I heard the butcher,” he says, looking past her shoulder. “Never mind. Hey. Happy Thanksgiving.”
    “You too!” She glances at his plastic-wrapped chicken set beside a bag of carrots and a few potatoes. “You’re not eating alone, are you?”
    “Me? No, no.” He looks at his paltry food items. “I’m headed over to my sister’s later. This is for the weekend. You know, I don’t really go for the dried leftovers and her packaged stuffing.”
    “You’re sure? Because there’s always room for more at Brooke’s, which is where I’m supposed to be bringing the turkey, but wouldn’t you know it? My oven conked out two hours into roasting the bird. I’m picking up one of these turkeys to-go before I food-poison anyone.”
    “Wouldn’t want that.”
    “No.” She smiles quickly. “Well, Derek. Say hi to Sam for me?”
    “I will.” He checks his watch. “Hey listen, I’ve got a few more things to pick up.” He motions to his carriage.
    “Oh! Okay,” Vera says with another smile, tipping her head a little as she does. Then she steps around her carriage and gives him a hug. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
    He nods, that’s it, just nods when she backs away and wheels her carriage toward the checkout, hiking her large tote up on her shoulder, her long, layered skirt nearly skimming the floor behind her.
    *  *  *
    There’s only so long that one can push a piece of pumpkin pie around on a plate, smiling politely and sipping yet another coffee. And after answering one too many questions, repeating one too many No, I’m not seeing anyone and Yes, the house is coming along and No, I haven’t found full-time work yet to aunts and cousins and friends at the Thanksgiving table, Vera takes a deep breath and bows out early.
    “Hey, Vee,” Brooke says when she walks into the kitchen. “That turkey wasn’t half-bad, dressed up with the trimmings.”
    “Thanks, sis. I’m glad the store had one left.” Vera pushes a wayward chair to the table. “Listen, you don’t mind if I cut out, do you?” she asks her sister. “I’ll help load the dishwasher before I go.”
    “I wish I could go with you,” Brooke whispers while handing her a plate. “Sneak out and enjoy a little Thanksgiving peace and quiet, maybe take a walk around The Green.”
    “Vera?” Brooke’s mother-in-law calls out. “Oh, Vera!”
    “See what I mean?” Brooke asks.
    They turn when Brooke’s mother-in-law rushes into the kitchen holding a piece of