This is the fourth chapter of a holiday series that will run for seven days and end on Christmas.
The next morning, the smell of breakfast filled every floor of the house, coaxing the occupants out from under their warm old quilts.
All but Stan. Everyone else made their way to the kitchen.
There was food on every surface, seemingly every pot and pan in use, each holding something that smelled like heaven. On the stove, a skillet of scrambled eggs and bacon sat beside a larger pan heaped with French toast. In the oven, a sausage-and-potato bake bubbled at the edges, golden on top. Cinnamon rolls cooled on the counter next to the chrome-plated percolator, steam puffing from its spout like smoke from a tiny chimney. Nat King Cole crooned Christmas tunes on the Magnavox hi-fi in the living room.
People were drawn into the kitchen like moths to a flame. Doug went straight to the percolator and poured himself a cup of Folgers. Somehow it tasted better than the same coffee at home. Must be the old percolator, he thought—the same one, in the same spot, from his childhood.
Dana marveled at the sheer volume of food. Given four days, all the recipes, and an assistant with measuring cups, she still doubted she could produce such a spread.
Kyle was the first to grab a plate. “Help yourself,” his grandmother said. The pile of food he loaded on shocked even his father.
“Good Lord! Leave some for the rest of us,” Doug said.
“There’s plenty,” his grandmother assured them. “Take all you want. There’s more of everything.”
Everyone filled a plate and found a place to sit. “Call your brother down, Doug,” she said. Doug went to the door at the bottom of the stairs and hollered for Stan. A few moments later, Stan shuffled in wearing a tattered bathrobe and old slippers, silently fixing himself a plate.
No sooner had Stan sat down than Kyle was back for seconds. Glancing out the kitchen window toward the driveway, he noticed the fresh snow on the Country Squire and Stan’s Oldsmobile—and a new Mustang pulling up behind them.
“Someone’s here,” he said.
In the feeding frenzy, no one heard him. The front door flew open a moment later and Doug’s younger brother and his girlfriend stepped into the kitchen like they’d been cued for a movie entrance.
Bobby filled up every room he ever entered. His presence was felt first, then appreciated. His booming voice commanded attention; his hugs and backslaps delivered it; his running commentary tied everything together. And finally—especially where women were concerned—there was the awe: athletic, tall, a head of hair like a shampoo commercial. Even Dana gasped, just slightly. Kristen’s knees went weak; good thing she was seated.
Later, when they were alone, Kristen asked if Doug had ever looked like that when he was younger. Dana pretended not to understand, then finally said, “Nobody else has ever looked like that. That man is a god.” She regretted it instantly. Kristen appreciated the honesty.
Stan stayed oblivious even when Bobby came up behind him and wrapped both arms around his shoulders in an uncomfortable hug. Doug was next, the embrace between brothers full of years and distance.
“God, you look great!” Bobby said. “How was the drive? Any bad weather?”
Before Doug could answer, Bobby was on to Dana and the kids with hugs, kisses, and questions, like a man rescued from a deserted island trying to make up for lost time. Not lost on Doug or Kyle was the young woman who’d followed him in.
She was Bobby’s equal in appearance and opposite in demeanor: quiet, stunning. High cheekbones under ice-blue eyes, framed by a fall of blonde hair like curtains on either side of the best view in the house. Doug didn’t remember any girl like that in Michigan. Or Texas. Or anywhere. The fact that she stayed in the background while Bobby commanded the room made her even more alluring. Kyle’s jaw dropped. Dana and Kristen tensed. Stan stared down at his plate, occasionally darting a glance at Bobby’s girlfriend’s shoes.
“Introduce your friend to everybody, Bobby,” his mother prompted.
“Apologies! Of course.” Bobby grinned. “Everyone, this is Betz.”
The girl stepped forward and gave a shy wave. “Elizabeth, actually. Bobby started calling me ‘Betz’ and now everyone does. Nice to meet you. Bobby’s been looking forward to seeing you all.”
Food fell out of Kyle’s mouth before he remembered to close it.
Jealousy sent Dana and Kristen on an immediate, silent search for flaws. Both came up empty.
Bobby loaded his plate, then stood at the counter to eat so Betz could have his chair. In the conversation that followed, Doug and Dana learned they’d been dating nearly a year. Betz was from California. (That explains it, Doug thought.) It sounded very much like the two were living together, but the details stayed hazy for the benefit of Grandma and the kids.
“I’m working for the Ford dealer in Ferndale,” Bobby said. “Same one Dad bought the Sunliner from. Funny, huh? I’m in the shop now, learning everything I can about engines. Want to work for Ford someday.”
Stan let out a grunt. No one could tell if it was indigestion or the mention of the Blue Oval that triggered it.
“That’s the only way I could afford the Mustang,” Bobby continued. “Just got her in October. Love that car.”
He looked down at Kyle, who was trying hard not to stare at Betz. “If the snow melts off the roads, I’ll take you for a spin. Pin your ass to the seat and show you what she can do.”
Kyle grinned at the thought, still mostly thinking about Betz.
“Bobby, language,” Grandma said.
“Sorry. Habit.”
In all the commotion, no one noticed Crocket had helped himself to the last of the breakfast casserole cooling on the stove. Fortunately, it had cooled enough not to repeat the Thanksgiving incident. As far as Crocket was concerned, it beat unrefrigerated turkey by a mile.
As people finished eating, Grandma stacked dishes in the sink in a system only she understood. As each person left the table, they were assigned a number—their turn for the shower. Stan trudged back upstairs and vanished. Dana and Kristen tried to help, but Grandma shooed them away. Eventually Kristen headed downstairs to the basement to join the other kids exploring the treasure trove of old things.
Doug, Dana, Bobby, and Betz poured fresh coffee and sat at the small table, feeling mildly guilty about leaving Grandma with the dishes, but also recognizing how happy she seemed humming along with Nat King Cole, hands in hot soapy water, gazing out at the snow on the neighbor’s roof.
Dana had to admit Betz was more than a pretty face. She was studying at Henry Ford Community College. She and Bobby seemed good for each other. Doug talked about teaching at Jim Bowie High in Fort Stockton; they both listened, genuinely interested. Dana filled them in on Kyle, Kristen, and Kim.
“I hate that I haven’t seen them grow up,” Bobby said. “Kyle seems like a great kid. And Kristen—she’s a woman now. She was Kim’s age last time I saw her, just a little girl.”
“She’s only two years younger than you,” Doug reminded him.
The morning disappeared almost as quickly as the mountain of dishes. It was decided that Bobby and Betz would take Kyle out in the Mustang once he’d had his turn in the bathroom, while Doug would take Dana and the girls around Ferndale in the Country Squire. Both sons asked their mother if she’d like to join.
“Oh, heavens no,” she laughed. “Thank you, but I need to start getting dinner ready.”
No one was surprised.
An hour later, after the last shower drained the final drop of hot water from the old tank, family members filtered out the side door and into the driveway.
Kyle watched carefully as Betz climbed into the back seat of the Candyapple Red Mustang, bending as she did so, while Bobby held the door. Once she was in, Kyle slid into the front passenger seat, heart thumping. Bobby turned the key; the engine rumbled to life in a sound that made Kyle’s spine tingle. The Philco AM radio hummed quietly. Bobby dropped it into reverse, backed into the street, then slammed it into first and laid rubber for half a block.
Beside him, Kyle was impressed. Back in the driveway, Dana watched her son roar away with a beautiful stranger and a lunatic at the wheel.
“Should I be worried?” she asked.
“No, of course not,” Doug said. Dana could always tell when he was lying.
In the Mustang, Bobby gave Kyle the rundown. “Hood scoop, driving lamps, color-keyed racing mirrors, quarter-panel scoops—she doesn’t look like any other Mustang. And under the hood is what really counts.” On Nine Mile, he punched it up to a hundred before Kyle could blink, then eased back before the law got interested.
Kyle stole a glance at Betz in the rearview mirror and decided he had never experienced this much excitement in his life—all at once. Uncle Bobby had become a hero in about four minutes.
Bobby turned onto Woodward to give Kyle a proper look at Ferndale under a blanket of snow.
“How long are you all staying?” he asked.
“I think we leave the day after Christmas,” Kyle said. “It took longer to get here than we planned.” He tried not to sound like a kid who’d thrown up, cleaned vomit, or worn a floral blouse.
“What do you think of Michigan?” Betz asked.
“It’s cold,” Kyle said.
“I’d tell you that you get used to it,” Betz said, “but I’d be lying.” She laughed.
“Wimps, both of you,” Bobby said. “Cold puts hair on your chest. Luckily Betz grew up in California.”
It took Kyle a second, then his face went redder than the car.
“Why is Uncle Stan so shy?” Kyle blurted, then immediately wished he hadn’t.
“It’s complicated,” Bobby said. “He’s got a good heart, but it’s hard for him. Had some things happen that made him want to be alone more. He means well.”
“Underneath the awkwardness, he’s sweet,” Betz added.
“Guess I just haven’t seen that side yet,” Kyle said.
“You might not. Takes a while,” Bobby replied.
“Grandma sure can cook,” Kyle said, gratefully changing the subject.
“That she can, my man. That she can,” Bobby said. “Probably what I miss most about not living at home.” He caught Betz’s eye in the mirror. “But there are other things that make up for it.”
Kyle could only imagine.
“Was it tough for you three brothers and Aunt Ann growing up?” Kyle asked.
Bobby thought. “We weren’t all there together for long. Stan left when I was young. Your dad not long after. Ann married and moved away. Felt like I was an only child a lot of the time. Till Stan moved back, anyway.”
“Were you spoiled?” Kyle asked.
“Suppose I was,” Bobby said. He glanced back at Betz. “Still am.”
“When will Aunt Ann and her family be here?” Kyle asked.
“Not sure. Probably tomorrow. You remember your cousins? Ann’s boys?”
“Nah. I was just a little kid last time.”
“They’re a lot like Stan,” Bobby said. “Cut from a different cloth.”
“It’ll be a houseful, that’s for sure,” Kyle said.
“You have no idea,” Bobby laughed. “But Christmas only comes once a year. You gotta make the most of it. I’ll leave you my number—if it gets too crazy, call me and I’ll come rescue you.”
Kyle hoped he wasn’t kidding.
