Granny Jobson looked sad, and not a little disapproving. Which, coming from Granny Jobson, was something Jeff hated to see. “Are you sure Susan would have wanted this, Jeff?”
A tide of bitter resentment suddenly rose in Jeff. That isn’t fair, he thought. Bringing Susan into this isn’t fair.
“Look, there’s nothing I would love more than to have Susan back here right now to help me make this decision,” Jeff said in a low, trembling voice.
“Jeff, I didn’t mean – ” Granny Jobson started.
“But I have to make the best decision for the boys’ welfare that I can, and Brian’s not paying attention in class and he’s falling behind in school, and talking to him about it hasn’t helped, and monitoring his homework hasn’t helped, and tutors haven’t helped, and psychologists haven’t helped, and if military school was good enough for me then it’s good enough for DAVEY, GET YOUR HAND OUT OF THAT TURKEY!”
Davey froze. Unseen until now, he had been rooting in the body cavity of the turkey, his arm in all the way up to his shoulder.
“I’m just lookin’ for the wishbone,” he explained.
‘The Hidden Wishbone’ was a family tradition that Granpa Jobson had started years ago, and was now carried on by Granny Jobson. It was a variation on the Danish ‘coin baked into the Christmas cake’ – which had been the family tradition until Susan cracked a molar on the lucky penny at 17. Hence the change.
When Granny carved the turkey, she would remove the wishbone with surgical precision. She would then make another cut, and push the wishbone into the stuffing inside the bird. Whoever got a serving of stuffing with the wishbone was supposed to be lucky for the year. And if he won the wishbone pull, well, then he got a wish, too.
Davey had just decided to be a bit more aggressive about upping his chances this Christmas.
Suddenly, his face lit up. He pulled out his arm with a wet schlurpping sound, stuffing and turkey fat dripping from his skin – but with the wishbone intact in his gooey little hand.
“See? Got it!”
Grandmother Tanner was staring at Jeff. He knew what she was thinking, could already hear her disapproving voice in his head: if you can’t handle him, maybe you ought to consider putting two children in military school.
A small part of him wondered if that disapproving voice wasn’t right.
Jeff leaped up from his chair. “Look at you – look at you! You’re a mess!” He started yanking off Davey’s shirt.
Davey held up the wishbone. “Modine wanted me to get it!”
“No he didn’t, Davey! No he didn’t! Modine isn’t real, he’s imaginary! IMAGINARY! Stop blaming your behavior on people who don’t exist!”
Davey stood his ground, half-naked but defiant. “They do too exist!”
“Where are they then? I can’t see them!”
“Cause you don’t know how to look!”
Jeff stabbed a finger towards the back of the house. “Go get in the bathtub right now! GO!”
Davey jumped down from the chair, still clutching his wishbone, and ran off into the kitchen and out of sight.
Jeff watched him go, and slowly sank into his chair. He placed his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, and tried to forget how he had just acted.
That is, until the silence around him cranked up to a deafening roar.
Jeff looked up at the four sets of eyes still staring at him. No one said a word, their forks still poised midair, loaded with turkey and vegetables.
“WHAT?” he shouted, and dropped his head back into his hands.
All around him, the clink and scrape of cutlery on china resumed. No one said anything for the rest of dinner.
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Copyright © 2008 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.
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