everyone chuckled, Sybil pointed her spoon at Carly. “That’s an extremely thoughtful question, young lady, even if it was spawned by cynicism. You also seem to be reading my mind. The way it’s snowing, I’m wondering if we’ll still be here for Thanksgiving?”
Maggie piped in with her usual irreverence. “Retta, do you have a bird in the freezer, or do we have to go out and chase down one of your laying hens?”
Although she knew good and well that the birds were penned and out of the rough weather in cozy laying houses filled with fresh hay, I was grateful for the opportunity to joke a bit. “You stay away from my girls. I do a head count every day.”
The teasing helped moods to relax and conversation flowed. The muffin supply diminished rapidly as each of us reached for seconds. By the time spoons scraped the bottoms of bowls, Dana and Carly agreed that it was getting chilly in the corner and, as Sybil and I rose to clean up, they closed the shutters.
As I turned on more lights, Rosie roused from her bed under the palm. After stretching, she got herself a drink of water then wandered toward the living room. I knew she wanted to claim her other favorite place in cold weather—the thick, braided rug in front of the fireplace.
While Carly had been eating, Wrigley had been asleep on her lap. Now he made a soft sound of protest, as she repositioned him in her arms. He complained again as she came to me by the sink. “Retta, let me do the washing up.”
“I’ll help her.” Dana brought the basket with the last of the muffins and set it on the island.
“Absolutely not,” I said to both of them. “Carly, it won’t take me five minutes to get this done. As for you,” I told Dana, “it would be best if you stay off your feet. Don’t undo Carly’s efforts. I’ll join you all in a minute. You can look through my DVD collection in the book shelves for a movie you’d like to watch, or we could play board games, cards, or dominoes.”
“Oh, a movie sounds good to me,” Sybil said.
She followed my pointing toward the pantry when I realized she had forgotten where I kept the plastic wrap. I had been in her house enough times to recall that she had a commercial size roller of the stuff hanging under a cabinet.
“I vote for anything other than The Help or The Color Purple,” she informed us.
Maggie quipped, “Don’t tell me, you’re coming out of the closet? You’re a racist?”
With a tolerant look, Sybil found the box of clear wrap and pointed it at her. “I just don’t care to watch any movie I should have starred in.” Over the younger girls’ sputtering laughs, she told me, “You had your fantasies about a concert pianist career? I told myself more than a few times that Oprah and Whoopi didn’t have any blessed thing that I didn’t have—including brass and sass.”
“Well, I’m game to watch anything but Midway,” I said. “I swear, Charlie watched that one so often I think I can still recite most of the dialogue even after all these years. He had an uncle who served on the ship and I think he secretly wished that he’d enlisted in the Navy, too.”
“Do you have Body Heat?” Maggie asked.
Sybil snorted. “Relive your youth on your own time.” She then caught the pot holder Maggie sent flying her way.
“It’s the holiday season,” Carly reminded us. “Do you have something like Holiday Inn or White Christmas?”
My own surprise was mirrored by Sybil’s shocked expression and Maggie’s look of disbelief. Carly of all people—what did she know of such classics?
Once she realized she had everyone’s attention, she shrugged. “Walter introduced them to me. They were wonderful. I had no idea some of my favorite carols come from movies.”
“Well, I just happen to have both films,” I told her. “Go dig them up, and decide which to play first. I’ll be with you shortly.”
While I worked, Maggie lingered to wipe down the table. Sybil put the minimal leftovers in smaller bowls, then she and Maggie followed the others to the living room.
When I came around the fireplace wall, my long-time friends were in the coat closet getting extra throws off of the top shelf. I was glad Maggie remembered where I stored them. Carly was already in bed under a blanket, remote in hand.
“Where’s Dana?” I asked, realizing she wasn’t there.
Pointing with the remote toward the bathroom, she smiled and said, “Again.”
“I remember when I was pregnant with Jamie,” I told her. “It was winter, and cold weather always makes me go more anyway. When I got closer to my due date, I was afraid to go too far out into the pasture for fear of having to find a bush to squat behind.”
Muttering her agreement, Sybil said, “After all that child rearing, you get a short break—until menopause. But from then on, you’ll be blessing your builder if he thought to locate a bathroom close to the kitchen. I sure hope I don’t take after my mother in that department.”
“There’s always the exception to the rule. Look at Maggie,” I said, nodding her way. “I swear I don’t think I’ve ever seen her go more than twice a day. Ever.”
For a moment, Maggie acted as though she’d let the comment pass, but she abruptly muttered, “Yeah, well, everything changes.”
Something about those words and her manner—the way she avoided eye contact by taking her seat, and fussing too much as she adjusted her afghan—triggered a little quake inside me. It reminded me of what my mother used to say when we suddenly shivered for no reason: “Someone just walked over your grave.”
Dana emerged from the bathroom and hurried to get under the blanket with Carly, which stopped me from asking Maggie about her cryptic comment. I made a mental note to bring up the subject later.
“It’s a shock at how nice it is in this room, compared to how chilly it’s already getting anywhere away from the fire,” Dana said. “I don’t want to think about how bad it will get if we do lose power. Then again, maybe it’s just me. I’ve always been cold-natured.”
“I did lower the thermostat,” I told her, “to do our part in taking some of the pressure off the central grid. I’ll lower it more when we go to bed. I thought a slow adjustment would be easier than going cold turkey. Be sure to grab more blankets or wear more layers if you need to.”
“It’s still sheer luxury,” Sybil said. “You young ones should be glad you were born after the invention of indoor plumbing. Having your bare backside meet with a cold wooden board like I did when I was a kid? Woo-hoo! I don’t miss that at all.”
“You’re not old enough to remember those days,” Dana protested.
“I’m old enough to have had a grandma, who still had an outhouse. When she was scrubbing her floors, it didn’t matter if there was snow on the ground or if it was a hundred-and-ten in the shade, we kids were exiled from the house, until those floors were dry. She lived on pure prairie land, so there was only the option of the outhouse or flashing the entire countryside.”
Shuddering in rejection of such an idea, Dana told Carly, “Movie time.”
That ended all conversation for a good while, as Carly pressed the play button and we all fell under the spell of Irving Berlin’s White Christmas. It was a favorite of mine, as well, and our family had watched it every season as the kids grew up. Sadly, we had avoided it the last few Christmases because Charlie had possessed quite a nice crooning voice, and we missed hearing him accompany Bing. Crosby had just started serenading Rosemary Clooney, who couldn’t sleep. We were all anticipating the delightful song when, suddenly, everything went black. It was as if God had just yanked the big power breaker for the entire world—at least until we grew accustomed to the subtle amber glow from the fire.
Dana and Carly cried in unison, “No! That’s not fair!”
Sitting