Thanksgiving Dinner: Collected Stories About Women in Crisis

By Lois Silver- Avrin

Thanksgiving Dinner is a collection of twelve short stories about women at a crossroads in their lives and the very different directions they take.

One story is about a woman suffering from depression, who is driven to commit an unspeakable act. Another story involves a dying woman contemplating the failed relationships in her life. Still another story portrays a woman struggling to deal with an act of betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524559243

Lois Silver- Avrin

Lois Silver-Avrin has been working as a speech pathologist with children and adults with neurogenic disorders. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, Larry. This is her first book.

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Copyright © 2016 by Lois Silver-Avrin.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016919091

ISBN:    Hardcover     978-1-5245-5926-7

             Softcover     978-1-5245-5925-0

             eBook     978-1-5245-5924-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/19/2016

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Table of Contents

Thanksgiving Dinner

The Married Couple

The Good Mother

The Best Friend

Liars Club

The Rich Lady

Miss Simmons

The Neighbors

The Lovers

The Life and Death of Laura Pembrooke

Justice

Don’t Get Mad, Get Even

Thanksgiving Dinner

The woman knelt in the window seat, turning to look out at the street. The seat was under a large picture window in her dining room and she was looking for her husband, John, who had gone out about 10 minutes earlier to walk their dog. There was no sign of him yet, but she took the few moments there to peruse the scene outside the front of the house.

There were no people outside on the quiet suburban street on which Carol Wurner’s house was situated, but she was at the moment looking at the landscape. Typically, for an early April day, few trees in the area had as yet shown signs of renewal of their foliage. Along the border of the front lawn, all of the oak trees were still bare of leaves but she knew it was not yet time for them to leaf out. They were always the last trees to do so in the neighborhood. She took particular pride in these oaks which lined the streets of not only her house but also the other houses like hers on both sides of two consecutive blocks. Hers was a typical suburban development. The houses had been built at about the same time by the same builder, twenty in all. No more than those had been constructed since the developer, who had not adequately projected rising construction costs and interest on home loans, had gone bankrupt after finishing the twenty.

To Carol the oaks symbolized what she loved most about the neighborhood. They had grown very tall and straight over the years. Starting from 5 foot saplings, planted by the builder’s men, they now towered over the one and two- story houses on the street. Secretly she thought of them as the protectors of the houses where they had set down their roots. She realized most people would think her a bit foolish for endowing trees with human-like qualities but she continued to think of them as the guardians of the homes and people living there.

The neighborhood had changed significantly in the nearly thirty years since Carol and her neighbors had bought their new homes. Since then newer, larger and more expensive houses had sprung up on the adjacent streets.

Most of the original homeowners, with the exception of Carol and her husband and a handful of other neighbors, had moved to the South, seeking warmer climates to escape the frigid New England winters.

Carol had known and liked most of her neighbors. She had also known most of their children, although she and John didn’t have any of their own. They had celebrated various holidays in each other’s homes and backyards; there had been barbecues, block parties, superbowl parties, and other good times. Now these kids were grown and several had kids of their own. Most of the homes of these former neighbors had been sold to younger couples with young children and, although she hardly knew most of them, she watched with some interest as the child-rearing cycles began again.

Carol, by most standards, was an attractive woman. She had soft, auburn hair, and a fair complexion with skin that had never been troubled by blemishes even when she was in her teens. Other women envied her figure. She was of medium height, slender and rarely needed to diet to keep herself looking trim. Even as she approached her mid-fifties she looked like a woman 10 years younger. She considered her best feature to be her eyes. They were a grayish green. Many people remarked on the unusual color.

Finally she saw her husband coming toward the house, the dog taking a few last minute sniffs of where other dogs had relieved themselves before allowing himself to be led inside.

Their dog was a Golden Retriever. They had named him Max when they got him six years ago. He was the second dog they had owned, the first one, also a Golden Retriever, having died of old age at more than 15. Max was a large dog, with reddish brown fur, which John often teased Carol about, saying it was the same color as her hair. They both doted on Max and treated him like the child they never had.

John hung up Max’s leash and roughhoused a bit with him before coming into the dining room. Putting an arm around his wife’s slender waist, he perused the scene.

Need any help? Looks like you’re almost finished here.

I am, she agreed. But if you would get the good glasses down from the top shelf, it would be a big help.

Sure thing, he told her and went to get the glasses.

Although she and John had been married more than thirty years, they felt almost the same physical attraction to each other as when they had been newlyweds.

She had been a little more than twenty; John had been a few years older when they first met, introduced by mutual friends. They had hit it off from the first date, got engaged within a year and were married a year later in her family church.

They scraped together what had then seemed like a huge sum of money, consisting of their cash wedding gifts, and with loans from both sets of parents and some trepidation they put a down-payment on the house. It was a modest house but Carol considered it their dream home.

The house had three bedrooms. The largest bedroom had its own bath and they took that one for their own use. The other two bedrooms were of about equal size. One became John’s office where he conducted their financial transactions and did work which he sometimes brought home with him. The other bedroom had been designated the nursery for future babies. As his first labor in the house, John had carefully put up the wallpaper which had figures of balloons and nursery rhyme characters in soft pastel colors.

Everything then had been new and exciting. Life had held the promise of an infinitely bright future where all things were possible.

But the babies never came. They were married almost five years when the thought that something might be wrong crossed Carol’s mind. If you were not using birth control, as they were not, then she realized that she should certainly have conceived within that amount of time.

They consulted the closest fertility doctor who practiced in a town about an hour away. He conducted endless tests on both of them, or so it seemed to John, but could find nothing wrong with either of them.

He gave them some suggestions on how to improve their chances, advised them to go home and continue trying. They consulted another doctor. The diagnosis was the same. He could find no physical reason for their failure to conceive a child.

Another five years passed and no success. Finally, after 10 years, they accepted what seemed to be the obvious conclusion that they were fated to remain childless. John took down the wallpaper, painted the walls again and turned the room into a guest room with a convertible sofa to accommodate parents or other guests who occasionally stayed overnight.

They lived in a small town whose population never exceeded 10,000. It was less than 50 miles from the similarly small towns they had been born and brought up in. None of the members of their immediate families lived more than an hour away by car.

Carol turned her attention back to what she needed to do as John brought the glasses she had asked for and set them down on the buffet server.

It was Easter Sunday and family members were coming within a few hours for dinner at their house. It was also the day they were celebrating John’s birthday which fell in mid-April. They had started several years ago to combine holidays with birthdays and other occasions because it had been getting increasingly difficult for the older members of the family to get there. John would be picking up his and Carol’s mother shortly to bring them to the house as neither woman was able to drive any longer. The other expected guests would drive themselves.

She gave a final look at the table settings to see if she had forgotten anything, Reassured that she had not, she thought again about how small their family gatherings had gotten. Though they had once had to crowd 12 people at their table, today there would be only eight chairs. Within the past year alone they had lost two members of the family, her father and John’s. Both men had been past eighty but the loss was still fresh and painful and the couple had debated whether or not to even hold the dinner. Finally they decided to go ahead with it.

Two of the dining room chairs, no longer needed, sat on either side of the server. Carol avoided looking at them. Instead she went into the kitchen and busied herself putting last minute touches on the dinner until John came home with both mothers. The other guests arrived soon after.

These were the people Carol loved most in the world. Most of them had known her since she was born. When she was a toddler they had clapped and cheered as she took her first wobbly steps. After ma-ma and da-da they told her the first words she tried to say were Wootie for her beloved Aunt Ruth and Obby for Uncle Harry. But now she noticed how white her mother’s hair was, and how slowly Uncle Harry walked. The dismay she now felt in seeing how much they had all aged now overshadowed her usual joy seeing them.

A pile of colorfully wrapped birthday presents were on the wooden server next to the wall behind Carol. John would dutifully open each one before coffee and dessert. He would do his best to look pleased as he opened the boxes of sweaters and shirts but his wife knew he would probably never wear most of them.

She looked across the table at her husband who was talking to both of their mothers and trying to appear interested as they rehashed the latest episode of their favorite nighttime television soap.

John Wurner was still an attractive man at fifty-eight. His still full head of hair was graying somewhat around the temples which Carol thought only made him look more distinguished. His weight hadn’t fluctuated much since she first met him. When she spoke of him to others, she would often tell them that he was her best friend as well as her husband.

He was still the most attractive man she knew, tall, and broad-shouldered. He was clean-shaven as usual and his face, though not movie-star handsome, had strong, masculine features. She couldn’t help a few sidelong glances of pride at him now.

He had always been serious by nature, hardworking, with a strong moral compass and sense of responsibility. He was still at the same bank that had given him his first adult job when he graduated from college with a major in accounting. He had worked himself up the chain of command, having shown his superiors his capacity for steady and responsible service and several years ago had been promoted to vice president. He had the best attendance record of anyone else at the bank. He prided himself especially on the fact that he had missed only five days of work in his thirty years at the bank, all of them because he had to have an emergency appendectomy. Many times his wife had begged him to take a sick day when he needed to, but he had always insisted that he was not too sick to go to work.

Today she thought that he was looking a little tired and wondered whether things were going well at the bank. John had briefly mentioned to her a few times that due to competition from newer banks, business had fallen off in the past year. He did not tell her that rumors were going around to the effect that layoffs of some of the executives were expected. As one of the bank’s vice presidents, he knew that his job was one of the most vulnerable but he seemed to shrug it off when Carol asked him if he was worried about his job. She knew that he hated when she worried about things. He had always tried to shield her from unpleasant news.

There hadn’t been that much financial pressure in their lives. The mortgage on the house had been paid off. John’s salary had always been sufficient to allow them to live comfortably. They had a decent amount of money saved, most of it in conservative investments. Carol still had her relatively secure job working as the receptionist/secretary in the local pediatricians’ office. True, she barely made half of John’s salary, but it would be enough to tide them over if times got tough.

She loved her job and enjoyed seeing the babies who came for their checkups or the inevitable ear infections and myriad other complaints. If the office wasn’t too busy, Carol would come into the waiting room to hold and fuss over the babies.

Oo, look how big he’s getting, she would exclaim over someone’s 6 month old boy. Or Hi beautiful she would coo to a two year-old toddler. It was seeing their little patients thrive and grow as they returned for their visits that delighted Carol most. Occasionally when there were serious problems she would commiserate with the mothers and offer what comfort she could.

The two doctors who owned the practice, Dr. McDonald and Dr. Sklar, were highly regarded in their town and were also good employers. They treated their workers fairly, gave regular raises, and didn’t complain if Carol or other staff occasionally needed an unscheduled day off. Carol liked and respected them both, although Dr. McDonald was her favorite.

Now Carol put these thoughts out of her mind and brought her attention back to her dinner.

As always Carol had her first course ready to serve and she knew her guests were expectantly awaiting their food. She went out to the kitchen as several voices called after her, Carol, do you need any help? And as always she called back that she didn’t need any right now.

The soup, which was everybody’s favorite, ginger carrot, was at once greeted with great oohs and ahs and conversation, which normally flowed cheerfully throughout their visit, fell into a temporary lull as they ate.

Carol took small spoonfuls as she contemplated the scene around her. The table, set with her best china, linens, and tableware, looked elegant, even to her critical eye. The pink roses, carefully arranged in her prized crystal vase, lent just the touch of color she had wanted. But even the sparkle and elegance of the setting didn’t do much to elevate her mood today.

John’s father had died six months earlier. The death had been sudden and unexpected. Henry Wurner, even at eight-four, had been a robust-looking man. One night Frieda, his wife, had found him, seemingly asleep in his favorite chair, and tried to wake him for dinner. When he didn’t respond she ran across the street in a panic to the neighbor who called for an ambulance.

The paramedics tried to resuscitate him, but they couldn’t save him. The emergency room doctors said it was cardiac arrest.

The funeral parlor was filled with mourners and his wife seemed somewhat comforted by the outpouring of grief from friends and neighbors. After his burial the reality of being alone hit home. She now leaned heavily on John, her only child, as her main support system.

Carol had had deep affection for her father-in-law, a warm and outgoing man who always greeted friends and family with a bear hug or other display of affection. She truly missed his booming voice exclaiming at how pretty she looked in a particular dress or how great her dinner was or some other way he found to compliment her. By contrast she regarded John’s mother, Frieda, as slightly cold and distant, someone who was friendly and concerned but not warm and loving. Carol knew this was just the woman’s nature and, over time, learned not to take it personally. She felt that her mother-in-law was a good person. After all she had raised John and made him the man he was, so she certainly had to thank her for that.

Carol’s mother, Ann, was now a widow too. Carol’s father and John’s father been almost polar opposites in their personalities. Carol’s father, Bob Harrison, had been a quiet, mild-mannered man, not given to big displays of affection. Still he had been a loving father to his only child Carol, and a devoted and faithful husband to his wife. Theirs had been an extremely close and happy marriage until Bob got cancer and after fighting through four years of valiant and exhausting treatment had finally succumbed just a year ago at eighty.

Though Carol’s mother sympathized with Frieda she felt compelled to remark to Carol: At least she didn’t have to suffer for four years like I did with your poor dad.

It bothered her when her mother said things of this nature. Carol thought, But it was Dad who suffered most, however she didn’t say it to her mother for fear of hurting her feelings. She had loved both her parents deeply, but had always felt closer to her father. She considered herself a daddy’s girl and his illness and death had hit her hard.

Although the two mothers had never really been friends they now seemed to have developed a common bond in their widowhood that had been missing when their husbands were alive. They now called each other once or twice a week to talk about their loneliness and problems since the loss of their husbands.

This was the first time the family had gotten together in more than six months following a period of mourning for John’s father, the same six months she had observed for her own father’s passing.

The guests were now finishing their soup and they repeated the usual compliments on Carol’s cooking.

Carol, this is terrific soup. You are a great cook.

She takes after me, Carol’s mother said jokingly.

I want your recipe.

The latter comment was from Aunt Harriet (called Hattie by everyone), her mother’s youngest sister. Hattie who was the baby of the family always asked for Carol’s recipes but, as everyone knew, hated to cook and so never actually made any of the recipes.

Hattie had never married although she made sure that everyone knew that she had had plenty of chances. None of those fellows were really right for me, was her explanation.

John helped Carol clear away the soup plates and then returned to the table to keep the guests entertained while his wife got the salad ready.

Carol liked to be by herself while cooking or serving and always discouraged John and the others from hanging around. The kitchen was small and the others seldom did much but talk to each other anyway.

She served the salad, followed by the main course which was a roast leg of lamb. It had turned out beautifully, even better than it had the last time she had served it. It was brown and crusty, fragrant from the slivers of fresh garlic and the other seasonings, the center beautifully pink and moist with a few well done slices at both ends for Uncle Harry and his wife, Sarah.

Uncle Harry was Carol’s mother’s brother who lived the farthest away but the couple never missed one of Carol’s dinners. As Harry never tired of telling the group, My niece is the best cook in the county. John always glowed with pride when the family said those things about his wife, praising her cooking, her decorating, and her entertaining.

Sitting next to Carol’s mother was her sister-in-law, her husband’s sister, Ruth.

Aunt Ruthie, as Carol always called her, was the life of any party, always ready with a hug and a greeting for everyone. No one could tell a joke like Ruthie (she could even get away with an occasional dirty one) and Carol especially appreciated her exuberance today when everyone seemed so quiet.

Of all the people present, Ruth could easily lay claim to having had the most tragedy and bad luck of the family. She had married her high school sweetheart but had lost him in a car accident after barely twenty years of marriage. She had miscarried several times and their only child had died before he was a year old so she had remained childless. She herself had several close calls due to a congenital heart problem.

Still, Carol had never heard her complain and Ruth was often heard to rebuke others who did, C’mon. Quit belly-aching. Things aren’t so bad. We’re still alive and kicking, aint we?

Missing from the group today was Martha, also a widow, John’s aunt, his father’s sister, who was the most elderly in the family at nearly ninety, and who now suffered from a variety of health problems. She had not really been expected but sent her love and birthday wishes via telephone.

The only other family members on either side were a few cousins and two of John’s aunts, his father’s sisters, who lived in California. All of the others had died.

Everyone at the table was well past 70 and most were past 80.

And, with the exception of Frieda and Ann, all were childless.

As always it seemed to Carol that the dinner was over too soon. After dessert and coffee and opening the birthday presents it was getting late and everyone got ready to go home. The mothers declined to stay over and so John uncomplainingly got ready to drive them both home even though it involved more than two hours of driving.

Carol reminded them all as they were leaving that they were invited back on the last Sunday in July to celebrate two more birthdays (Harry’s and Ann’s) which would occur during the summer Everyone seemed pleased and promised they would be there. With bells on, Ruthie added cheerfully.

Several hours later John was home. It was late and he was tired but