Page 44 of Just Friends

Fifteen

Rebecca stayed by the car as Weasel walked to the end of the driveway. An impossibly small woman hobbled down the steps of the transport bus, her gray hair in tight curls all over her head. Weasel held out his hand to offer to help her down, and Edna stabbed her cane in his direction making him step back. Edna might want to reconsider letting Weasel hold onto her. A strong wind could carry the little woman into the next county. But Edna defiantly made it down the three steps and shuffled her way, cane and all, straight at Rebecca, ignoring her great-nephew. Edna eyed Rebecca up and down; she imagined that she must look like a giant.

“You’re with my nephew?”

Well, she was here with him. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied.

Edna hooked her arm around Rebecca’s elbow and pulled. “Get me inside, girl, before I freeze to death.” Rebecca towered over the woman, who may have topped out at a whopping four foot ten. But she moved toward the house with Great-Aunt Edna wrapped around her arm. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Rebecca.”

The woman nodded as if the answer was acceptable. Weasel fell into step behind them and waited as Rebecca helped Edna climb the porch stairs. At the sight of the wreath adorning the front door, Edna scoffed.

“Is it Christmas?” she asked looking at Rebecca.

“Thanksgiving,” she responded. Edna huffed in disgust.

Weasel reached around them and opened the front door. The warm smell of roasting turkey and other food smells filled the air. His large hand pressed against the small of her back. “We’re all here,” he called out. “We found Edna out in the street.”

It opened into a narrow foyer and the living room; the open floor plan gave the home a spacious feel. Two young boys piled together in an overstuffed chair, each staring at his own handheld video game. Neither of them looked up. A row of hooks lined the wall behind the door; a few of them were empty while others held coats, scarves, and backpacks. Rebecca took Edna’s coat and hung it up before sliding out of her own. Then Cindy and Dalton appeared with hugs for Edna, who growled and shuffled past them toward the couch.

Cindy shrugged and shot a “what can you do?” expression to Rebecca, who smiled in return. Cindy was taller than Edna, but about nine inches shorter than Rebecca. “It’s so good to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, hugging Rebecca, and she wondered what they said about her. “You’ve met my husband.” Rebecca nodded.

Dalton and Weasel were already in some lively conversation that included shoulder slapping, and they disappeared down the hallway. Cindy rolled her eyes. “Those two,” she muttered. “I’m so happy Weasel brought you. It’s wonderful to have another woman in the house for a change.” She nodded toward the couch where Edna was flipping through their television channels. “Doesn’t count,” she whispered. Rebecca smiled. “Would you like a drink?” Cindy asked.

“Sounds great.” She followed Cindy into the kitchen. The beautiful honey oak cabinetry and gray countertops looked brand new and not original to the house.

“Love your cabinets,” Rebecca said.

“Thanks.” Cindy pulled a pitcher out of the fridge. “Is tea okay?” Rebecca nodded. “Dalton,” she poured a glass and handed it to Rebecca, “tore the old stuff out and built all of this.”

“He did a fantastic job.”

“A complete nightmare while we were going through it, with no kitchen for months. It’s a wonder we didn’t kill each other.”

“Looks like it was worth it.”

Cindy laughed. “I still told him just stick to fixing cars from now on.” Cindy bent and opened the oven peering in at the turkey and using a baster. “I’m a little nervous about this meal, knowing you’re a trained chef.”

“Oh, please don’t be. I’m really not all that picky when it comes to what I eat. If I weren’t here, I’d be eating Chinese take-out right now.”

“That’d be a lot less work,” she muttered.

“It all smells so good. Is there anything I can help with?”

“Do you know how to carve a turkey?”

Rebecca smiled. Now that was right in her wheelhouse.

Cindy took the bowls of side dishes to the dinner table while Rebecca carved the turkey and arranged the slices on the dish. “You put her to work?” Weasel asked, as he and Dalton returned conveniently as the food was ready.

“You must have some sixth sense that tells you when it’s time to eat,” Rebecca said.

“Dalton does too,” Cindy said.

“Must run in the family.”

“It must be a man talent,” Cindy said. They both laughed.