Chapter 1 - The Empty Table
My wife erased my father from Thanksgiving because she didn't like the smell of the hands that raised me.
Ten minutes later, I started erasing dinner.
The turkey went first.
Then the stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls.
By the time Karen noticed the foil trays, I was sliding the pumpkin pie into a cardboard box.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Changing Thanksgiving plans."
She stared at the bare roasting pan.
Behind her, our dining room gleamed with candles, polished glasses, and twelve carefully folded napkins.
There had been thirteen that morning.
My name is Rick Dalton.
I was fifty-two, living in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and until noon that Thursday, I thought I understood the woman I'd married.
Then I called my father.
"I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."
Jack Dalton, seventy-four, took so long to answer that I checked the screen.
"Think I'll stay home, son."
"You sick?"
"No. Karen called. Said the table was crowded."
I found my wife arranging silverware.
"Why did you tell Dad not to come?"
She straightened a fork.
"My parents are not spending the afternoon across from a mechanic who smells like a repair shop."
I set down the carving knife.
Slowly.
Dad had spent nearly fifty years fixing cars.
He'd worked overtime for my braces, rebuilt my first engine, and answered every late-night call I ever made.
His jackets carried oil and metal the way other men's carried cologne.
"Alright," I said.
Karen heard surrender.
That was her mistake.
Now she stood between me and the back door.
"My parents will be here any minute."
"I know."
"You can't take everything."
"There's cheese in the refrigerator. Crackers in the pantry."
"Rick. Be reasonable."
I lifted the last tray.
"You told my father there wasn't room. I'm going somewhere there is."
She stepped aside, but her voice followed me into the driveway.
"Don't expect me to explain this for you."
I secured the food in my truck and drove across town.
My phone started ringing before I reached the first stoplight.
I let it ring.
Dad opened his door wearing a clean blue shirt and the tie he'd worn to my mother's funeral.
May you like
Behind him, the kitchen table was set for one.
Then I saw the overnight bag beside his chair.
