Boo (37 page)

“Am I late?” he said.

“Just on time, as always,” Sheriff Parker said proudly. “Good to see you, son. You’re looking fit. How’s the Delta Force?” Sheriff Parker glanced around the table, his face unashamedly preened.

“Dad, nobody wants to hear about that,” Butch said, and everyone naturally protested. He smiled humbly and winked, for no apparent reason, at Marlee, who blushed and giggled like she was fourteen. Butch’s attention suddenly shifted to Wolfe. “I thought I knew everyone here, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Wolfe stood, glad he was as tall as Butch. Butch flashed a killer grin and held out his hand. “I’m Butch Parker.”

“This is Wolfe. Boone.” Ainsley stood quickly, nervously.

Butch’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? No kidding.” The room quieted as the two shook hands. “Well, nice to meet you! And have you to our home for Thanksgiving!”

Wolfe relaxed. Butch’s charisma was contagious, his smile genuine. Wolfe felt truly welcome. Butch slapped him on the back and went to the other end of the table to sit down. “Well? What are we waiting for? Let’s eat! I wait all year for this kind of meal!”

“Huh-uh, not yet,” Sheriff Parker said, standing again. “Not before we do my favorite tradition, which is to go around and tell what you’re thankful for.” Sheriff Parker looked to his left. “Miss Peeple, why don’t you start?”

Miss Peeple nodded her head and said, “Of course. I’m thankful for”—she paused, as if thinking deeply—“Skary, Indiana. And all that it is.” She smiled decisively and then looked toward Alfred Tennison on her left.

Alfred cleared his throat nervously and shrugged. “I, uh … I guess I’m thankful for the food. It’s been a long time since I had a turkey for Thanksgiving.”

Reverend Peck, a certain sadness still lingering in his eyes, said, “I’m thankful for Thanksgiving. It always reminds me of how much we have.”

Melb was next, and she stared oddly across the table at Garth before saying, “I’m thankful for Garth Twyne.” She punctuated this statement with a small smile. “The love of my life.”

Garth grinned at her and then glanced, for no reason, at Ainsley, who just smiled back at him approvingly.

Mayor Wullisworth said, “I’m thankful that God hates tattletales but favors plagues for those who are so inclined.” He glanced at Alfred Tennison and then gave a stiff chuckle. “Just being humorous. No, I’m glad to be the mayor of Skary, Indiana, the greatest place to live in the world.”

The crowd offered an apprehensive laugh.

Marlee Hampton said, “I’m thankful for Mary Kay, the woman and the company, and especially their new line of eye shadows that are guaranteed to stay on through the longest of dates.” She batted her eyes at Butch.

Butch was next and he said, “I’m thankful to be alive. I can’t give you details, but I had some close calls this year.”

The crowd gave a somber, collective moan and shook their heads.

“I’m thankful for … Oliver!” Martin Blarty said.

“Oliver?” a few said in astonishment.

“Why yes. A
great
friend and the
best used
car salesman this side of the, uh, the equator!”

Oliver smiled proudly. He said, “Why thank you, Martin. I’m thankful to own my own business, and to be able to sell cars at more than 20 percent less than my competition, plus offer my customer satisfaction guarantee and personal service you just can’t get anywhere else.”

Then it was Garth’s turn, who said with a bit of a dramatic flare, “I’m thankful for the Parkers.”

“Hear, hear!”

Garth smiled radiantly. “They’re wonderful people to open their home to us, aren’t they?”

Everyone agreed heartily, and Wolfe watched Melb melt into her chair with a strange, silent anger. But then it was his turn, and before he
knew it, all eyes were on him, and enough time had passed to cause an awkward silence. Still, he didn’t want to rush things. He had so much to be thankful for this holiday season, and to name just one seemed impossible. Yet as he thought about it, he knew he could sum it all up with one word. And he needed to quickly, he realized, because Ainsley was fidgeting next to him in the silence, worried, he was sure, that he had nothing to say.

“God.”

The word seemed to reverberate off the walls, and by the way everyone glanced nervously at each other, Wolfe thought maybe he’d pronounced His name wrong.

“I’m thankful for God,” he said again, and a peace poured through his body as he said it. He knew every good thing he had came from God, and though it was a simple thanksgiving, he meant it. He caught Reverend Peck smiling at him warmly.

He turned to Ainsley, indicating it was her turn. Ainsley paused, and then said, “Me too. I’m thankful for God too.”

It was Sheriff Parker’s turn, and he said with an exacting expression, “Well, who isn’t thankful for God?”

Everyone nodded but said nothing.

“It’s time to bless the food,” Sheriff Parker said, and then he turned to Wolfe. “Wolfe, why don’t you lead us in prayer?”

“What?” Ainsley said.

“I said, Wolfe, why don’t you lead us in prayer?” Sheriff Parker said without taking his eyes off of Wolfe.

“Daddy,” Ainsley said in a lowered tone, “you
always
pray at Thanksgiving. I can’t think of a year that you haven’t prayed. It’s practically a tradition.”

“Well, times change, honey,” he said. “After all, it was Mr. Boone here that said he was thankful for God. What better way to show his gratitude than to lead us in prayer on Thanksgiving?”

Wolfe knew Ainsley’s apprehension. He wasn’t eloquent and had no practice praying in front of people. In fact, the prayers he had managed so far had been so deeply personal and private that he’d had trouble
expressing them in words. They’d been uttered from the innermost part of his heart. He scratched his head, wondering how in the world he would pray on behalf of everyone at the table. How could he even try to sound articulate? His mouth went dry as he looked around the table at the many eyes staring at him.

“Well?” said the sheriff.

“Daddy …”

“Sure, of course,” Wolfe said, standing. “I’d be honored.”

The sheriff looked a bit surprised, as did everyone else except the reverend, who had already bowed his head. Wolfe cleared his throat, took quick note of the reverend’s folded hands, and folded his own in front of him.

“God, today is Thanksgiving, and I thank you for it.” He paused, trying to think of what else he could say. “We’re thankful for the Parkers, as Garth mentioned, and for inviting us all here to eat. And for a nice warm house, a good shelter from the cold snow outside.” He heard a few nervous throat clearings, but figured he’d better continue, because he was pretty sure he hadn’t prayed long enough.

Then, suddenly, something exceptional happened. He felt everything around him fade and realized he was speaking directly to God—and that, remarkably, God was actually listening. And before he knew it, he was expressing all that he’d been feeling for God and everything he was thankful for, and to his astonishment he wasn’t at all having a hard time finding the words, and in fact they were flowing out of him so fast that he could hardly even think. Yet inside, his spirit felt free and joyful and truly thankful. He spoke of the character of God, the very attributes to which Wolfe had been drawn at the beginning. He spoke of love and forgiveness and salvation. He thanked God for the church and the people in the church and for newfound friends and fellowship. On and on he went, until finally, with hardly enough breath for it, he said, “Amen.”

He opened his eyes, but it seemed to him everyone else had already opened theirs long ago. Eyes gawked at him, and he wasn’t quite sure why, but he tried to smile as he took his seat again. He looked at Sheriff Parker, whose mouth was hanging open just slightly.

“Well, wasn’t that an interesting prayer. Um, thank you, Wolfe. You did, however, forget to bless the food.”

“Daddy,” Ainsley said, “I think God got the point.” She glanced at Wolfe. “I thought it was a wonderful prayer, straight from the heart.”

“Yes, well, what do you say we stop talking and start eating before this wonderful food gets cold!” the sheriff said, and everyone began digging in.

Wolfe felt Ainsley’s hand on his shoulder. “That was a lovely Thanksgiving prayer, Wolfe.”

“So,” Garth Twyne said as they were all getting seconds, “how’s the writing going these days?”

Though they’d been sitting next to each other for the entire meal, this was the first time they’d spoken. Ainsley was engaged in conversation with her father and Miss Peeple. Wolfe didn’t want to be judgmental, but there did seem to be something a little off about Garth, and he never quite knew how to take the guy.

“The writing?”

“Yeah, like the next book. When’s it coming? What’s it about? You can discuss these types of things, can’t you? I mean, it’s not top secret or anything, is it?” Garth laughed—it was more like a snicker—and picked at a piece of turkey between his teeth.

“It’s not top secret, but there’s nothing to tell you. I’m not working on anything right now.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Aren’t writers always working on something?”

“Usually. But I’m not right now.”

“So any ideas? I mean, somewhere in that dark mind of yours has to be a story just waiting to jump out and scream bloody murder.”

Wolfe tried not to seem impatient, but he didn’t really want to talk about it. Apparently everyone was having a hard time dealing with the idea that there were going to be no more horror novels from Wolfe Boone.

“Listen,” Garth said after a moment, “I heard a rumor, and listen, I’m not one for rumors. I mean, frankly, I think you should just come right out and ask someone about something if you’re not for sure. So the rumor is that you’re not going to be writing any more of those scary books. Is it true?”

Wolfe scooted his cranberry sauce around his plate. “It’s true. I don’t want to write those kinds of books anymore. There are plenty of stories to tell without deliberately creating fear in people.”

“So this is all a result of your new conversion.”

“I guess it is.”

Suddenly something rubbed Wolfe’s leg, and he jumped before realizing it was just Thief. Wolfe shooed him away.

“Thief thinks he’s one of the family,” Garth said.

“I’m not really a cat person. More fond of dogs.”

“I know what you mean.” There was a long pause before Garth said, “Look, I think it’s the totally right thing to do. About the writing.”

Wolfe set down his fork. “You do?”

“Sure. I mean, it’s a conviction, right? It’s what you feel you need to do. I respect that.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, I mean, it must be a hard thing to turn from a career that’s brought you so much fame and money and stuff.”

“Well, I never wrote because of that. I guess I got into horror because I liked to surprise the reader, and when I was a kid I loved ghost stories. But somewhere along the way, it turned into something a lot scarier, a lot worse than just a ghost story. I guess I caved to the will of the market, so to speak, and I feel that—”

“Uh-huh, well, I gotta tell you that you’re a bigger man than I am. And that’s saying a lot. But,” Garth said, his voice suddenly hushing, “you’re probably going to have to break the news to a certain somebody rather gently, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Garth’s eyes averted to Ainsley, who was nodding politely to Miss Peeple.

“Ainsley?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think she’ll eventually come around to the idea, but it won’t be easy at first.”

“What won’t be easy?”

“About the books. That you’re not writing them anymore.” Garth stuffed a huge wad of dressing in his mouth.

Wolfe let him chew, trying to process what Garth was trying to tell him. “Are you saying … What exactly are you saying?”

Garth swallowed and looked concerned. “She hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

Wiping his mouth he said, “I’m sorry, I just assumed. It’s just that …” Garth again looked around at Ainsley before he spoke. “She was really excited about being in a relationship with a novelist. She just keeps talking about it, like it’s her dream come true. She even said she hoped you’d take her to New York sometime. I mean, who doesn’t dream of being hooked up with a famous novelist?”

Wolfe stared at his plate. Could this be true? Ainsley had never given any indication that she liked him because he was a writer. And in fact, he was pretty sure she’d always been very turned off by what he wrote.

“Where did you hear this?”

Garth shrugged. “Bits and pieces here and there. Ainsley’s a private person, but she’s let it be known. Perhaps she’s given you the opposite impression, but you know how women are. They say one thing but mean the other.”

“To you? Did she say this to you?”

Garth’s face seemed tight with apprehension. “Well, not to me directly, I guess, though I’ve picked up on it on my own—”

“So it’s a rumor.”

“A rumor. Yeah, I guess, it’s a rumor. But rumors tend to be awfully reliable in small towns.”

Wolfe reached over and tapped Ainsley on the shoulder. She turned to him with a smile. “Hi.”