The Snow Globe (3 page)

The only thing that saved Gwinnie from annihilation was Mom looking up from the oven and beaming lovingly at Kiley, saying, “Hello, sweetie.” She took out the baking sheet with the rolls and then hurried forward to kiss Kiley, cutting off access to Gwinnie the traitor. Mom was obviously psychic and knew what Kiley was contemplating.

Or maybe she's simply glad to see you, Kiley told herself, and hugged her mother. “Sorry I'm late.”

“It's okay.” Mom planted a kiss on her cheek. “We're just glad you're here.”

Kiley wished she could say the same thing. Normally, the smell of roasting turkey set her mouth watering with anticipation, and the sight of her family filled her with joy. Today the smells and sights of the holiday were wasted on her.

She forced a smile and gave her sister-in-law a wave and a hi. Poor Tara. She was trying, like Switzerland, to remain neutral.

“You're just in time to help get food on the table,” said Ki
ley's aunt, stopping to kiss her before proceeding on to the dining room with the fruit salad.

Kiley went to where Grandma stood at the stove and kissed her wrinkled cheek. Grandma studied her carefully. “How are you?”

What a loaded question! “I'm fine,” she told both Grandma and herself. She'd be even finer once this day was over.

“Hi, Kiles,” said a deliberately perky voice.

She turned with a frown to see Gwinnie, wearing a false smile, determined to act as if nothing was wrong.

A montage of scenes raced through Kiley's mind: she and Gwinnie wrapping a loop of elastic around chair legs and playing Chinese jump rope; Gwinnie asking Kiley to teach her how to make gum wrapper braids, and then hair braids; the two of them sprawled on the couch watching a late-night horror movie. The memories weren't enough to heal the hurt. In fact, they only inspired her to contemplate snatching the electric mixer and tangling its beaters in Gwinnie's hair.

“Hi, Gwinnie.” She managed to get the words out, but she just couldn't add any warmth to them.

Gwinnie frowned and returned her attention to the whipping cream.

Kiley sighed inwardly and set her bag of goodies on the table next to where the punch bowl sat waiting. “I guess I'd better make this punch and take it out to the dining room,” she muttered and got to work.

The kitchen went back to its busy buzz with the women putting finishing touches on the many dishes bound for the table
and talk centered on the tasks at hand—“Do we have another serving spoon somewhere?”…“I think the gravy's ready.”…“Gwinnie, stop whipping that cream before you turn it to butter.”

This last comment came from Grandma, who was looking at her granddaughter with irritation.

Once upon a time—like last year, even—Gwinnie would have offered a beater to Kiley to lick. Today, she simply removed the beaters and laid them in the sink, then retreated to the fridge to put away the whipping cream for later when the pumpkin pie made its appearance.

Fine. Kiley didn't want to lick the beater anyway. She took the bowl of baby peas her mother handed her along with the mashed potatoes and went to the dining room.

“While you're at it, tell the men we're ready to eat,” said Mom.

It didn't take more than one announcement to bring the men to the table. “This looks great,” said Kiley's father, beaming with satisfaction at the feast laid before them, the fine china and crystal, and the cornucopia centerpiece. “You've outdone yourself this year, love,” he told Mom as everyone settled in.

He said the same thing every year. And, as she did every year, Mom rolled her eyes and waved away the compliment. “Hurry up and say grace, John, before the natives get restless.”

Dad complied, and the second he was finished the guys were all reaching for food. For the next few minutes, everyone concentrated on filling his or her plate and the conversational landscape was sparse.

Slowly, the time-honored topics surfaced. Which teams were going to the Super Bowl? How Grandpa would have loved to see this growing gang at the table, and, speaking of growing, had Tara and Corey settled on a name for the baby yet? Say, was this a new recipe for candied yams?

“Oh, I just haven't made it in a while,” said Mom.

“Was it in the recipe book you gave me when we got married?” asked Tara.

“I think so,” said Mom. “If not, let me know and I'll e-mail it to you.”

“I want it, too,” put in Gwinnie.

“Don't worry. You'll get it, along with all the other family recipes, when you get married,” Mom said absently, and then looked like she wished she could swallow her tongue.

An awkward silence landed on the table and camped there. Eyes shot this way and that, everywhere but Kiley's direction. She was aware of Gwinnie regarding her nervously and Jeremy once again trying to loosen that invisible tie, and suddenly felt a lump in her throat the size of a golf ball, but she gamely scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes and oh-so-calmly inserted them in her mouth.

Grandma came to the rescue. “Recipes might make a nice Christmas present for both our girls. I've been thinking it's time I parted with the one for my Christmas cake.”

“I'd love to have that,” Tara said eagerly, obviously happy to help steer the conversation in a safer direction.

Kiley kept her eyes on her mashed potatoes.

After dinner the men cleared the table and vanished into the
kitchen to wash dishes, while the women lingered over their coffee. Kiley wished she didn't have to linger. Once the kitchen was clean the gang would be off to work up an appetite for pie by playing football. She had no appetite, for either pie or football. How soon till she could leave?

Wait a minute, she thought.
Why should you be the one to leave? The ones to go should be Gwinnie and Jeremy. They're the problem, not you
. She looked across the table to see Gwinnie gnawing her lower lip and watching her, hoping for absolution.

She turned her head.

A few moments later, Corey was leading the pack from the kitchen. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. “Okay, who's ready to get their ass kicked?”

“By who?” retorted Zach, who was now right behind his cousin.

Corey loomed over him. “By me, dude.” He cocked his head, motioning for Kiley to follow. “Come on, Road Runner. You're on my team.”

Now Kiley could see Jeremy smiling at Gwinnie. “Come on, Gwin,” he said.

She shot a look in Kiley's direction. “I don't want to.”

“Oh, no,” said Zach, hauling her up. “Everybody plays, even sissy girls.”

“I want to play,” piped Beau.

“Another couple of years, bud,” his father said, rumpling his hair.

“But I want to play, too,” he whined.

“Me, too,” put in his twin.

“Aw, let 'em,” said Zach. “Like you said, everybody plays.”

“Okay, then. But don't trample 'em,” Corey added, pointing a warning finger at Zach.

Tara had come out in time to hear the tail end of the discussion and quickly vetoed her husband's decision. “Some games are for grown-ups and bigger boys. When you're a little bigger you can go,” she told the boys firmly. “Anyway, Grandpa and Uncle Al need you two to stay here and play with them so they won't get bored.”

“We're going to play some Wii bowling,” added Dad, and that was all it took to change the twins' minds about football.

“Maybe I'll stay and play, too,” said Kiley. Then she wouldn't have to watch Jeremy stealing kisses and hugging Gwinnie, like he used to do with her.

“Oh, no,” said Corey, pulling her away from the table. “You're coming, too. Tara can't play this year, Dad's back is trashed, and Uncle Al's knee hurts. If you don't come we won't have enough people.”

It was useless to protest. Kiley went to change. Unlike Gwinnie, who made a production out of everything, it didn't take her long. In comfortable sweats and with her hair caught up in a big bush of a sloppy bun, she felt more like herself. But she didn't look like much, especially when she compared herself to her sister, whose outfit was tight and pink and made her look like a cupcake. Jeremy had obviously done plenty of comparing himself, Kiley thought miserably as Corey loaded her into his car.

The cousins piled into the backseat, leaving Gwinnie and
Jeremy to follow in Jeremy's car.

“Okay, what was that stunt about?” Corey demanded as soon as the door was shut.

She tried to play dumb. “What?”

“Hiding at home with Mom and Dad won't help you get past this,” he continued.

“Yeah,” put in Mark. “Anyway, if you ask me you had a lucky escape.”

Some lucky escape. She got out with a broken heart.

“Really,” added Zach in disgust. “The guy is a doof.”

She turned in her seat to look at him. “What do you mean, he's a doof?”

Zach shrugged. “He just is, Kile. You can do better.”

“Well, if he's such a doof why didn't any of you say something when we were first dating?”

“Like you'd have wanted to hear?” retorted Corey.

“Anyway,” Mark added with a shrug, “he didn't seem like a total doof back then. But now that he's dumped you and taken up with Gwinnie…” Mark didn't finish the sentence, just shook his head.

“He runs like a duck,” said Zach.

“Wears a Polo shirt to play football,” Corey added with a snort.

He and the cousins were all in old jeans and ripped T-shirts, which they filled out with well-built pecs and abs. Compared to them Jeremy looked…small. And inferior.

Except he wasn't. He was sweet and thoughtful and loved to go to movies. Okay, so he'd never had any desire to run with
her. They still had lots of fun together. At least they used to.

“Look, Road Runner,” said Corey. “I know this is hard, but you've got to believe us when we tell you that losing this clown is really a good thing. He'd have just turned out to be a starter husband for you. He wouldn't have been enough to keep you happy all your life.”

“Hell, he won't even be enough for Gwinnie,” cracked Zach.

“That'll never last,” Mark agreed. “This guy doesn't know what he's doing. By next Thanksgiving he'll be history.”

What were they saying? “You think he'll dump Gwinnie?”

“Bank on it,” said Corey with a sad shake of the head.

“If she doesn't dump him first,” said Zach. “So this year we may as well have some fun,” he added with an evil grin that didn't bode well for Jeremy.

Even though she was still mad at her sister, Kiley felt a moment of concern. The men in her family didn't always stay in touch with their feminine sides and if they decided to punish Jeremy it would be sure to upset Gwinnie.

“You guys…” she began.

“Don't worry,” Corey said easily, cutting off her protest. “We won't hurt him. Much.”

Sure enough. As soon as they got to the field and started playing Jeremy became a tackling dummy. Kiley winced each time he got shoved and pelted with the football. “Sorry, man,” said Zach with a smirk, after a bruising that made Kiley wince.

Finally, when Corey took Jeremy down, landing on top of him, a red-faced Gwinnie accused, “You're not supposed to tackle.
You're
trying
to hurt him!”

“That was an accident,” protested Mark. “Corey tripped.”

Gwinnie burst into tears. “You're all being mean.”

Jeremy limped over to her and put an arm around her shoulder. “It's okay, Gwin. I'm fine.”

“No, it's not.” She glared at the others, hands on hips. “You guys don't have any right to treat Jeremy like this.”

“Oh, yeah?” retorted Mark. “Well, maybe you didn't have any right to treat Kiley the way you treated her.”

The tears were streaming down Gwinnie's perfect face now. “You don't understand. We didn't plan on falling in love. We didn't mean to hurt anyone.”

“You did, Gwin,” Corey said quietly. “And you never thought about how hard it might be for Kiley today.”

“I did so! And it's been hard for me, too.” Gwinnie buried her face in her hands and began to cry in earnest.

Watching her, Kiley felt heartsick. What a mess. And maybe some of it was her fault. She should have hugged her sister when she first arrived, been friendly to Jeremy, acted like she didn't care. Then everyone would have been happy and no one would be fighting.

“It's okay,” she said, and hugged Gwinnnie.

Gwinnie, ever the drama queen, threw her arms around Kiley and upped the tear production. “Please don't hate me, Kiles. I love him. I can't help it.”

“Oh gawd, I'm gonna puke,” drawled Zach.

“You are such a spoiled brat,” Corey told Gwinnie in disgust and Jeremy, who should have jumped in to defend her, stood
there with a spine like a cooked noodle.

He could have said,
Don't blame Gwinnie. This is all my fault. I'm sorry I've screwed up your Thanksgiving and your family
. Why wasn't he saying something? Maybe he didn't want Gwinnie to be upset any further. Or maybe he
was
a doof. Or maybe Kiley was just bitter.

“This is lame,” said Mark. “We may as well go back and eat pie.”

And so, for the first time ever, the game ended on a sour note.

Back at the house, Dad and Uncle Al were playing Wii with the twins while Pansy yapped encouragement. The women were still parked at the dining room table, visiting. Corey and the cousins went to the punch bowl to rehydrate, Jeremy went to sponge off his dirty pants, and Gwinnie plopped onto the couch to pout.

Kiley decided she'd had enough fun for one day. She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and said, “I'm going to take off.”

“Already?” protested her aunt.

“I think I'm getting a migraine,” she lied. Her mother studied her with concern and she felt her face warming under the scrutiny.