StatsGrandma
07-12-2006, 04:08 PM
SHELTER
Part 41
"'S aotrom a ghearradh tu leum le do thriùbhas fada rèidh"
(Lightly would you leap with your smooth long trews)
Thanksgiving morning dawned chilly but clear.
Don awoke to find Robin and her father in the kitchen, apparently arguing over something.
"Daddy, I asked you to get sour apple pucker!" Don grinned as he padded down the short hallway; the voice was so not like the Robin he
knew. She reminded him of a Valley Girl in this moment, which, in fact, she was. He'd just never witnessed it.
"One does not drink sour apple pucker in martinis, darling girl." Walter's bemused expression indicated that he was enjoying, in a somewhat
perverse fashion, his daughter's regression to the Galleria years.
"Don, tell him. Flavored martinis are delicious!"
"I am completely agnostic on the subject of martinis."
Walter's face took on an expression of mock horror. "A martini consists of the very best, very driest gin, and the driest, most high quality
vermouth, and an olive."
"To be honest, they taste like paint thinner to me." Don winced. Martinis had never done it for him. They'd never been served in their
home; on the rare occasions that hard liquor made an appearance, it was always single malt Scotch.
"That's because you've never had one made properly," Walter informed him.
Don kissed Robin. "Other than enduring this form of child abuse, how are you?"
"That's exactly what it is! See, Daddy? He understands!"
Walter chuckled. "As a father, it's my job to see that you're properly abused." He looked at Don. "That will be your proper function as well,
once the little ones come on the scene." He went back to sauteeing celery, onions, and sage.
"Daddy. No oysters in the stuffing!"
"Of course not, darling girl. They'll be on the half shell."
"And I'm not helping you shuck them."
"I can't possibly see why. The last time, we only spent the entire afternoon in the ER waiting to have your hand stitched up."
Don grinned. "Hmm, that I didn't know."
"And trust me, you'd have lived a long and healthy life without that information. Speaking of which, how're you feeling? You sound a lot
better."
"I feel better. I think there was something in your dad's magic potion that he served me last night."
"I had a feeling he got to you, seeing as I came in and you didn't even stir."
"I did get to bed eventually." How it occurred was unclear to him, but he did wake up in Robin's bed.
"It took Mom, Daddy and me to get you there," Robin laughed.
"Not a huge man, but built rock solid. Some effort was involved," Walter commented dryly.
"Walter, are you hassling these kids? Good morning," Felice entered the sanctum sanctorum of the kitchen, stopped to kiss Robin on
the cheek, and then gave a quick peck to Don.
"I am not hassling the children. I'm simply following the demands of destiny."
"You are a piece of work." Felice chuckled and grabbed a cup of coffee as she kissed Walter. "Don, you sound better."
"I think I have to thank Walter for that. Whatever was in that, it worked."
Felice arched an eyebrow. "Walter's secret recipe? A lump of sugar, some lemon juice, and Irish whiskey. Emphasis on the whiskey."
She winked at her husband.
"You're giving away all my trade secrets," Walter groused as he smiled at his wife. "Now all of you, be gone! Production is now underway."
Robin and Don stepped into the hallway, where she wrapped her arms around him tightly. "You sound almost well enough to see your dad
today."
"I was thinking the same thing. Charlie was all excited yesterday, says Dad's starting to walk again."
"That's marvelous!"
"Oh, and don't mind Daddy. He can be, well, he's Daddy. I don't know how else to describe him."
"He and your mom were really nice. Yesterday, they went to the temple. Your dad made a minyan for my dad. I mean, he hasn't even
met the guy, and that was just so sweet--"
Robin waved her hand. "That's just Daddy. He does stuff for people. I'm surprised he told you. Most times, he does things and never
mentions them."
"He's a character, that's for sure. But with a ton of heart."
Just then there was a crash from the kitchen. "Scallions! I needed scallions, not leeks! Who the bloody hell bought leeks?!"
Robin called out. "Uh, that was you."
"Unpossible!"
"You were the one who did the marketing, at your own insistence!"
"But no one warned me I was buying the wrong thing!"
Felice was reading the LA Times, and lowered the paper to reveal an arched eyebrow. She'd apparently had a great deal of practice in
her life with Walter.
Robin and Don looked at her and burst out laughing, as Felice muttered, "That man," and returned to the paper.
01123581321345589144233377610987
Don felt better than he had in days, but downed several OTC meds just in case the cough acted up again. He really wanted to see his
father. He was actually struck by how much he missed him after just a few days. Can't believe I'd go weeks and months in the past and never
so much as call, he mused.
Life had shifted in all directions and dimensions. Some of the changes weren't welcome, but as he contemplated this Thanksgiving
morning, there was a lot more to be thankful for than not.
He was happily surprised to find his father seated in the chair, not in bed. Alan smiled as his son approached. His face looks better,
Don thought with relief. Not so lopsided.
"Hey Dad, you're looking good," Don said, giving his father a quick hug across the shoulders.
Alan tried to say "Liar," but it just came out as choking noises. He became utterly frustrated.
"Hey, take it easy," Don urged him softly. "And yes, I'm feeling better, thank you. I think I was cured by huge amounts of Irish whiskey."
Alan gave a horrified expression. Dad was strictly about Scotch. Don laughed, almost able to see what was coursing through his father's
brain.
"Robin's dad made me a hot toddy last night," Don explained. "It's not as if I could say no to the man."
Alan nodded grudgingly, and put his completely operable left hand on his son's cheek.
"Robin and I, we're still trying to grow this relationship, take it slow. I think her parents have other ideas." He laughed a bit as he said it.
Alan nodded approvingly, giving another smile.
"Hey, you're getting a grandkid!"
Alan nodded as if to say, true, true, but what have you done for me lately?
"Who knows? It looks good."
Alan appeared momentarily satisfied.
"I'll bring you some leftovers later. From the looks of things, Robin's dad makes a mean turkey dinner."
Alan simply nodded.
"But I kind of miss yours."
Alan was trying to speak again. It was a painful noise.
"We'll get you out of here as soon's we can, okay?"
Alan seemed pleased by this sentiment, although his next thought was, soon by whose definition?
"Charlie says you're walking."
If you want to call it that, Alan thought.
"How's about we check it out?"
It's a holiday.
"No, come on, rehab sucks, but the more you work at it, the sooner you're okay."
Alan eyed him suspiciously.
"Take it from me. I know from rehab, Dad."
Yes, son, I'm well aware of that fact. I remember you being near tears after some sessions as well. Now I know what you go through.
"Oh, wow, you're not dead." Charlie's voice came in from behind Don. Alan shot his younger son a look that would melt steel.
"I don't mean you, I mean Don!" Charlie clarified, laughing, and holding a large paper bag. "Amita's Gram sent you this." The contents
of the bag were aromatic.
"I'm trying to convince the old guy here to take a walk with us," Don informed his younger brother, who'd knelt down next to him. Don
ran his hand rapidly over the curls.
"Hey, that took me half an hour to get right this morning!"
"You know, Charlie, I know women that don't spend as much time grooming themselves as you do," Don poked him gently.
"That's cold."
"Truth hurts."
Charlie looked eagerly at his father. "So Dad, ready to motor?"
Alan rolled his eyes. What my children don't put me through, he groaned, this time outwardly.
01123581321345589144233377610987
"I thought this was a day where you'd take advantage of sleeping in." Larry stood in the kitchen, watching Megan hustle about.
"Not if I'm going to cook Thanksgiving day dinner for us."
Larry's face lit up. "You'd do that? I didn't know that you even cooked."
"I don't. But my sister's a pretty good turkey hotline." He noticed her phone was close at hand.
"This is so wonderful. Thanksgiving dinner is my favorite meal of the year."
"It does have a lot of white food in it."
"Exactly!"
"How're you feeling?"
"Almost well enough to replace the speedometer on the Studebaker."
She stood poised to shoot him. "Don't. Even. Think. About. It."
He held his hands up in a surrender gesture. "I did not say I was going to do it. I simply said I felt almost well enough to do it."
"Well, you keep feeling that way. You don't want me to have to draw my weapon, do you?" She smiled wickedly at him as she pulled
the turkey from the freezer.
Larry winced. He wanted to tell her that in order to cook a turkey, it had to be thawed, but he decided that this was an occasion in which
silence was the preferable alternative.
"Now go lie down and watch football with the rest of American males."
"I think I shall. The UCLA-USC game starts in an hour. After that, the highlight of the day, the CalSci-MIT game. Not that they play football
particularly well, but you understand, it's tradition."
"I guess my cooking isn't exactly part of tradition."
"It's...one I think I could get used to."
Of course, Megan contemplated, if I'm going to establish a tradition, it would help for me to know what I'm doing. She dialed Kathleen's
number once Larry had retreated.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Megan's niece Jenny answered the phone.
"Hey sweetie, happy Thanksgiving to you!"
"I miss you, Auntie Megan!"
"I miss you, too, sweetie, but I'll see you at Christmas."
"Are you bringing Uncle Larry?"
"Who?"
"Uncle Larry. Mommy told us about him. She says he's nice."
"I can ask him." Kathleen let the cat out of the bag, she thought. "Right now, though, I need your mom. Can you get her for me?"
"MOMMY!"
I didn't need that ear anyway, she thought, shaking her head.
"Who is it?" Megan could hear Kathleen's voice with her remaining good ear.
"Auntie Megan!"
"Okay, okay, tell her I'm coming!"
Jenny came back on the line. "She says she's coming. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"
"Making dinner for Uncle Larry."
Jenny seemed confused. "But you don't cook."
"I've made you pb&j's! What do you mean, I don't cook!"
Kathleen's footsteps came into earshot.
"Mommy! Auntie Megan's making dinner for Uncle Larry!"
"Oh Christ no." Megan laughed as she visualized Kathleen's expression.
"I heard that!" Megan chided her older sister.
"What, you think this is the Butterball Turkey Hotline?"
"Actually, yes."
"You know they have an 800 number for that."
"Kathleen, I really want to make this special. But I've never done it. Cut me a break here."
Kathleen laughed. "Okay. Did you actually buy a turkey?"
"Really, big sister, how much of a moron do you think I am?"
"That depends on what your answer is."
"Yes, I did. So now what?"
"Is it thawed?"
"Uh...no. I just took it out of the freezer."
"Put it in the sink and cover it with cold water. Keep changing the water until the bird thaws out."
"How long does this take?"
"How big is the bird?"
"12 pounds."
"3-4 hours. Okay, do that. Then call me back when you're ready for the next step. Jenny! Do not jump from the top of the stairs!
I swear, you don't look after my kids. You go on Death Watch."
"I might find out someday."
"Please tell me you're not roasting that turkey."
"No, no."
"Good. I'm having enough heart attacks as it is. And my evil in laws will be here soon. Which is why I'm drinking at this hour. And if you
ever have kids, let me give you a piece of advice about drinking."
"Which is?"
"Early and often."
Part 41
"'S aotrom a ghearradh tu leum le do thriùbhas fada rèidh"
(Lightly would you leap with your smooth long trews)
Thanksgiving morning dawned chilly but clear.
Don awoke to find Robin and her father in the kitchen, apparently arguing over something.
"Daddy, I asked you to get sour apple pucker!" Don grinned as he padded down the short hallway; the voice was so not like the Robin he
knew. She reminded him of a Valley Girl in this moment, which, in fact, she was. He'd just never witnessed it.
"One does not drink sour apple pucker in martinis, darling girl." Walter's bemused expression indicated that he was enjoying, in a somewhat
perverse fashion, his daughter's regression to the Galleria years.
"Don, tell him. Flavored martinis are delicious!"
"I am completely agnostic on the subject of martinis."
Walter's face took on an expression of mock horror. "A martini consists of the very best, very driest gin, and the driest, most high quality
vermouth, and an olive."
"To be honest, they taste like paint thinner to me." Don winced. Martinis had never done it for him. They'd never been served in their
home; on the rare occasions that hard liquor made an appearance, it was always single malt Scotch.
"That's because you've never had one made properly," Walter informed him.
Don kissed Robin. "Other than enduring this form of child abuse, how are you?"
"That's exactly what it is! See, Daddy? He understands!"
Walter chuckled. "As a father, it's my job to see that you're properly abused." He looked at Don. "That will be your proper function as well,
once the little ones come on the scene." He went back to sauteeing celery, onions, and sage.
"Daddy. No oysters in the stuffing!"
"Of course not, darling girl. They'll be on the half shell."
"And I'm not helping you shuck them."
"I can't possibly see why. The last time, we only spent the entire afternoon in the ER waiting to have your hand stitched up."
Don grinned. "Hmm, that I didn't know."
"And trust me, you'd have lived a long and healthy life without that information. Speaking of which, how're you feeling? You sound a lot
better."
"I feel better. I think there was something in your dad's magic potion that he served me last night."
"I had a feeling he got to you, seeing as I came in and you didn't even stir."
"I did get to bed eventually." How it occurred was unclear to him, but he did wake up in Robin's bed.
"It took Mom, Daddy and me to get you there," Robin laughed.
"Not a huge man, but built rock solid. Some effort was involved," Walter commented dryly.
"Walter, are you hassling these kids? Good morning," Felice entered the sanctum sanctorum of the kitchen, stopped to kiss Robin on
the cheek, and then gave a quick peck to Don.
"I am not hassling the children. I'm simply following the demands of destiny."
"You are a piece of work." Felice chuckled and grabbed a cup of coffee as she kissed Walter. "Don, you sound better."
"I think I have to thank Walter for that. Whatever was in that, it worked."
Felice arched an eyebrow. "Walter's secret recipe? A lump of sugar, some lemon juice, and Irish whiskey. Emphasis on the whiskey."
She winked at her husband.
"You're giving away all my trade secrets," Walter groused as he smiled at his wife. "Now all of you, be gone! Production is now underway."
Robin and Don stepped into the hallway, where she wrapped her arms around him tightly. "You sound almost well enough to see your dad
today."
"I was thinking the same thing. Charlie was all excited yesterday, says Dad's starting to walk again."
"That's marvelous!"
"Oh, and don't mind Daddy. He can be, well, he's Daddy. I don't know how else to describe him."
"He and your mom were really nice. Yesterday, they went to the temple. Your dad made a minyan for my dad. I mean, he hasn't even
met the guy, and that was just so sweet--"
Robin waved her hand. "That's just Daddy. He does stuff for people. I'm surprised he told you. Most times, he does things and never
mentions them."
"He's a character, that's for sure. But with a ton of heart."
Just then there was a crash from the kitchen. "Scallions! I needed scallions, not leeks! Who the bloody hell bought leeks?!"
Robin called out. "Uh, that was you."
"Unpossible!"
"You were the one who did the marketing, at your own insistence!"
"But no one warned me I was buying the wrong thing!"
Felice was reading the LA Times, and lowered the paper to reveal an arched eyebrow. She'd apparently had a great deal of practice in
her life with Walter.
Robin and Don looked at her and burst out laughing, as Felice muttered, "That man," and returned to the paper.
01123581321345589144233377610987
Don felt better than he had in days, but downed several OTC meds just in case the cough acted up again. He really wanted to see his
father. He was actually struck by how much he missed him after just a few days. Can't believe I'd go weeks and months in the past and never
so much as call, he mused.
Life had shifted in all directions and dimensions. Some of the changes weren't welcome, but as he contemplated this Thanksgiving
morning, there was a lot more to be thankful for than not.
He was happily surprised to find his father seated in the chair, not in bed. Alan smiled as his son approached. His face looks better,
Don thought with relief. Not so lopsided.
"Hey Dad, you're looking good," Don said, giving his father a quick hug across the shoulders.
Alan tried to say "Liar," but it just came out as choking noises. He became utterly frustrated.
"Hey, take it easy," Don urged him softly. "And yes, I'm feeling better, thank you. I think I was cured by huge amounts of Irish whiskey."
Alan gave a horrified expression. Dad was strictly about Scotch. Don laughed, almost able to see what was coursing through his father's
brain.
"Robin's dad made me a hot toddy last night," Don explained. "It's not as if I could say no to the man."
Alan nodded grudgingly, and put his completely operable left hand on his son's cheek.
"Robin and I, we're still trying to grow this relationship, take it slow. I think her parents have other ideas." He laughed a bit as he said it.
Alan nodded approvingly, giving another smile.
"Hey, you're getting a grandkid!"
Alan nodded as if to say, true, true, but what have you done for me lately?
"Who knows? It looks good."
Alan appeared momentarily satisfied.
"I'll bring you some leftovers later. From the looks of things, Robin's dad makes a mean turkey dinner."
Alan simply nodded.
"But I kind of miss yours."
Alan was trying to speak again. It was a painful noise.
"We'll get you out of here as soon's we can, okay?"
Alan seemed pleased by this sentiment, although his next thought was, soon by whose definition?
"Charlie says you're walking."
If you want to call it that, Alan thought.
"How's about we check it out?"
It's a holiday.
"No, come on, rehab sucks, but the more you work at it, the sooner you're okay."
Alan eyed him suspiciously.
"Take it from me. I know from rehab, Dad."
Yes, son, I'm well aware of that fact. I remember you being near tears after some sessions as well. Now I know what you go through.
"Oh, wow, you're not dead." Charlie's voice came in from behind Don. Alan shot his younger son a look that would melt steel.
"I don't mean you, I mean Don!" Charlie clarified, laughing, and holding a large paper bag. "Amita's Gram sent you this." The contents
of the bag were aromatic.
"I'm trying to convince the old guy here to take a walk with us," Don informed his younger brother, who'd knelt down next to him. Don
ran his hand rapidly over the curls.
"Hey, that took me half an hour to get right this morning!"
"You know, Charlie, I know women that don't spend as much time grooming themselves as you do," Don poked him gently.
"That's cold."
"Truth hurts."
Charlie looked eagerly at his father. "So Dad, ready to motor?"
Alan rolled his eyes. What my children don't put me through, he groaned, this time outwardly.
01123581321345589144233377610987
"I thought this was a day where you'd take advantage of sleeping in." Larry stood in the kitchen, watching Megan hustle about.
"Not if I'm going to cook Thanksgiving day dinner for us."
Larry's face lit up. "You'd do that? I didn't know that you even cooked."
"I don't. But my sister's a pretty good turkey hotline." He noticed her phone was close at hand.
"This is so wonderful. Thanksgiving dinner is my favorite meal of the year."
"It does have a lot of white food in it."
"Exactly!"
"How're you feeling?"
"Almost well enough to replace the speedometer on the Studebaker."
She stood poised to shoot him. "Don't. Even. Think. About. It."
He held his hands up in a surrender gesture. "I did not say I was going to do it. I simply said I felt almost well enough to do it."
"Well, you keep feeling that way. You don't want me to have to draw my weapon, do you?" She smiled wickedly at him as she pulled
the turkey from the freezer.
Larry winced. He wanted to tell her that in order to cook a turkey, it had to be thawed, but he decided that this was an occasion in which
silence was the preferable alternative.
"Now go lie down and watch football with the rest of American males."
"I think I shall. The UCLA-USC game starts in an hour. After that, the highlight of the day, the CalSci-MIT game. Not that they play football
particularly well, but you understand, it's tradition."
"I guess my cooking isn't exactly part of tradition."
"It's...one I think I could get used to."
Of course, Megan contemplated, if I'm going to establish a tradition, it would help for me to know what I'm doing. She dialed Kathleen's
number once Larry had retreated.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Megan's niece Jenny answered the phone.
"Hey sweetie, happy Thanksgiving to you!"
"I miss you, Auntie Megan!"
"I miss you, too, sweetie, but I'll see you at Christmas."
"Are you bringing Uncle Larry?"
"Who?"
"Uncle Larry. Mommy told us about him. She says he's nice."
"I can ask him." Kathleen let the cat out of the bag, she thought. "Right now, though, I need your mom. Can you get her for me?"
"MOMMY!"
I didn't need that ear anyway, she thought, shaking her head.
"Who is it?" Megan could hear Kathleen's voice with her remaining good ear.
"Auntie Megan!"
"Okay, okay, tell her I'm coming!"
Jenny came back on the line. "She says she's coming. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"
"Making dinner for Uncle Larry."
Jenny seemed confused. "But you don't cook."
"I've made you pb&j's! What do you mean, I don't cook!"
Kathleen's footsteps came into earshot.
"Mommy! Auntie Megan's making dinner for Uncle Larry!"
"Oh Christ no." Megan laughed as she visualized Kathleen's expression.
"I heard that!" Megan chided her older sister.
"What, you think this is the Butterball Turkey Hotline?"
"Actually, yes."
"You know they have an 800 number for that."
"Kathleen, I really want to make this special. But I've never done it. Cut me a break here."
Kathleen laughed. "Okay. Did you actually buy a turkey?"
"Really, big sister, how much of a moron do you think I am?"
"That depends on what your answer is."
"Yes, I did. So now what?"
"Is it thawed?"
"Uh...no. I just took it out of the freezer."
"Put it in the sink and cover it with cold water. Keep changing the water until the bird thaws out."
"How long does this take?"
"How big is the bird?"
"12 pounds."
"3-4 hours. Okay, do that. Then call me back when you're ready for the next step. Jenny! Do not jump from the top of the stairs!
I swear, you don't look after my kids. You go on Death Watch."
"I might find out someday."
"Please tell me you're not roasting that turkey."
"No, no."
"Good. I'm having enough heart attacks as it is. And my evil in laws will be here soon. Which is why I'm drinking at this hour. And if you
ever have kids, let me give you a piece of advice about drinking."
"Which is?"
"Early and often."