Alex was staring at the back door, his face expressionless. “My guess is, that was the turkey.”

Twelve

The back door flung open, and a large figure entered in a cloud of smoke. It was Mark, wearing safety goggles, his arms sheathed in massive gloves that extended up to his elbows. He strode to the sink, reached into the cabinet, and grabbed a fire extinguisher.

“What happened?” Alex asked.

“Turkey exploded when we lowered it into the fryer.”

“Didn’t you thaw it out first?”

“We’ve had it thawing in the fridge for two days,” Mark replied, with vicious emphasis on the last words. Noticing Maggie, he stopped short. “What are you doing here?”

“Never mind that, is Sam okay?”

“For now. But he won’t be when I get my hands on him.”

Another blinding flare came from outside, accompanied by fluent masculine cursing.

“Go put out the turkey,” Alex suggested.

Mark gave him a dark glance. “Are you referring to Sam or the poultry?” He disappeared immediately, closing the door behind him.

Maggie was the first to speak. “Any method of cooking that involves getting dressed like a hazmat team…”

“I know.” Alex rubbed his eyes. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept well in a long time.

Glancing at the wall clock, Maggie realized that if she left right then, she would barely make it to the ferry on time.

She thought about Thanksgiving in her parents’ home, the swarms of children, the crowded kitchen, her siblings and in-laws all busy peeling and chopping and mixing. And then the long, sociable meal…and that all-too-familiar feeling of being lonely in a crowd. Maggie wasn’t needed there. Here, however, it was clear that she could be of some use. She looked down at Holly, who was leaning against her, and she patted her small back reassuringly.

“Alex,” she asked. “Is the oven going to be operational at some point today?”

“Give me a half hour,” he said.

Maggie went to the refrigerator, opened the door, and saw that it was fully stocked with eggs, milk, butter, and fresh vegetables. The pantry was equally well provisioned. With the exception of the turkey, they appeared to have everything that was necessary for a Thanksgiving dinner. They just didn’t know what to do with it.

“Holly, honey,” she said, “go find your jacket. You’re coming with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to run a couple of errands.”

As the child scampered away to get a jacket, Maggie told Alex, “I’ll bring her back soon.”

“I might not be here,” he said. “As soon as I fix this, I’m going back home.”

“To have Thanksgiving with your wife?”

“No, my wife’s in San Diego with her family. We’re divorcing. My plan is to spend the day drinking until I feel nearly as happy as I was when I was single.”

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said sincerely.

Alex shrugged, his voice cool. “Marriage is a crap-shoot. I knew at the beginning that it had a fifty-fifty chance of working out.”

Maggie regarded him thoughtfully. “I don’t think you should get married unless you think it has a hundred percent chance.”

“That’s not realistic.”

“No,” Maggie admitted with a faint smile. “But it’s a nice way to start.” She turned to Holly, who had returned with her jacket.

“Before you leave, could you do something with that dog?” Alex asked with a baleful glance at Renfield, who was sitting placidly nearby.

“Is he bothering you?”

“Having him watch me with those crazy eyes makes me want to get a vaccination.”

“That’s how Renfield always looks at people, Uncle Alex,” Holly said. “It means he likes you.”

Taking Holly by the hand, Maggie left the house and speed-dialed a number on her cell phone on the way to her car. It was picked up immediately.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she heard her father say.

Maggie grinned as she heard the familiar background sounds of barking dogs, crying babies, rattling dishes and pots, and an undertone of Perry Como crooning “Home for the Holidays.”

“Hey, Dad. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”

“You on the way to Bellingham now?”

“Well, actually no. I was wondering…do you think you could do without the mac and cheese this year?”

“That depends. Why am I having to do without it?”

“I was thinking about spending Thanksgiving here with some friends.”

“Would one of them happen to be Mr. Ferry Ride?”

Maggie smiled ruefully. “Why do I always tell you too much?”

Her father chuckled. “You have a good day and call me later. And as for my mac and cheese, just put it in the freezer and bring it on your next visit.”

“I can’t, I have to serve it today. My friend…his name is Mark…incinerated the side dishes and blew up the turkey.”

“So that’s how he got you to stay? Smart man.”

“I don’t think it was on purpose,” Maggie said, laughing. “Love you, Dad. Give Mom a kiss for me. And thanks for being so understanding.”

“You sound happy, sweetheart,” he said. “That makes me more thankful than anything.”

I am happy, Maggie realized as she closed her cell phone. She felt…buoyant. She guided Holly into the backseat of her car and leaned in to buckle the seat belt across the girl’s chest and lap. As she adjusted the straps, her mind replayed the vision of the fire and smoke through the back-door window, and she couldn’t help chuckling.

“Are you laughing because my uncles blew up the turkey?” Holly asked.

Maggie nodded, trying without success to stifle another chuckle.

Holly began to giggle. Her gaze met Maggie’s, and she said innocently, “I didn’t know turkeys could fly.”

That cracked them both up, and they held on to each other, laughing, until Maggie had to dab at the corners of her eyes.

By the time Maggie and Holly returned to the house, Mark and Sam had cleaned up the disaster in the backyard and were in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Seeing Maggie, Mark came immediately to take the heavy parcel in her arms: a large foil pan weighted with enough sliced turkey to feed a dozen people. Holly followed with a large container of gravy. The scents of turkey roasted with sage, garlic, and basil wafted enticingly through the foil vents.

“Where did this come from?” Mark asked, setting the pan on one of the counters.

Maggie grinned at him. “It pays to have connections. Elizabeth’s son-in-law has a restaurant on Roche Harbor Road, and they’re serving Thanksgiving dinner all day. So I called and ordered some turkey to go.”

Bracing one hand on the counter, Mark looked down at her. Freshly showered and clean-shaven, he possessed a rough-and-ready handsomeness that stirred her senses.

The soft gruffness of his voice made her toes curl reflexively inside her boots. “Why aren’t you on the ferry?”

“I changed my mind about going.”

His mouth lowered to hers, offering a soft, searing pressure that brought hectic color to her face and took all the starch out of her knees. Blinking, Maggie realized that Mark had kissed her in front of his family. She frowned at him and glanced around his shoulder to see if they were watching, but Sam seemed absorbed in peeling potatoes, and Alex had taken it upon himself to start fluffing mixed greens in a large teak salad bowl. Holly was on the floor with Renfield, letting him lick the gravy lid.

“Holly,” Maggie said, “make sure you throw that lid away after Renfield finishes. Do not put it back on the gravy.”

“Okay. But my friend Christian says a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s.”

“Ask your uncle Mark,” Sam said, “if he’d rather kiss Maggie or Renfield.”

“Sam,” Mark said in warning, but his younger brother grinned at him.

Snickering, Holly took the lid from Renfield and ceremoniously dropped it into the trash can.

Under Maggie’s direction, the group managed to assemble a respectable Thanksgiving dinner, including the replacement dish of mac and cheese, sweet potato casserole, green beans, salad, turkey, and a simple dressing made with French bread crumbs, walnuts, and sage.

Sam opened a bottle of red wine and poured glasses for all the adults. Ceremoniously he gave Holly a wine-glass filled with grape juice. “I’ll make the first toast,” he said. “To Maggie, for saving Thanksgiving.” They all clinked glasses.

Maggie happened to glance at Holly, who was swirling and sniffing her grape juice in an exact imitation of Sam, who was sampling his wine. She saw that Mark had also noticed, and was biting back a grin. The sight had even brought a smile to Alex’s brooding countenance.

“We can’t just toast me,” Maggie protested. “We need a toast for everyone.”

Mark lifted his glass. “To the triumph of hope over experience,” he said, and they all clinked again.