Jake dropped a kiss on her cheek and poured them both a cup before settling across from her. “Bird smells good.”
Marnie nodded. “Sure does.”
“What did you name it this year?”
Her hands stilled as her smile widened, and for a moment he fell backward into a pile of bittersweet memories.
“Mommy, I don’t like Victoria. That’s a sissy name for a sissy bird, right Jesse?”
His brother ignored Jake, angling closer for the real prize—the one cooling on the counter next to their mother.
“Now you listen to me, young man. Victoria is far from a sissy name. In fact, your great-grandmother’s name was Victoria, and though the two of you don’t remember her, she was a very, very strong woman.”
“I still don’t like it.” He turned to Jesse, who was perched at the counter, reaching for the fresh baked pie and the flattened crust sprinkled with brown sugar and cinnamon. “You got any ideas?”
Jesse snuck a piece of crust, stuffed it into his mouth, and thought about it for a moment. “Why don’t we call it Vicki?”
“No way, dodo head, that’s even more sissy than Victoria.” Jake scrunched his face together, mind whirling with all the possibilities. “I got it!” He high-fived Jesse and beamed up at his mother. “We’ll call the turkey Vic.”
“Jake? Did you hear what I said?”
The pictures in his mind faded quickly, the colors bleeding into gray like the fog that drifted beyond the window. Only the echoes of voices remained, long-dead whispers of another time and place, and he shook his head in an effort to clear them.
“Sorry, what was that?”
His mother stared at him for several long moments, her eyes shadowing in the kind of pain he knew all too well. She whispered softly, “Franklin.”
“Franklin?” Jake nodded slowly. “I like it.”
“Good.” She smiled once more and continued to knead her dough. “Good, I’m glad.”
“How’s Dad this morning?”
“He sleeps a little later these days, but he’s doing all right.” Her eyebrows swept low. “He’s going to be okay.”
Jake took another swig of coffee and then slid to his feet. “Is there anything I can help you with?” It didn’t feel right to sit and watch her do all the work.
Marie glanced toward the baking pans behind him. “You can grease those for me, so I can get these buns to rising.”
They worked in silence, mother and son, and he’d just finished greasing the last pan when she cleared her throat. It was a subtle, careful hint, but he knew it for what it was. She wanted to talk, and judging by the serious glint in her eye, she sure as hell didn’t want to talk about Franklin the turkey.
She poured them each a second mug of coffee, set the cream and sugar in front of him, and sat down.
“So,” she began.
Cold sweat ran down Jake’s neck, and for a second, the hard fist of pain twisted inside him. He concentrated on doling out the required sugar and cream, dreading what was coming. They’d never discussed Afghanistan, and he was sure she, as a mother, wanted to know exactly what had happened to Jesse, not what had been in some official report. She’d want to know the circumstance…the cause and effect.
Jake just didn’t know if he was man enough to tell her the truth.
She leaned in close, her eyes earnest. “You have to tell me about this girl you’ve brought home.”
Jake swallowed a mouthful of coffee and wiped the corner of his mouth as he grabbed a muffin from the basket in front of him.
Shit, damn, and fuck. Okay. This wasn’t what he had expected. He thought after he’d escaped the night before with only a few questions, there wouldn’t be any more.
Miscalculation on his part. He began to pick off the raisins, contemplating his reply, but his mother beat him to it.
“She’s…” Marnie began and then paused as if searching for the right words. “She seems…nice.”