Chapter 3

On Thanksgiving morning, disaster struck before Will was even fully dressed.

He had slept until eight o'clock, successfully ignoring the noises of increasing foot traffic in the house. When he was finally unable to sleep through the rising sounds of activity in the kitchen, he got up and gathered his toiletries bag. There was a guest bathroom, thankfully, so he didn't have to trek all the way upstairs only to be afforded the possibility to see his brother in boxers and bare-chested—or perhaps worse.

Will took his time in the shower. The semi-wet towel on the drying rack told him that his mother had made use of the facilities quite a while ago. Bob and Christa had the upstairs to themselves, and Erica had her own bathroom right underneath the staircase to her den.

He was back in the living room, getting dressed out of his travel bag, when he heard his mother utter a loud curse in the kitchen. Kate Liebkind cursed only under extreme duress, so he finished pulling his woolen turtleneck over his head and straightened it out as he walked toward the kitchen, still barefooted.

"What's the matter, mom?"

Kate shot her son a harried look as he entered the kitchen, and he could smell the source of her dismay as soon as he walked in.

"Oh, I don't know. This oven is messed up, I think."

"I'd say you're right." Will could feel the heat radiate from the oven door, and there was a distinct smell of charred poultry emanating from behind it.

"I turned the bird on right after I got up an hour ago. It needs to cook for a while, you know. I think the temperature dial is broken. It's way too hot."

Will opened the oven door, and a bloom of heat rose up to meet his face, accompanied by some black smoke. He recoiled and held his hand out in front of his face.

"Jeez. That thing's a frickin' fusion reactor."

He peeked into the oven cavity, where the skin of the turkey had turned the color of charcoal.

"What did you set the heat to? Five hundred and fifty? I didn't even realize ovens could get that hot."

"No, I had it set to three twenty-five. See?" His mother pointed to the dial on the oven console, which was still set at 325 degrees.

"So you did." Will closed the oven door again and turned the temperature dial back to "off".

"Well, we won't be eating that bird. The oven's busted. Let it cool down, and then we'll give the carcass a decent burial in the trash."

"Oh, that's just fabulous," Kate said, throwing her hands up. "What am I going to make for Thanksgiving with a broken oven?"

"Something you can cook on the top burners, probably."

The bird took a while to cool down to non-nuclear temperatures, and when Kate retrieved the turkey from the oven cavity with a moan, it had the texture and appearance of a charcoal briquette. Will opened the kitchen window to get rid of the acrid smell that now filled the room.

"Figures," he said to his mother. "The one year we deviate from the routine and do Thanksgiving at Bob's, his oven blows a gasket."

"Whose oven is blowing a gasket? I don't think ovens have gaskets anywhere," Bob said as he peeked around the doorframe behind them. "Phew, it stinks in here. Something burning?"

"Your oven has blown a gasket, dear brother. And it's a figure of speech. It means that we won't be having turkey today."

Bob stepped into the kitchen, waving his hand in front of his face to banish the stench of the charred bird. He bent down to inspect the carcass and sighed.

"Well, shit. I was hoping that stupid thing would hold together for another six months or so." He looked up at his mother, whose expression had gone from harried to sour.

"You know, mom, we don't precisely have to have turkey today."

Kate threw her hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture of resignation.

"What do you suggest instead, Bob? Are you just going to run out and get White Castle burgers for everyone?"

Will laughed at this, but Bob just smiled, unflappable as always. Can nothing wipe that smile off your face? Will thought.

"We don't have White Castle down here, mom. They're called Krystal burgers in the South."

"Whatever they're called, it looks like we'll need a few, because we certainly won't be having our turkey today. And it was such a nice turkey." Kate looked down at the ruined bird and scowled.

"Ah, don't worry, mom. We'll just go out for dinner. Less dishes to do, eh?" Bob opened the fridge, pulled out an orange juice carton, and opened the spout before bringing it to his mouth.

"Can you not get a glass for that?" Kate reached out to intercept the juice carton before the spout reached Bob's mouth, but he turned away from her and took a long sip. Then he folded the spout down again.

"My house, my juice, my rules, mom."

Will looked at Kate with a smirk. We could have had our holiday up in Maine, mom, that smirk said, and Kate's barely concealed exasperation was evidence that his message got across clear enough.

"Fine. Infect everyone with your germs, then." She snatched a pair of oven mitts from the hooks above the oven and bent down to administer last rites to the destroyed bird.

"Hang on, mom." Will took the oven mitts out of her hands and pulled them on before grabbing the basting pan and carrying the whole mess over to the trash.

"Don't dump it in the trash can, Will. That won't fit in there." Bob reached underneath the sink and pulled out an oversized brown trash bag.

"Put it in here, will ya?"

Will obliged, dumping the bird into the bag.

"Oof. That sucker weighs twenty pounds at least."

"Twenty-three without the stuffing," Bob said, tying off the top of the trash bag.

"Well, so much for that," Kate said. She looked at Bob with an imploring look on her face.

"Please tell me you don't really plan to get us a bag of hamburgers for Thanksgiving?"

"Hell, no," Bob laughed. "I figure we can go out to eat for a change. How do you all feel about a Chinese Thanksgiving?"

Will laughed again when he saw the momentary expression of relief on Kate's face being swiftly replaced by one of abject horror.

It turned out that Bob wasn't joking at all. On Thanksgiving, most decent restaurants in town were either closed or booked to the seams, and the only chance for a table for five on short notice lay in the out-of-the-way ethnic places that didn't have a bite of traditional festive fare on the menu. Kate put up a spirited protest, but relented in the end when Bob proposed take-home food or frozen supermarket pizzas as alternative fare.

"I swear, mom, this Chinese place is the best in East Tennessee," Bob assured. "It gets voted top buffet in Knoxville every year."

"Well, that's certainly a seal of quality," Will remarked, his mood lifted by the fact that it was Bob who contributed to his mother's dismay on this particular holiday. A proletarian Thanksgiving, he thought with a chuckle. General Tso's Chicken and won ton soup. Maybe they'll put little ruffles on the drumsticks today.

In the end, even Will had to admit that the place was pretty decent after all. The Peking Garden had a multitude of private rooms, and they managed to secure a cozy little one that had more than enough space for the five of them. Erica delighted in the unconventional holiday dinner, of course. ("I hate turkey and stuffing anyway," she had confided to Will in the car, her happiness to be out of the house manifesting in some actual open-mouthed grins.) They had come over in three cars, since Bob's truck only held two people even without the junk piled into the passenger side space, and Erica had chosen to ride with Will in the BMW.

The Peking Garden had the typical quarter mile of buffet, but they also served good Chinese fare a la carte, which served to put Kate back into a fair mood. The server told them that the ducks were, to his regret, only available with a half-day notice to allow for preparation. Will excused himself to the bathroom, slipped the waiter a fifty, and forty minutes and two rounds of drinks later, they had a freshly prepared duck on their table. The bird was a fair Chinese imitation of Duck a l'orange, and it was far better than any of the turkey Will had eaten in recent memory.

"See, mom?" Bob said to Kate after they had finished their first round of duck and oriental vegetables. "And we won't even have to clean up afterwards."

"What do you mean, 'we'?" Christa looked at her husband with amusement. "You guys have never cleaned so much as a fork after the holiday meals. We finish eating, and you two disappear into the living room like clockwork, two minutes after dessert."

"That is so totally not the case," Bob protested. "Besides, I carve that bird up into leftovers and toss out the carcass afterwards, and that takes a bunch longer than doing the dishes."

"Yeah, and the house elves come and stuff it, and baste it every twenty minutes for six hours," Kate remarked dryly, and Erica laughed out loud.

"Owned, dad."

"What the hell does that mean, 'owned'?" Bob turned to Will and shook his head. "I swear, you live with her under the same roof for fifteen years, and one day you wake up and realize that you speak almost completely different languages."

"It's 'Netspeak, Bob. It means 'to beat somebody so thoroughly as to inflict humiliation.'"

"Ah," Bob said. "You would know, of course. You get to hang out with the college crowd."

"Yeah, and what a joy that is. Almost as much fun as yanking your own nose hairs." Will took another long sip from his glass.

When they were finished with the duck, there was not much left for a doggy bag. Even Erica, who usually ate like a third-grader, helped herself to seconds and thirds, and all five of them went to the buffet to pick up dessert.

Will was busy loading up his dessert plate with a sampler of the multitude of pastries when Erica dropped her tongs and nudged him lightly.

"Oh, my God. Uncle Will? That's my English teacher over there."

Will followed her gaze and saw a tall and thin woman in her late Fifties picking through the selections at the other end of the long row of buffet tables. She wore a plain and understated dark blue skirt and a matching jacket, and everything about her shouted "professor" to Will.

"Well, isn't that special. I guess she has no family to bug her on Thanksgiving. Do you like her?"

"Yeah, she's nice. Strict, but good." Erica's eyes sparkled. "Hey, you know what would be cool? If you came over with me and said 'hi'. She'd totally flip. You'd be the talk of the teacher lounge for the next week. She loves your book, you know."

"Does she now?" Will smiled. "Well, let's go and say hello, then."

They walked over to where Erica's teacher was picking through the broccoli beef. The woman glanced sideways when they stepped next to her, and a smile spread across her face when she saw Erica.

"Well, hello there," she said. "I've never seen you in here, my dear. I didn't realize you liked Chinese."

"Hi, Mrs. Yarmouth," Erica replied. "We had an emergency. Our oven destroyed our turkey, so dad took us here."

Mrs. Yarmouth looked past Erica and smiled at Will in a noncommittally polite fashion, and he returned the smile as he put his hands on Erica's shoulders. Then he saw the familiar spark of recognition in her eyes, and she put her hands in front of her mouth in surprise even before Erica turned to introduce him.

"Mrs. Yarmouth, you've not met my uncle yet, have you?"

Will stretched out a hand. "Will Liebkind. It's a pleasure to meet you. Erica says you're a great teacher. 'Strict, but good' were her words, I believe."

"Oh, my." Mrs. Yarmouth took his hand and shook it carefully, as if she was afraid to damage him. "Marilyn Yarmouth. It is an honor to meet you, Mister Liebkind. Such an honor."

"The honor is all mine, ma'am. So how's my niece measuring up in English? Sullying the family name?"

Mrs. Yarmouth laughed brightly.

"No, not at all. She's a very smart student. A little lazy sometimes, maybe, but she does very well as long as someone keeps pushing her." She lowered her voice. "You know, freshman English is really not very much of a challenge for her. I have to give her extra assignments to keep her interested."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Will smiled. "Maybe she'll even go to a college that doesn't have the words 'clown' or 'beauty' in front of it."

Erica had heard the joke before—one of Will's college circuit standbys—but Mrs. Yarmouth looked scandalized for just a moment. Then she chuckled, and smiled at Erica in a fashion that almost seemed parental to Will.

"No, I predict that she'll be able to pick her scholarship once she graduates high school."

"Oh, whatever." Erica rolled her eyes and smirked, but it was a good natured smirk. "Maybe I'll just get my GED and toss flapjacks at the Waffle House for a living."

"You most certainly will not, my dear, unless you want me to stop by every day to harass you about wasting your potential."

"She was totally star-struck," Erica said when they walked back to the private room, dessert plates in hand. "That was awesome. She'll be talking about you for the entire next English class, I'm sure."

"Doesn't that bug you? I mean, do all the teachers know whose niece you are?"

"I only told Mrs. Yarmouth and the principal, Mrs. McGowan, but I guess word gets around in the teacher's lounge or something. Most of them know about you."

"Get any special treatment?" Will grinned, and Erica stuck her tongue out in reply.

"I wish. All I got out of it was my English teacher expecting me to crank out top grades. Thanks a bunch."

"Ungrateful brat," Will smiled.

"Hey, I did not ask for you to get that Nobel thingie, you know."

"That may have something to do with the fact that you were about three when they gave it to me. As I recall, back then you didn't ask for much other than cookies, juice, and mommy."

"I'm still mostly happy with cookies, juice, and mommy," she observed dryly, and Will laughed.

After dinner, they all assembled outside. The restaurant was part of a well-kept little strip mall on a busy road. Will and Kate marveled at the number of cars in the parking lot, far more than seemed reasonable even for a full restaurant, when Bob noticed that much of the foot traffic went in and out of a large store next to the Peking Garden.

"Oh, sweet. Outdoor Adventures is still open."

Will examined the store in question. It was a hunting and hiking goods store, the mannequins behind the glass front clad in various hues of orange and camouflage. A large banner above the entrance proclaimed "GOING OUT OF BUISNESS—GIANT THANKSGIVING SALE", and Will chuckled.

"Buisness?"

"Hey, you don't have to know how to spell 'waterfowl' to be able to shoot it," Bob grinned. "I think I'll sneak a peek. Maybe they have a good deal on an over-and-under. I need something better for skeet than the pump I've been using."

"Have at it," Will said. "I think I'll pass on the pleasure."

"Suit yourself," Bob said as he strode towards the store entrance. "You coming, mom? Christa?"

"I think I'll head back to the house," Christa said amicably, and Kate moved to join her daughter-in-law.

"I'm right behind you guys," Will said. "I'm just going to stretch my legs out here for a second. And have a few minutes to myself, he left unsaid.

"You should check out the bookstore at the end over there," Erica said to Will, pointing with a slender hand. "They have tons of used books, stuff that's really hard to find."

"I'm sure they're not open on a Thanksgiving afternoon," Will replied.

"I don't think I've ever seen them closed. I think the people who run it sleep there or something."

"I'll check it out," Will said. "You going with your mom and grandma?"

"Yeah, I want to get back to my new computer."

"Better hurry, then. They're about to drive off."

"Oh, crap. Wait, mom!"

He watched in amusement as Erica scurried across the parking lot, wildly waving her arms to get her mother's attention, auburn tresses bouncing with every step. She was still an awkward teenager, but it was already obvious that Erica was turning into a stunning young woman. He was glad that she took after her maternal line. The Liebkind women of his dad's line had been German peasant stock, broad-faced and stoutly built, but Kate was of far more graceful Nordic ancestry.

The bookstore was at the end of the strip mall, a small sliver of storefront with two narrow windows on each side of the door that were neatly packed with books. Will looked at the display offerings for a few moments, and he was pleased to see that most of the books in the windows were a decent literary sampler, refreshingly devoid of John Grisham novels or photo books about the local college football team. He opened the door and stepped into the store, and the smell of used books hit his nose at once.

The store was narrow, with only three main aisles of books, but the owner had made the best of the space. There were books displayed face-out on wooden pegs at the ends of each aisle, and neatly labeled storage bins underneath. There was a short counter with a register by the left wall near the door, but nobody was sitting behind it at the moment. Will walked into the right aisle, doing his usual efficient scan of the book spines as he slowly paced down the row of shelves.

Each aisle was sorted thematically, and he skipped past the history and romance sections until he reached the one labeled "Modern Literature". Will suspected that every single published author in the business checked for their own books in any bookstore they visited, and he was no exception. The literature section was organized alphabetically, and he found his own name after a brief search. The store had a half dozen copies of both hardcover and paperback editions, and he pulled one of the paperbacks off the shelf.

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A Bettered Life

Michael Lindgren

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