Chapter 3: Another Change

Neither Angela nor Frank held an elaborate Thanksgiving celebration. They didn't have family nearby, and were used to living alone. Even during the years they lived together, they didn't feel it necessary to prepare a festive meal, especially for two people.

However, Jennifer mentioned wistfully that her dad always had one. So it was that Angela bought the smallest turkey she could find in the store, and Frank looked for traditional recipes.

Mary, his assistant, proved an invaluable source.

"How can you live to — what is it, twenty six? — without learning how to roast turkey and boil potatoes?" she asked, half amazed, half amused.

"It's twenty-five. And not much call to cook a holiday meal in college or grad school. And, well, while I was single, there wasn't much point, really."

Mary shook her head while searching her online email where she apparently kept many of her recipes. "Okay, here are the basics: Turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce (you can buy that pre-made if you are too lazy), bean salad, do you want to stuff your turkey? You should also try sweet potatoes, carrots and peas. And pumpkin pie for dessert. Do you like garlic?"

Frank soon had a fistful of printouts and a list of ingredients to buy.

The turkey was a bit dry, and the gravy too thin but plentiful. Together, they worked out all right.

"Urg. I am so full I am about to burst. I must look like a ball," Jennifer said.

Frank didn't think Jennifer looked ball-like at all. During the last year, she had definitely become a teenager. She was almost as tall as her mother and showed the feminine curves. If anything, her face was prettier than Angela's, Frank thought guiltily. In a couple of years, when she gained the grace and development of her mother, Jennifer could work as a model. He would have to beat off the boys with a stick.

Wait a minute, Frank thought. When did he start thinking like a protective father? Maybe while the little brat was becoming not so little, and not as much of a brat.

"Was everything all right?" Angela asked a bit anxiously. It was her first time cooking a Thanksgiving dinner too, Frank thought.

"I am used to the way Dad used to cook it. But this was very good, too," Jennifer said, trying to be polite. Her eyes were moist.

"Thank you so much for doing this. It reminds me of my childhood," said the thirteen-year-old with the gravity of a retiree. Frank had no wish to chuckle, seeing Jennifer's emotional state.

"I am sad remembering the holiday meals with Daddy, but it would have been much worse not to remember. Thank you," she said again, and even included Frank with a glance.

Well, Frank thought, the Brat is not being bratty at all. I almost miss her little jabs.

Angela was more emotional. She gathered Jennifer in her arms, and they sniffled together. Frank looked away, lest he show unmanly emotion.

The next week, Frank and Angela were talking about Christmas gifts. Only half-joking, Frank said the gift he wanted was Angela's hand in marriage. Angela looked thoughtful, and didn't respond. That was a better response than Frank expected, and he decided to postpone any more persuasion. They thought a new music/video player would be appropriate for Jennifer. The girl was getting nearly all A's. Jennifer was also increasingly pleasant to live with, seeming to get over the teenage angst when she was twelve.

Angela had a Friday night shift. Jennifer was at home, chatting with her friends using the computer, and Frank was using his to catch up on some work-related research, when the hospital called him.

"Yes, I am Frank Clare. Of course. What?! What happened? ... What's the prognosis?

"Yes, I will be right there."

Jennifer, alerted by Frank's voice came over to him with a questioning gaze. Frank saw a trace of fear in her eyes, not realizing how white his own face had become.

"What happened, Frank?"

"Angela's been stabbed. In the emergency room. They say she is critical."

"Are you going to the hospital? I will come with you. Don't even think of leaving me here."

The hospital was a nightmare. There were police and security everywhere. The receptionist tried to stall Frank, but he railroaded over them.

"I am here because I am the emergency contact for Nurse Angela Latise. I am also the holder of her living will, her power of attorney, and if necessary, I am also her executor. I demand immediate access to her medical information and access to her unless she is being actively treated. I will subpoena all available witnesses if there is any indication of misinformation or delay. I was informed that she is in a very critical condition, and any decision I make regarding her treatment will be urgent. Tell me where she is right now, or call your supervisor!"

The receptionist crumbled. Unfortunately, that was the last battle he won. Several gang war victims had been brought to the emergency room. One of the gunshot victims had a hidden blade on him, and with enough dope in him to blunt his pain and to turn a leaning nurse into an enemy, started stabbing in all directions from the gurney.

Two people had serious but non-life-threatening wounds. Nurse Angela Latise, with multiple deep stab wounds, bled out on the operating table.

Frank was numb. He didn't know how long he was sitting in the waiting room. Jennifer was sitting next to him. When he looked at her, all he saw was hatred.

"Now you know what I felt when my father lay dying!" she spat. After looking at her in disbelief for a few seconds, Frank nodded. She was right.

Frank started crying. It physically hurt to cry, and the pain felt appropriate. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. He didn't sob, just blew his nose occasionally. He thought he needed to stop crying so he could talk to somebody about getting the death certificate, but it was hard to find the motivation.

Finally, he looked at his watch. It was nearly one in the morning. He could sleep in tomorrow, but he needed to get Jennifer to bed.

She stared at him with hatred all the way home. "I lost my father, and now my mother. Why did I have to be stuck with you?!"

She couldn't bring herself to say the next part out loud, but Frank could say it to himself. Why couldn't he have died instead of Angela?

For the first time, Jennifer was up before Frank. Maybe she was able to fall asleep faster than he.

Jennifer was in the kitchen. Unlike last night's vitriol, today her face was calm. If it weren't for her reddened eyes, Frank could have thought that the last night was a nightmare.

"How are you feeling, Jennifer?" asked Frank. He half-expected her to rant at him, but she surprised him. Again.

"As well as can be expected. Under the circumstances. And you?"

The girl sounded eerily polite.

"We should discuss your living arrangements. I am named your guardian in Angela's will, but as you have a distaste for living with me, I will contact Social Services and let them find an appropriate foster..."

"No!" yelled Jennifer. Her façade of calm crumbled into fear. "Please, please, don't! I will do anything."

Frank didn't think he could be surprised after last night, but he was wrong. "What's the matter, Jennifer?"

Jennifer was silent for a few seconds, clearly gathering herself. This was so much like his own habit, Frank wondered if she picked it up from him.

"Sally, one of my friends in school, is living with foster parents. She told me about her life. She has been through four foster homes. She had been raped in two of them, and beaten in all of them. Her current family is the best one so far, but she gets locked in a tiny room with no food if she misbehaves. She has no computer, no bicycle, is not allowed any extracurricular activities, and is forced to clean the house and look after four young children. Any infraction and she is locked up. And that's the best one!

"Sally complained to the social worker after the first rape, when she was ten. The worker didn't believe her, and told the foster mother. She got beaten and burned for the next two months. She learned not to complain. They had their friends, or maybe customers, 'share' the prettier foster children. Sally was one of them. One of the other foster children was finally bleeding so badly, they took him to the hospital. That resulted in the foster parents losing their license.