Free The Great Christmas Bowl by Susan May Warren

“The roads south of here are pretty slick. I think I need to stay in town.”
    â€œWe won’t eat until this evening, then. Be careful.”
    He turned to go. I lunged for him and he gave me a look of concern.
    â€œYou have to get me out of this first.”
    A grin broke through his dark expression.
    True to Mike’s report, the roads had turned icy, and it took me an hour to get home. I unloaded the Trout onto the lawn furniture in the garage, hoping desperately that Coach Grant would have left a message on the machine, informing me of its next owner. I was starting to get the eerie feeling that such a call wasn’t imminent. Bud had returned to Big Lake, but word on the street said he was out for the season. Someone had even mentioned that he needed heart surgery.
    The turkey had begun to fragrance the house. I turned on the television and watched It’s a Wonderful Life as I took out the china, washed it, set the table.
    The wind had started to blow the flakes sideways. By the time dusk descended, we had a decent covering of snow on the lawn and piled up against the sliding-glass door to the deck. When I tried calling Brianna on her cell phone, it went over to voice mail.
    Outside, I heard a tree crack and looked out the window just as it fell with a rush to the left of our driveway.
    Where was Kevin? He’d mentioned hitting the school gym and then hanging out to run some plays, but I expected him home by now. I stood at the window, a sweater wrapped around me. The house creaked in the wind, and I turned off the television and listened. How many times had I stood in the living room, waiting for Neil or Brett to come home? praying that Amy’s date drove carefully, that Brianna didn’t have to work too late?
    It seemed standard operating procedure to worry.
    Please, Lord, watch over my family.
    I called dispatch, and sure enough, Mike was still out helping stranded drivers and attending to a three-car pileup south of Big Lake. I left a message for him.
    No one had seen Kevin.
    I waged a battle between worry and anger at his insensitivity. It was a draw. I finally took the turkey out of the oven and simply stared at it.
    The telephone rang; the noise made me jerk. “Hello?”
    â€œMom, it’s me.”
    Brianna. I tried to mask my relief, but it flushed out anyway. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
    â€œI’m not going to be able to make it, Mom. I had to retake a test this morning, and by the time I got back to my apartment, the snow had really started to pick up. I keep waiting for it to die down, but the weatherman says we’re supposed to get maybe six more inches, and I’m not sure my car will make it. . . .”
    I heard more than regret in her voice. I heard fear that she’d let me down, that I wouldn’t understand this unavoidable reason why she couldn’t come for Thanksgiving. Had I become that needy that my children felt they had to patronize me?
    â€œNo, honey. Stay there. In fact, your dad and brother aren’t here either—”
    â€œThey aren’t? You’re alone? On Thanksgiving?”
    Okay, even as she said it, I realized that I wasn’t going to die. I stared out into the darkness, at the occasional whoosh of snow. It was cold out there. I didn’t want any of my brood in it, but worse, I’d hate for them to be hurt trying to make me feel better.
    Besides, I had Christmas to look forward to.
    â€œI’m fine, honey. You stay put. I’ll see you in a month.”
    Her voice seemed distant and less matter-of-fact than I wanted when she said, “Sure, Mom.” We talked for a moment about school and then hung up.
    I stared at the turkey, the stuffing, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the corn pudding, and even the pies.
    Then I pulled out a knife and some tinfoil and began to carve.

    The roads had iced over well since my trek home from town only six hours earlier. I had to drive at the