“Ian!” James pointed at Ian, his voice quivering with rage. “You took my charger pack and stole my charge!”
Ian bounded out of the couch. “I didn’t take it!”
James tried to shove Ian, but his brother grabbed James first.
Sandi stopped them in their tracks. “I’m fed up with you two fighting! You know what?” Her voice grew quiet, but gained intensity. “I don’t care if we have Thanksgiving dinner or not.” She blinked back tears and stormed up the stairs, leaving the boys in stunned silence.
Ian spoke first. “No Thanksgiving dinner?”
James’ voice was subdued, too. “It’s Ian’s fault.”
“I used your charger pack.” I lied, but it stopped the fight. “Satisfied? Instead of a nice, family dinner, she’s upstairs crying because you two can’t get along. Is this what you want?”
Neither answered.
“If you’d like Thanksgiving dinner, we’ll have to make it, and I can’t do it without you. That means no fighting. Got it? Let’s make this the best Thanksgiving meal Mom ever had. What do you say?”
I held a hand out to each and received a high five.
While my team worked, I sneaked outside and called Sandi. “Are you all right?”
She sighed. “I suppose so. Guess I’ll come on down.”
“No, wait. You need to stay upstairs until we’re ready. I’ll call you about an hour before we eat so you can put on something fancy.”
Dinner surpassed my expectations with everything arranged like a photospread, including us. Sandi wore a black dress and pearls while the boys and I sported slacks, white shirts and ties.
“Before we say prayers, I want everybody to say what they’re thankful for. Mom, you start.”
Sandi took in everything before she spoke, tears shining in her eyes. “I’m so grateful for my family.”
William R. Bartlett lives Belton with his family.