Chapter 17

17

" P ass the gravy, would ya, buddy?" Peter said to his young cousin Ryan.

They'd gathered around the Thanksgiving table with the large extended family. Peter couldn't stop wondering about Libby, stuck with her lunatic aunt. He doubted a turkey dinner was involved. All he could picture was her alone, thinking he dumped her. He tried to call her using another phone, but Garrett had canceled the cell service to her number. Now Peter had to wait until the next day to try and get Libby's service reinstated and to replace his phone.

"This one's empty." Ryan looked up at him with innocent eyes.

"Here, Peter. There's plenty in this bowl." Carly, his Uncle Steve's stepdaughter, offered another bowl of steaming turkey gravy. She delivered a coy smile and all but batted her eyes. Peter pretended not to notice. He didn't want to encourage her.

Determined to bury his heartache over Libby, he stuffed himself with food. Usually, he loved Thanksgiving, but this year, the gathering of twenty people was more than he could handle.

He took the bowl from Carly's eager hands. "Thanks." He forced a smile and ladled the rich gravy over his second helping of turkey, stuffing, and cheesy potato casserole, turning the contents on his plate into a thick stew.

"Where does he put all that food?" Grandma Jamieson commented, looking at his plate mounded with food. Peter smiled at Grandma and shoveled in another mouthful.

His mother looked at him warmly. "Ever since Peter turned fourteen, he's always eating, and he runs every day, so that boosts his appetite even more. It's near impossible to keep these boys fed."

Peter responded with a black look. He didn't feel like making nice with his family. They were a bunch of traitors.

"I can't imagine your grocery bill," Becky, Uncle Steve's new wife, commented. "My Carly eats like a little bird. I swear some days I have to remind her to eat." Aunt Becky bragged about her daughter's ultra-skinny body. The girl wore her clothes so tight, they left little to the imagination. Carly took a tiny bite of green bean and feigned embarrassment .

"Now that we've inhaled most of this meal, who wants to start with their thanks?" his mom asked. Every year she forced them to participate in this ritual. Peter and his brothers groaned.

His mother eyed them. "Boys, you disappoint me. This year, more than any other, we have so much to be thankful for."

Peter scraped potatoes from the side of his plate and stuffed his mouth. He looked directly at his mother and shrugged.

"Fine. I'll start." She wiped the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin, then set it aside. "I am thankful for the amazing doctors and medical staff at Cedars-Sinai." She reached out and took her husband's hand. "Without their dedication and talent, I might have lost you." She gazed at his dad; tears welled in her eyes.

"And I thought you were going to say you were thankful to get a few days freedom while I was in the hospital," his father said. His mother shot him a wry expression.

Each person in turn offered up something to be thankful for. Next came Garrett.

"I'm thankful Peter's got such a weak left hook." He rubbed his bruised cheekbone for effect.

Their mother pierced Garrett with a powerful stare. Carly looked from Peter to Garrett and back again, intrigued.

Peter set his fork down, his jaw clenched. He'd love to slug him again. The asshole deserved it and much more .

"What are you thankful for, Peter?" Grandma asked, oblivious to the tension between the two brothers.

Peter looked from Garrett to his father and mother. "Absolutely nothing." He controlled his anger. He didn't want to upset Grandma.

"Peter," his father warned. "We all have something to be thankful for. Try that again."

Inside he fumed. He was thankful to have Libby, but then Garrett derailed that. All he could think about was his need to talk to her and clear everything up. He wanted Libby with him. Other than that, he only felt anger—anger at his family's interference, at being stuck in this fake happy holiday celebration, and at the clueless girl sitting next to him, starstruck over his every word like a rabid fan.

All eyes focused on him, including his father's.

"All right. What am I thankful for? Let's see. I could say our sold-out tour or our platinum album, but no, that's pretty shallow." He gave a pointed look at each of his brothers and his parents. He thought of Libby and how alone she must feel. "I'm thankful to have a family I can be mad at. Even though they make my life a living hell, at least they exist."

His words were clipped and short. "Because if I didn't have a family, I'd be all alone in the world. Can you imagine how lonely and difficult life would be if I didn't have Mom always hovering or Dad caring enough to help us achieve our dreams, or brothers to piss off and fight with? "

Peter set a defiant stare at his parents, driving home the sad reality of Libby's life. His mother looked down at her plate.

"That's enough," his father said. A silent void filled the room as the relatives shared uncomfortable looks. "Why don't you make yourself useful? There are a lot of dishes on this table that need washing. Perhaps that'll help clear your head."

The guests watched the awkward battle. His young cousins looked confused.

"Fine with me." Peter shoved back from the table, grabbed his dishes, and went to the kitchen.

"I'll help." Carly popped up and chased after him.

Peter's waterlogged hands sank deep into their third round of dishes. Despite his pleas to be left alone, Carly stuck with him and dried every dish. Stacks of clean, dried china and silverware lay as evidence of their work.

"What did I do to make you hate me?" She leaned against the kitchen counter, an irritated expression on her face.

"Huh?" Peter looked up from the dishwater.

"I've been trying to talk to you all day, and you treat me like I'm diseased. What'd I ever do to you?" She folded her arms across her chest, the damp dish towel in hand.

"Nothing. Sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind." He turned back to his sulking and dunked another serving bowl.

"Guys can be such jerks. Steve said you were really nice, but I think he must have been talking about Garrett."

Peter's head snapped around, and he eyed her smug expression. "That's a good one." He fought the smile that threatened. She had saved him a ton of work by helping out. The least he could do was be nice.

"What's got you so pissed?" she asked, twirling her dish towel.

Peter glanced at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Hello, you've been brooding all day and your little speech in there just proves you've got major attitude. You're mad you got stuck with family all day?"

"I'm stuck with family every day. Today's better than most. With more people around, it helps distract them." He rinsed another platter and placed it with the mounting pile of china stacked in the drainer. "You're falling behind." He pointed to the waiting dishes.

Carly glared at him, then resumed her chore. After that, Peter finally allowed himself a smile. He found it easier to be nice to Carly. As Peter refilled the sink, Carly placed another plate with the huge pile of clean dishes on the island counter.

"God, there's a lot of dishes. Your dad is nasty to make you do all this."

"Yeah, Jett's real good at doling out punishment. "

"What do you do for fun around here?" Carly asked. "Oh, I don't know." With the faucet on, Peter suddenly grabbed the spray hose and turned it on her.

Carly shrieked in surprise and tried to block his water assault with the platter in her hands. He shot the spray across the room as she tried to dodge it. By the time they were done, both were laughing from the water fight and Carly's skilled towel snapping. He ended up having a good time despite himself.

After that, the day improved. He played cards with his brothers and cousins.

"Take that!" Peter slapped his last card on the pile and won the hand.

Carly sat next to him, clinging to his every word. She glowed each time Peter looked her way. He knew he shouldn't encourage her, but it felt good to laugh and have fun for just a little while.

"Ready for pie?" his mom asked. Hungry voices cheered. "It's ready in the kitchen. You can join the adults in the living room."

The mob of kids bustled past; Peter and Carly shared a joke as they walked by.

A few minutes later, everyone sat in the great room. The room overflowed with comfortable furniture and oversized potted plants; a baby grand stood in one corner. He and his brothers often used the room to practice or just sit and play whatever instrument they were in the mood for. On one side of the room, Adam's camera sat on a tripod waiting for the traditional family photos.

"Peter, would you play something for me? It's been so long," Grandma Jamieson asked.

"Sure, Grandma," Peter said from his seat next to Carly. He stood and placed his empty plate on the coffee table. He flexed his fingers. Carly smiled, clearly excited to see him perform. He wasn't really sure what to do with that.

He sat behind the piano. "What would you like to hear, Grandma?"

"How about something new? Are you working on anything?"

"Mom, Peter is always working on something new. He can't seem to turn his writing off." His parents shared a proud look. He ignored them.

"All right, play something pretty for me," Grandma said.

Peter rewarded her with a loving smile. The two of them always shared a special connection. He remembered the story about when his mom was in the hospital delivering Adam several weeks too early.

While Adam stayed in the hospital for more than a week, his grandparents took care of him and Garrett. During that time, five-year-old Garrett watched television and played outside with neighbor kids. But Peter stuck by his grandmother's side.

If she worked in her flower beds, three-year-old Peter was with her. When she made beds, he tried to help. He insisted that Grandma teach him to play the aging upright piano in the living room. A few days later when his parents picked him up, he had already mastered "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

Peter drew in a breath and released it, then began to play. At first, his fingers barely touched the keys. A beautiful melody rose from the piano. The room quieted as he artfully mastered the instrument.

He became one with the music. His body moved gently as he played, lost to the world around him. The tender piece filled the air with its beauty and the loving way he performed.

"This sounds familiar, but I can't place it," he heard his mom comment.

Pride beamed on his grandmother's face. He smiled at her. Carly sat alone on the love seat, with a look of awe.

"Mom," Adam spoke up. "It's the song he wrote about Libby, ‘Angel Kisses.'"

And then sadness filled his heart again. The energy of the music intensified as the angst of the tune built, and Peter laid bare his broken heart. One thing he'd learned over the years is that music is what feelings sound like. And his feelings were all about Libby.

The beautiful piece slowed and returned to the beginning melody. Peter's emotion filled the room. He was a master at moving an audience. When his long fingers struck the final chord, his head dropped to his chest. First, the room echoed in silence, and then burst with applause. Peter reached up and brushed away a single tear. He missed Libby so much. And then he heard his mom speak to his dad.

"Jett, maybe it wouldn't hurt to get Peter together with Libby for just a day before we leave for Europe."

"I suppose. If it lifts this depression he's in, fine," his dad gave in.

Little Ryan turned to his mother and asked, "Why is Peter crying?"

Carly looked despondent on the love seat, her joy aned awe replaced by reality.

Peter's heart belonged to someone else.