“Rick.”
I kept working.
A few minutes later, I carried the first stack of trays out to my truck.
Then I came back for another load.
Then another.
Karen stood in the doorway watching me.
Her parents were supposed to arrive soon.
Several other relatives were coming too.
Her perfectly arranged table would still have plenty of chairs around it.
There just wouldn’t be much Thanksgiving dinner left to serve.
My phone buzzed as I climbed into the driver’s seat.
A message from Karen.
Where are you going?
I didn’t answer.
I started the truck.
Then I pulled away from the house and drove through the cold Indiana afternoon toward the one place where my father had never once been made to feel ashamed of who he was.
And that was when our real Thanksgiving finally began.
Want to know what happened when I arrived at Dad’s house—and what Karen did when she realized the entire dinner was gone?
Full story in the first comment
My wife quietly took my father off our Thanksgiving guest list. When I asked why, she barely hesitated.
