Daddy Set a Thanksgiving Place for Everyone but His Own Little Girl

NORA'S POV

Veronica crossed the closet in three quick steps and grabbed the letters right out of my arms.

Most of them slid away before I could stop her. But I caught the one on top and held on with both hands, so hard the envelope crumpled and my fingertips turned white.

"Give it to me, Nora."

"Why did Grandma write me all these?" My voice came out squeaky. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't Daddy tell me?"

She tugged. The paper tore a little at the corner, and the old photo slipped out and landed face-up on the floor. Mommy with flour on her nose, laughing.

"Because they're garbage," Veronica said. "Old junk that puts silly ideas in a little girl's head."

"They're not junk. They have my name on them."

She crouched down so her face was close to mine. Her perfume was sweet and heavy, like flowers left too long in a vase.

"Your grandmother doesn't love you, Nora. She just wants what your father has."

I didn't understand. Grown-ups always talked about money like it was the most important thing in the whole world. Daddy's money. The foundation money. Who paid for what.

All I knew was that Mommy was in that picture.

I reached for it.

Veronica got there first. She snatched up the photo, pried the envelope out of my fingers, and shoved everything into her brown leather handbag. The clasp snapped shut.

"Now go to the kitchen and scrub the floor. There's gravy all over the tiles."

I didn't move.

I stood there looking at her bag, at the gold clasp, at the little lump where Grandma's letters were. Every other time, I went right away when she told me to. My feet always knew how before the rest of me did.

This time they stayed put.

Veronica's eyes narrowed. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes," I said. But I still didn't go.

---

I didn't go to the kitchen.

I ran to the living room instead, because I suddenly knew she was going to take everything. Every single thing of Mommy's that was left.

The recipe box sat on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, behind Daddy's golf magazines. It was wooden, with a little orange pumpkin painted on the lid. Mommy had painted it with me on her lap, guiding my hand so the stem wouldn't come out crooked. It came out crooked anyway, and she said that made it perfect.

The fire was still going from the party. It popped and crackled and made the room smell like smoke.

I opened the box with shaking fingers. The card was right in front where I always kept it.

Olivia's Pumpkin Pie. Mommy's loopy handwriting, with a butter stain in one corner. On the back, she'd drawn a tiny pumpkin with a smiley face, and next to it she'd written my name.

I was going to learn to make it someday. All by myself. Then it would be like she was still in the kitchen with me.

"What are you doing?"

Veronica stood in the doorway with her handbag over her arm.

I hugged the box to my chest. "Nothing."

She walked over and looked down at it. Her mouth made a small, ugly smile.

"This house has a new woman running it now, Nora. It doesn't need the ex-wife's things lying around everywhere."

"It's not lying around. It's mine. Mommy gave it to me."

She pulled the card out of the box.

"No!" I jumped up and grabbed for it. My fingers closed on one corner and held tight.

Veronica looked right into my eyes and ripped the card in half. A little corner tore loose in my fist.

The sound was so small. Just paper.

Then she turned and tossed both pieces into the fireplace.

"Your mother is dead, Nora. Stop dragging her into my house."

I dropped to my knees on the hearth. The heat stung my face, but I leaned in anyway, trying to find the little pumpkin, trying to see if the smiley face was still there.

The edges curled up first. Then the middle went brown, then black. Mommy's letters shrank and twisted until I couldn't read them anymore. A burned smell filled my nose, bitter and wrong.

"Please," I cried, even though nobody could fix it. "Please, please."

The paper turned into a gray flake and floated up the chimney.

---

"What is all this yelling?"

Daddy came in with his reading glasses pushed up on his head. The recipe box had fallen off my lap, and the lid lay upside down on the floor.

I scrambled up and grabbed his hand.

"Daddy, she burned it! She burned Mommy's pumpkin pie recipe. She threw it in the fire!"

He loved that pie. He used to eat it straight out of the pan with a fork while Mommy swatted at him and laughed. It would make him mad, I was sure. He had to be mad.

"I was just clearing out some old clutter, Ethan," Veronica said softly. "I didn't know she'd get so worked up."

Daddy looked at the fireplace. Then at me.

He pulled his hand out of mine.

"Nora, stop crying over a few scraps of paper."

"It's not scraps." My nose was running. I didn't wipe it. "It's Mommy's handwriting. It's the last one."

"It's just a stupid recipe, Nora. Your mother is gone. You need to accept that." He rubbed his forehead like I was giving him a headache. "We all have to move on. And you embarrassed Veronica in front of the whole family today. Now this? She's done nothing but take care of you."

Veronica touched his arm. "It's okay, honey. She's grieving."

I looked down at my hand.

I was still holding the corner. It was blackened on one edge, and it smelled like smoke. There were only two words left in Mommy's handwriting.

For Nora.

I remembered Mommy lifting me onto the kitchen counter, flour everywhere, her hands warm around my waist. She'd tapped my nose and said, "You know what you are? My most precious little pumpkin. Forever and ever."

Now Daddy stood right in front of me. His hands stayed in his pockets.

He wouldn't even protect my name.

I closed my fingers around the corner and didn't say anything else.

---

The next morning, I was wiping the living room coffee table when the doorbell rang.

Daddy opened the door. Cold air rushed in.

Mr. Elias stood on the porch. Beside him was a woman with silver hair pinned up neatly, wearing a long black coat with snowy white fur around the collar. A pearl brooch was pinned near her heart.

It was the same brooch from the photo. The one on the woman rolling out pie crust next to Mommy.

My rag fell on the floor.

It was Grandma.

Before I could run, Daddy stepped into the doorway and filled it up.

"Margaret. You can't just show up here without calling first."

Grandma didn't look at him. She was looking past him, at me. At my faded apron, and at the red scrapes across my knuckles from scrubbing tiles last night.

Her face went white.

She bent down. "Nora?"

I ducked right under Daddy's arm and threw myself at her. She smelled like cold air and vanilla.

"Why didn't you come?" I sobbed into her coat. "Why did you take so long?"

Her arms wrapped around me so tight. "I've been trying to reach you, baby. Every single day. I never stopped. Your daddy wouldn't let me visit. I should have come sooner."

A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind. Veronica's red nails.

"Come inside, Nora. It's freezing."

Grandma turned, sliding me behind her, and stood between us.

Daddy's voice went hard. "This is my daughter, and this is my house. You have no right to interfere."

Grandma looked at him calmly. "Your daughter, yes. Your house? You should read the deed."

She pulled a thick brown envelope from under her arm and walked right past him, into the dining room. I held onto her coat and followed.

She slid out a stack of papers. The top one had a gold seal stamped in the corner, raised and shiny.

I looked up at Daddy.

His smile was gone.

Grandma spread the document across the dining table.

"This house belongs to Olivia's trust, Ethan. And that's not the only thing you've been living off."