The Mistletoe Inn by Richard Paul Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

and pecan.”
    â€œI would like both, please.”
    I turned to Joel. “What would you like, Joel?”
    â€œMay I have some pecan, please?”
    â€œOf course. Would you like it à la mode?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œHeated up?”
    â€œNo, cold is good. I don’t like melted ice cream.”
    â€œI’m the same way,” I said.
    â€œIt’s all the same once it hits the stomach,” Chuck said.
    â€œI don’t know why people say that,” my father said.
    I served pie to the two men, then took a sliver of both kinds for myself. After coffee, the men watched the Dallas Cowboys and the Washington Redskins football game while I did the dishes. I’m not saying they left me to do them—actually everyone offered to help, especially Joel, whom I practically had to push out of the kitchen. My father was even more difficult to dissuade. I got him out of the kitchen by telling him that he was being rude leaving his guests alone in the living room.
    â€œThey’re watching the game,” my father said. “They don’t need me.”
    â€œGo,” I said. “You always watch football on Thanksgiving. Besides, I don’t want anyone in my kitchen.”
    When he finally realized that I wasn’t going to back down, he grabbed a beer and walked out, muttering, “It’s my kitchen.”
    The truth was I wanted to be alone. And I wanted them to enjoy themselves. All three of them were suffering more than I ever had. I guess I had found something to be grateful for after all.

CHAPTER
Eight
    Back to Colorado again. The most certain exiles are those that are self-imposed.
    Kimberly Rossi’s Diary

The men’s shuttle from the hospital came to pick them up a little after seven-thirty. Dad talked the driver into staying for some pie, then sent the pumpkin pie back to the hospital with Chuck. Before leaving, Joel shook my hand.
    â€œThank you for everything, ma’am. I thought today was going to be miserable, but it wasn’t. The food was excellent, and the company was even better. It was a real pleasure meeting you. Maybe we could get a coffee when you’re back in town.”
    â€œI’d like that,” I said. “And thank you.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œFor your sacrifice for your country. For us.”
    â€œIt was my honor, ma’am.”
    I furtively glanced at his broken body. “God bless,” I said.

    After they were gone, my father came back to the kitchen and made a turkey sandwich from the rolls and leftover turkey, heating up some gravy in the microwave to dip his sandwich in. Then he sat down at the table next to me.
    â€œBest part of Thanksgiving,” he said. “Leftovers.”
    â€œI think we have enough to last until Christmas.” I looked at him. “Your friends were nice.”
    â€œYeah. Chuck can be a bit cantankerous, but that comes with age and pain. He’s a good man. And he’s dying. Did you notice his skin was yellow?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThat’s his liver failing.”
    â€œBut he said he’s going to get a transplant?”
    My father shook his head. “He says that, but he’s too old for a transplant. They wouldn’t waste the organ. Besides, he’d never survive the operation.”
    â€œHow long does he have?”
    â€œA couple of weeks ago I asked his doctor. He said he doesn’t have a crystal ball, but he’d be surprised if he makes it to Christmas.”
    â€œSo this was his last Thanksgiving.”
    My father nodded. “That’s why I invited him.”
    â€œAnd Joel? I can’t believe he doesn’t hate his wife. I don’t even know her, and I hate her.”
    â€œDon’t be too quick to judge,” my father said. “We all mourn loss in different ways. But you’re right. Joel’s an amazing young man.” He looked at me for a moment. “I think he was