Turkey Monster Thanksgiving by Anne Warren Smith Read Free Book Online

of dishes.
    “The bathtub,” Dad said.
    Mr. Plummer consulted his watch. “What time is your dinner?”
    Dad looked at his watch, too. “Our company comes at three. We eat at four,” he said.
    I stared at him in surprise. He sounded as organized as Mr. Plummer.
    “Three to four hours in the tub. Five to six hours in the oven. It’s now seven A.M .” Mr. Plummer rubbed his chin. “That’s close. Very close.”
    “We’ll try it,” Dad said.
    “Hard to do these holidays right,” Mr. Plummer said.
    At the door, Claire turned back to me. “I’m a little worried,” she said, “about these ivy things on your porch.”
    I looked at my festoons. “I like them.”
    “They look like poison oak,” she said. I slammed the door. Poison oak—the one thing Ms. Morgan was allergic to. I hated Thanksgiving!
    In the bathtub, the turkey bobbed like a big white ship. We threw wet towels over it till it stayed under water. “Three hours,” Dad said, looking at his watch. “Wish we had more time.”
    Tyler woke up. “Today is Thanksgiving Day,” I told him. “We’re going to have company. You have to be really good at the table.”
    He wasn’t listening. He ran into the living room and peeked out the window. “The turkey monster is still dead,” he said. “When it gets alive, you know what?”
    “What?”
    “I’m going to tame it!” He shivered and jumped up and down. “Turkeys are really scary, Katie.”
    I laughed. “You’re really silly.”
    His face got serious. “Will you come with me, Katie? You could maybe hold my hand?”
    “No way,” I told him. “If you’re going to be that silly, you can do it all by yourself.”
    “You used to be nice,” Tyler said. “Now you’re mean.”
    “That’s not true,” I said.
    After a quick breakfast, Dad and I cleaned the house. By nine o’clock, green worms no longer crawled across the kitchen floor. The dishwasher had been run. Except for Tyler’s bridges in the living room, the house looked pretty good.
    We couldn’t find a tablecloth. Instead, we put a white sheet over the table, and it hung down to the floor. Tyler crawled underneath. While he couldn’t see me, I set my smiling turkey on the table.
    “Come in here,” Tyler said, poking his head out. “It’s a hidey hole.”
    I rushed to get a duster. “We’re too busy,” I said.
    “No, we’re not,” Dad said. He crawled under the sheet and then poked his head out again. “We have time for one story in the hidey hole. Come join us.”
    “No,” I shouted. “We don’t have time!”
    The phone rang. I ran to answer it. It was Claire.
    “Is it thawed yet?” she asked.
    “Not yet,” I said.
    “I hope your company doesn’t get poison oak,” she said.
    “I’ll keep her away from it,” I said.
    “Keep WHO away?”
    I hung up. While I opened cans of sweet potatoes, Dad and Tyler finished their story. Then, Dad went to clean the bathroom, except for the tub. That was when Tyler noticed the centerpiece.
    “Turkeys scare me,” he hollered. He pulled on the sheet. The turkey poster glided toward him.
    “Stop it, Tyler!” I ran across the room. Before I could reach him, he ripped my turkey into shreds. I grabbed Tyler’s arm and shook him. He burst into tears. Dad came running.
    “This was my favorite turkey!” I shouted.
    I stomped around the room, waving turkey pieces in the air. “I hate you, Tyler. Now, our table is ugly.” I hurled the turkey pieces onto the floor and fled down the hall to my room.
    A few minutes later, Dad and Tyler crept in. Tyler patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Katie,” he whispered. I sat up and glared at him.
    “Tyler thought up a new centerpiece,” Dad said. I dragged down the hall and looked at the table. They’d put Tyler’s dump truck on the table. They’d filled it with cranberries and popcorn. The green truck, the red berries and the white popcorn were pretty.
    Tyler and Dad grinned at me.
    “It’s not the same,” I said. “But