Steve Gannon - Kane

“Same as always. Turkey feathers, the Pope’s nose, maybe a couple of Callie’s fur balls.”

“C’mon, Dad. You’re not putting in oysters this time, are you?”

“No. That was a mistake,” I said somberly, referring to an experiment the previous Christmas that had met with less than categorical approval. “No more oysters. I’m the worst dad on the face of the planet for ever putting them in. Now, quit your yammering and let me get to work.”

“Can I do something else?” asked Nate.

“Besides bugging me, you mean?”

“Besides that,” Nate giggled.

“Okay, dice the onions. And keep your fingers curled like I showed you. Make sure it’s only onions you chop.”

“Jeez, Dad. I know how to do it.”

“Just checking. You want to help, Ali?”

As Allison started to answer, a series of hacking coughs interrupted her reply. “Nope,” she finally managed. “Two maestros in the kitchen are enough.”

“You coming down with something?”

Allison sat on a counter beside the stove. “I’ll live.”

“I hope so. You sound terrible,” I said, turning again to my cooking. Using a large chef’s knife, I cut up several sticks of celery, a half pound of mushrooms, and some giblets I had reserved from the simmering-pot. I sauteed these in butter, adding the onion that by then Nate had reduced to a pile of irregular chunks.

As the smell of butter and onion joined the aroma of roasting turkey, I chopped a red pepper, a handful of parsley, and a large bag of walnuts. These I dumped into the bowl of seasoned bread crumbs, then stirred in the contents of the saute pan. That done, I shook in salt, paprika, nutmeg, thyme, and basil, moistened the contents with chicken broth, and thoroughly mixed everything together. A sprinkling of dry sherry finished it off.

“Is that it for now?” asked Nate, watching as I ladled the dressing into a baking pan and covered it with aluminum foil. “Can we open presents?”

I checked the turkey thermometer, then glanced around the kitchen one last time. “That’s it, at least for a while,” I said, speaking more to myself than the children. “The bird’s doing fine. We’ll get the potatoes going an hour before the turkey’s done and shove the dressing in the oven around the same time, along with the pies. I can do the rest later,” I added, referring to various side dishes that, as at Thanksgiving, always accompanied the Kane Christmas meal.

“So it’s time?”

I smiled. “It’s time. Let’s open gifts.” Turning for the living room, I slapped my palm against my forehead. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Allison.

“Shoot,” I groaned. “I forgot to get you kids anything.”

“No, you didn’t,” laughed Nate. “I saw you bringing in presents when you got here!”

“Maybe I did get you all a lump or two of coal,” I conceded. “Ali, tell your mom and Travis it’s time to rip open the gifts. And take Callie out for a quick walk before we start, okay? Her eyes are turning yellow.”

“Her eyes are always that color.”

“Just do it, Allison.”

“Sure, Pop. C’mon, Callie.”

“And don’t forget she’s in season. I have a breeding lined up for her next heat with a champion field-trial Lab, but tomorrow she’s going to the vet’s till this heat’s over. In the meantime, I don’t want her hooking up with some scraggly mutt off the beach.”

“We’re having puppies?” Allison squealed.

“Next time around,” I answered, lowering my voice. “And hold it down. I haven’t cleared it with your mom yet.”

“Rest easy, Pop,” said Allison. “Mum’s the word. Don’t open presents till I get back.”

“No problem. Besides, like I said, I don’t think you have any presents to worry about.”

“I know you, Dad,” Allison chuckled as she and Callie headed for the stairs. “No gifts on Christmas? That’ll be the day.”

Although Catheryn’s tutoring and more recently her salary from the Philharmonic had always supplemented our family income, I had occasionally experienced the financial difficulties inherent in raising a large family on policeman’s wages. Nonetheless, although Catheryn and I usually bought modest holiday gifts for each other, we considered Christmas a time for splurging on the children, and this year was no exception. In Catheryn’s absence I had scoured the stores, coming up with a wide assortment of presents for Nate, Travis, and Allison. In addition to these, Catheryn had brought home gifts for everyone from Europe-a blouse from Paris and a string of intricately crafted Venetian beads for Allison, a handmade puzzle and three prints of European castles for Nate, an antique German beer stein and reproductions of several original musical manuscripts for Travis. She had also brought home something for me.

Nate, who as usual assumed the job of gift distribution, found it toward the end of the present opening, tucked far back under the tree. By then the base of the brightly decorated fir that Catheryn and the children had erected stood littered with crumpled wrapping paper, discarded ribbon, and empty boxes. Dressed in an ill matched wardrobe of slippers, two cardigan sweaters, a bathrobe, and three new ties-gifts from the children I had immediately donned upon receiving-I slowly untied the ribbon on Catheryn’s gift to me. I glanced at her as I pulled off the paper, noting that she was wearing an antique emerald ring I had given her to commemorate Allison’s birth. Catheryn looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

The box contained a pair of exquisite, cut-crystal champagne glasses. They were tall and slender, with a narrow gold band circling each rim. “They’re from Venice,” Catheryn said as I lifted one and held it to the light. “When I bought them I thought you’d be joining me,” she went on quietly, despite the children’s presence unable to keep a vestige of disappointment from her voice. “I had visions of our toasting each other in a gondola on the Grand Canal, or watching a sunset from one of the restaurants overlooking the city. Something silly like that.”

“I know,” I said, turning the delicate flute in my fingers. “I swear I wanted to be there, Kate.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Catheryn.

“Hey, Mom, here’s one to you from Dad,” said Nate, still rummaging beneath the tree. He handed a small box to Catheryn. Encouraged by his success, he continued to search for other missed items. “All right!” he exclaimed seconds later. “There’s another from Dad for each of us, too!”

Instead of opening her package, Catheryn placed it in her lap, watching as Nate distributed my final gifts to the children, each flat, identical package tightly encased in layers of my characteristically clumsy wrapping.

“They’re something I had made up,” I said. “This may not be the best time to open them.”

“You want us to wait? Are you nuts?” laughed Nate, ripping the paper from his present. “Hey, it’s a picture.”

“So’s mine,” said Travis, unwrapping an eleven-by-fourteen oak frame.

“Mine, too,” said Allison, inspecting an image of herself that I had captured several summers back. It showed her stepping from the ocean, a pair of swim fins in one hand, a gigantic wave rising behind her in the background. The shot had been taken during a storm-surf day when even most of the strongest swimmers had remained on the sand. Overcoming her fears, Allison had accompanied Tommy and me into the churning swells. For over an hour she’d taken off on waves few others had dared.

I’d exited the water minutes earlier and had knelt to take the photo of her from a low angle, lending the shot an air of heroic proportion. My lens had caught her unaware as she waded ashore, glancing up as she stood in the swirling backwash. She had a light in her eyes that I knew she hadn’t seen in the mirror for quite some time. She looked… strong.