Page 88 of Theo of Golden

When “amen” was finally pronounced, Pearce’s head remained bowed over his phone, shaking in disgust.

“Dammit,” he hissed. “They just broke one of the windows. Shhhhht. Did they have to ruin my Thanksgiving? Really?”

Asher was incredulous and ashamed. And speechless.

Brooke’s face blanched with the fury of one publicly humiliated. Minnette’s cheeks turned crimson with embarrassment, as if her father’s behavior was her fault somehow.

Basil, Trina, and Simone were at a loss. The sweetness of the occasion had soured in a matter of seconds.

Theo broke the spell, speaking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Brooke, how would you like us to serve the food?”

With that, dishes moved, plates filled, “pleases” and “thank-yous” were exchanged, and an air of polite camaraderie gradually reclaimed the room. In short order, the stench of Pearce’s grand entry was overpowered by the mingled fragrance of warm sourdough, curried fruit, buttered wild rice, cinnamon sweet potatoes, ham, and turkey; in short, the same recipes that had been served on Thanksgiving Day for decades at that table.

Compliments to Brooke were plentiful.

As everyone ate, conversation tended to be one person talking at a time. Eight ate as one spoke.

Simone, in response to a question from Basil, explained the piece of music he had been learning earlier in the day. That led to Minnette asking Trina if she had a favorite song among Basil’s repertoire, which led to Brooke asking Theo if he attended many plays or concerts in New York, which led to Theo asking Derrick if there had been any entertaining cases in the DA’s office recently.

Theo wanted to ask about Mr. Mendez, the Guatemalan defendant, but thought it best to refrain, thinking the subject might be too heavy for such a convivial setting.

While the others ate, talked, and laughed, Pearce fidgeted, listening half-heartedly to the conversation. He had placed his telephone on the table for easy access. He checked it every couple of minutes, for no obvious reason. His fixation on the screen escaped no one’s notice.

At one lull in the conversation, Asher cleared his throat in theatrical fashion for an announcement he wished to make. “Brooke and I have some very good news to share tonight.” All eyes turned intently in his direction.

“Some of y’all haven’t met our daughter, Samantha. She lives in South Carolina, just outside of Greenville. She’s been working as a middle-school teacher for nine years, and if I say so myself, she is fantastic at her job. She teaches seventh graders at a low-income public school.”

Basil shook his head. “God bless ’er. That’s tough work.”

Asher nodded. “Yes it is. I wonder sometimes how she does it, but she’s just wired that way. She was teacher of the year in her third year there and is something of an authority on functional illiteracy among low-income adolescents — I think I said that right. We’re really proud of her. She takes after her mother.”

Minnette felt almost light-headed as she listened to her Uncle Asher. What must it feel like to be his daughter? She could not imagine her own father, just five feet away, ever speaking of her in anything other than financial terms.

She had read, just that week, of a study done by Harvard researchers. Young people were asked if their parents would rather they be kind or be wealthy. The overwhelming majority had chosen the latter. She would have too.

Asher and Brooke seemed genuinely pleased that their daughter, Samantha, was kind.

“The reason she’s not here tonight is because she’s celebrating Thanksgiving with her boyfriend and his family. Our good news is that he’s going to ask her to marry him tonight. We fully expect that sometime later this evening, maybe even while y’all’re here, we’re gonna get a phone call telling us to get ready for a wedding next year.”

Minnette beamed and raised her glass. “To my dear Cousin Sam. Finally!” Everyone else, even Pearce, joined in.

“Brooke and I are so happy for them,” Asher said. “We think Samantha could have been single and content forever, but we love the young man and couldn’t have picked a better match for her.”

Then Pearce’s curt, dismissive voice broke the spell. “What does he do?”

The question had the feel of an accusation. Uncle Pearce had always thought Samantha’s choice of vocation — schoolteacher — was insanely shortsighted at best and a waste at worst. She was, by his criteria, capable of so much more. He hoped her choice of husband showed better financial judgment.

Asher said, “Cody is doing research on farming in South Central Asia. He spent the last two summers in Afghanistan helping villagers improve crop production. You know, they have some awful droughts over there.”

Pearce straightened up in disbelief and shook his head in disapproval. “You’re kidding me! Is there any future in that? How much does it pay?”

Asher tried to ignore the tone of Pearce’s question. “We have no idea, but he seems to have a serious sense of purpose about it. It makes me and Brooke a little nervous to think they might end up over there someday — it’s a hard place for women — but that’ll obviously be their decision.”

Pearce guffawed. “That sounds ridiculous to me. If I were you, I’d put my foot down while I still could. Tell him there’s no way she ever goes over there. Taking care of your daughter is part of your job, you know. And, my god, tell him to get a real job. One of ‘em has got to make some money. Don’t they even think about being able to take care of themselves?”

Pearce’s contempt was threatening to reclaim the room again when Theo, in a stroke of diversionary genius, cut in. “Pearce, Asher tells me your mother grew up in this house.”

Pearce seemed surprised at being spoken to. “That’s right,” as if to say, “What’s your point, and who cares?”