Page 48 of The Tattered Gloves
But she hadn’t.
And, instead, I had been left alone, silently chanting to myself to stay quiet and not make a sound.
Nighttime was supposed to be a safe place for children. When the monsters under the bed and the nightmares came, your brave parents would come in and banish them away, like the heroes you always imagined them to be.
But there were never any heroes in my stories.
And the monsters always kept coming.
“I’ve never had a holiday,” I finally said.
I wasn’t sure if Addy was doing this because of guilt or the driving desire to give me something I’d never had before, but as I watched Addy run around the kitchen, assuring me she didn’t need any help, I felt cherished for maybe the first time in my life.
I felt like part of a family.
I felt loved.
I’D NEVER EATEN so much in my entire life.
When Addy had said it was a Thanksgiving tradition to stuff yourself silly, I’d kind of rolled my eyes and laughed, believing she was kidding.
She wasn’t.
After filling my plate and doing a pretty good job of cleaning it, she’d made me take seconds.
And then thirds.
“You’re too thin,” she’d nagged. “Don’t let all this food go to waste.”
I’d decided not to remind her that we had a refrigerator to prevent that. She had been happy, and in turn, so had I.
Although, almost twenty-four hours later, I was still slightly miserable and perhaps a little sleepy from the turkey.
But it was the first Thanksgiving in my life that hadn’t come and gone. I’d been able to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, knowing that hot food would soon be on the table and in my belly.
Most years, I’d been jealous of the homeless people down the street who visited the soup kitchens. One year, when I was around the age of six, I thought I might have even asked my mother if we could join them.
I’d gotten a nice long speech on being grateful as I ate my cold turkey sandwich.
Part of me had wanted to be grateful because, yes, she had put a roof over my head and kept me fed. But what about everything else?
Wasn’t I worth more?
“I’m going to run into town and pick up a few things. Want to come with me, and then maybe we can check out what movies are available to rent?” Addy asked, poking her head in my room.
I’d been in here, curled up on my bed, reading my latest find from the bookstore. So far, I’d managed to line an entire shelf with books I’d read. Looking down at my current read, a paranormal teen drama that was nearly finished, I bit my lip, really wanting to decline.
“Sure,” I finally said, remembering all the trouble she had gone through yesterday to make sure my first real holiday was perfect.
Setting the book down, I grabbed a hoodie and followed her out the door.
All the leaves had mostly fallen from the trees now, some settling around the little gnome that guarded Addy’s small garden in the front. The neighborhood was a picturesque scene of autumn, full of pumpkin-lined porches and laughing children enjoying their short break from school.
I’d experienced the changing of the seasons sixteen different times in my life, but as we drove through the small town I now called home, it felt like I was seeing it for the first time.
One of the luxuries of feeling safe, I guessed.
Addy pulled into one of the few remaining parking spots on Main. It was Black Friday, and people were enjoying the day, shopping at several of the local businesses and taking advantage of sales. I followed Addy to the small grocery store she loved to visit that stocked fruits and veggies from nearby farmers.
