The Trust

Chapter 17: Thanksgiving

"Let's have dinner all together at our Darcey's house," the relatives said. "It'll be fun!"

The fun involves me getting up at 7 on my day off to get the turkey in the oven, peel and prep the vegetables and clean the house. Normally Mom would be the one doing most of the cooking and cleaning for an event like this, insisting even, but Mom says. "I'm a rich lady now, I don't have to do housework." So, she's sleeping in like a carefree teenager while I frantically chop, peel and vacuum.

When Audrey gets up, she gives me a hand and finally things are in hand and the house is ready for company.

When the relatives start to pile in, I'm surprised to see faces I haven't seen in years, including cousins, second cousins and in some cases, people I don't even recognize — 'grand-aunt Marg's nephew by marriage,' or 'your cousin Eddie's ex-wife's brother.' It strikes me that I've never seen so many relatives in the same room before and I can't help but wonder how many of them have heard about the money.

This is no ordinary Thanksgiving. Rob says today is the day the money is landing in our accounts.

Everyone seems to know everyone, and the mood is jolly, so I put aside my irritation and try and make the best of it. "We have plenty of food," I lie, rooting around in the cupboards to find sides to stretch the meal — a couple of boxes of stuffing, cans of vegetables. On a whim, I decide to whip up a couple of batches of homemade rolls. 

Aunts and uncles from both sides of the family embrace and chat over wine. My mom and dad's family know each other well, having grown up in the same town. Half of them have gone to school or worked together over the years.

"Throw that turkey out, I'm taking everyone out for dinner when the money comes in," yells Uncle Jack when he comes in the door, and the crowd laughs. I think about firing the expensive bird out the back door after all the work I've put into cooking it because we're all about to become very rich. "Wait – you're kidding, right?" I say to him, and he laughs in response.

"I always knew Rob would do big things, but I never expected him to be this generous," he says, shrugging out of his coat.

"So, you believe it?" I can't stop myself from asking. For the sake of the $40,000 new car I just bought with my bank account coasting on fumes I'm still seeking reassurance even though by all accounts the big event is happening today. Uncle Jack is the patriarch, I go to him every time I need some advice. I know he'll never steer me wrong.

He gives me a funny look and pulls me aside. "Listen, the last time Rob was in town I went to see him. I asked him about all of this; if it was on the level." He takes a deep breath. "Darcey, it's real." His kind, brown eyes are solemn but lit up with excitement. "He brought up his bank account on the computer and Kat showed me their ATM slips. He's worth billions, Darce. I saw it with my own eyes."

The joy that I felt in that moment nearly knocks me to my knees and I utter a silent prayer of thanks. All the bad things that happened, every bitter disappointment in my life suddenly disappears. The universe has righted a deep wrong and I'm grateful. I nod and give his arm a squeeze, turning so he won't see me wipe my eyes with the edge of my apron. It was everything I needed to hear and finally, I let the dam of happiness burst over me.

I shake my head and try and focus on the task at hand — getting supper on the table and feeding all these people.

I enlist my little cousins with the meal prep; young guys I used to babysit who tower over me and now have families of their own. They mash vegetables and talk about pranks they used to pull when they were kids while their own young ones toddle around underfoot.

"This one is the spit of you, Travis," I say, hoisting a chubby-faced toddler onto my hip and kissing his plump cheek. It's hard to believe I used to lug my six-foot-four cousin around the same way when I was 14. Looking into Martin's wide grey eyes was like travelling back in time to when Travis was a cute but mischievous toddler.