Rogue

Her mother checked on the sweet potatoes in the oven, poked the turkey again to make sure it wasn't drying out, and turned to Maxine with a warm smile. She was a quiet, reserved woman who had been satisfied all her life to be in the background, be supportive of her husband, and she was proud to be a physician's wife. She had never felt the need for a career of her own. She was of a generation that was happy to stand behind their men, bring up their children, and as long as there was no pressing financial need, stay home instead of work. She had done extensive charity work for the Junior League, was a volunteer at the hospital where her husband was on staff, and she enjoyed reading for the blind. She was satisfied, happy, and her life was full, but she worried that her daughter had too much responsibility on her shoulders, and worked too hard. It bothered her more than it did her husband that Blake was an absentee father, although her own husband hadn't been directly involved with his own daughter either. But the reasons for it, and his demanding practice, seemed far more comprehensible and respectable to Marguerite Connors than Blake's obsessive and totally irresponsible pursuit of fun. She had never been able to understand what he was doing or how he behaved, and she thought it remarkable that Maxine was so patient about it, and so tolerant of his complete lack of responsibility toward their children. In fact, she felt downright sorry for them for what they were missing, and for Maxine. And it worried her that there wasn't a serious man in her life.

“How are you, dear? As busy as ever?” Marguerite asked. She and Maxine talked a few times a week, but rarely said anything substantive. Had Maxine felt the need, she would have been more inclined to discuss things with her father, who had a more realistic view of the world. Her mother had been so sheltered through nearly fifty years of marriage that she was far less able to be helpful in any practical way. And Maxine hated to worry her. “Are you working on a new book?”

“Not yet. And my practice always gets a little crazy before the holidays. There's always some lunatic doing something to put kids in jeopardy or traumatize them, and my adolescent patients get upset about the holidays, like everyone else. Holidays always seem to drive everyone a little nuts,” Maxine said, helping her mother put the rolls in the bread basket after they'd been warmed. Their dinner looked beautiful and smelled great. Although she had help during the week, her mother was a terrific cook, and took great pride in cooking holiday meals herself. She always prepared Christmas dinner too, which was a huge relief for Maxine, who had never been as domestic, and was more like her father in many ways. She also had his realistic, practical view of the world. She was more scientific than artistic, and as the breadwinner in her own family, she was more down to earth. To this day, her father still wrote the checks and paid the bills. Maxine was well aware that if anything ever happened to him, her mother would be completely lost in the real world.

“Holidays are always busy for us too,” Marguerite said as she took the turkey out of the oven. It looked like it was ready to be photographed for a magazine. “Everyone seems to break something during ski season, and as soon as it gets cold, people start falling on the ice and breaking hips.” She had done it herself three years before, and had had a hip replacement. She had come out of it very well. “You know how busy your father gets this time of year.”

Maxine smiled in answer, helping her get the sweet potatoes out of the oven, and setting them down on the island in the center of the kitchen. The crust of marshmallows covering them was a perfect golden brown. “Dad's always busy, Mom.”

“So are you,” her mother said proudly, and went to get her husband to carve the turkey. When Maxine followed her back into the living room, he was still playing cards with Sam, and the other two children were watching football on TV. Her father was a huge fan, and had been the orthopedic surgeon for the New York Jets for years. He still saw them as patients in his practice.

“Turkey time,” her mother announced, as her father got up to go and carve the turkey. He apologized to Sam and looked at his daughter with a grin. He'd been having a good time.

“I think he cheats,” her father commented about his grandson.

“Definitely,” Maxine agreed, as her father disappeared into the kitchen to do his job.

Ten minutes later the turkey was carved, and he brought it to the dining table, as his wife called out to all of them to come and sit down. Maxine found great pleasure in the family ritual, and was grateful that they were all there together and her parents were in good health. Her mother was seventy-eight, and her father seventynine, although both were in great shape. It was hard to believe that her parents were now that old.