THE THANKSGIVING HE LEFT BEHIND

“Dad.”

He turned around, holding a plate of turkey. He saw the pink slip and the check copy in my hand. All the color drained from his weathered face.

“Rick, put that away.”

“You pawned Grandpa’s watch?” I stepped toward him. “And you gave Arthur Pierce forty thousand dollars? Dad, where did you even get this kind of money?”

He set the plate down. His hands were shaking. “It was a loan against my pension. It’s handled, Ricky. Let it go.”

“Let it go? The memo says ‘For Karen’s silence.’ What silence? What is she hiding?”

He wouldn't look at me. He stared at the linoleum floor. “She said if I didn't help them, she was going to take you to Chicago. She said she’d leave you, take half your business, and ruin you. Arthur made some bad investments. They were drowning.”

My wife had blackmailed my father.

She had used his love for me to drain his life savings, just to keep her arrogant parents in their country club lifestyle. And then, she had the nerve to uninvite him from Thanksgiving dinner because he smelled like a garage.

I set the papers down on the counter. I didn't say a word.

I walked out the front door, got into my truck, and drove.

When I slammed the front door of my own house open, the dining room was tense. Karen, Arthur, and Eleanor were sitting around the beautifully set table, picking at a plate of hastily ordered delivery pizza.

They looked up as I marched into the room.

“Rick,” Karen started, her voice laced with venom. “You humiliated us. Where have you been?”

I didn't look at her. I walked straight to Arthur. He was sitting at the head of my table, wearing a tailored Italian suit, chewing on a slice of pepperoni.

“Arthur,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Where is the watch?”

Arthur stopped chewing. Eleanor dropped her napkin. Karen stood up, her face suddenly pale.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Richard,” Arthur said, dabbing his mouth.

I reached down, grabbed his left wrist, and violently pulled back the cuff of his expensive suit jacket.

Strapped to his wrist on a cheap new leather band was my grandfather’s gold Waltham pocket watch.

He hadn't just taken my father’s money. He had gone to the pawnshop and bought the watch for himself.

Arthur yanked his arm back, a smug, aristocratic sneer crossing his face. “Your old man couldn't afford to keep it, Rick. I considered it a convenience fee for my silence regarding the house.”

I froze. “What house?”