The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

After lunch, Maryellen and I finish setting the table when we hear cars in the driveway. Everybody’s home. Joan sends us to the door while she pulls a wet, wiggly Mikey from the bath. Maryellen leads me to the front door, since the Winklers are company, and swings it open as Mr. Larkin and Jerry climb out of their scruffy station wagon, and the Winklers step from their big, fancy car.

All the adults talk at once, shouting over the Winklers’ little black poodle. Mr. Larkin shakes Mr. Winkler’s hand and introduces him to Jerry, while Mrs. Larkin urges Mrs. Winkler inside, but Mrs. Winkler is busy scolding her dog, Tinkerbelle, who ignores her and keeps tearing around the yard.

Finally Tinkerbelle shoots past Mrs. Winkler into the house, barking at Scooter, who howls back. Jerry shoos both dogs into the backyard, and everyone moves into the living room. Mr. Winkler is stout and spry with a ruddy face, while Mrs. Winkler moves with a stiff, stately dignity, wincing as she sits on the couch as if used to finer furniture.

Mr. Larkin is about to address everyone when Mikey runs in, hurls himself at Mr. Winkler, and shouts, “Santa!” Mr. Winkler does look a bit like Santa, and puffs up as Maryellen starts to apologize. But Mrs. Winkler waves it off, beams at the cute little guy, and settles him onto Mr. Winkler’s lap while Mrs. Larkin collapses into her chair.

Before anyone can say another word, Scooter and Tinkerbelle parade into the living room with turkey legs in their mouths, pleased with themselves. Ignoring everyone’s shouts, they carry their prizes back to the backyard to eat in peace. Through the door, we see the turkey carcass skidded under the table, leaving a trail of grease across the floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. The Larkins could not have made a worse impression on the Winklers, and Thanksgiving dinner, maybe even Mr. Larkin’s career, seems ruined. Maryellen, Joan, and I exchange horrified looks. It was our fault the door was open and the turkey was left where the dogs could reach it.

Suddenly Mr. Winkler starts to chortle, which explodes into roaring laughter. He shakes all over, and it’s so contagious we all join in. Mrs. Winkler laughs like a donkey braying, and Mrs. Larkin gasps for breath, tears running down her cheeks.

Mr. Winkler says he shouldn’t laugh, but he’s afraid Tinkerbelle has ruined Thanksgiving. They shouldn’t have brought her. We might as well call them Mr. and Mrs. Jinx-ler!

Maryellen says it’s not Tinkerbelle’s fault, since Scooter took a leg, too, and it was their mistake to leave the door open and the turkey on the chair. She offers her prize money for dinner out instead, but Mr. Larkin smiles and says he doesn’t need it.