“It is,” Michael said. “I got a couple of sound techs from the drama department to record the Saturday night concert. They’ve cleaned up the files, and now you can buy a copy of the concert on the church Web site for a small donation to their cleanup fund.”

“Fabulous,” I said.

Since the kitchen really was too small for more than one person, the boys and I sang along with the Baptists while Michael finished the dinner preparations. Finally a timer went off, and he ran upstairs with potholders, then returned carrying an enormous roasting pan.

“Turkey’s ready,” he said as he lifted the lid, filling the entire apartment with the mouthwatering scent of the turkey. “I actually had to borrow Charlie’s oven upstairs to cook it in—I’d forgotten how tiny this kitchen is. But for the rolls of refrigerator biscuits—this oven should work fine.”

“Mommy, want gwandbewwy sauce,” Jamie said.

“Grandberry?” I echoed. “Oh, cranberry sauce. Right. Do you want me to start on the biscuits or—”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Don’t answer it,” Michael and I said in unison. But Josh, vastly proud of his doorman’s job, was already opening the door.

“Gampa!” he exclaimed. “Come eat turkey?”

“If I’m invited.” Dad looked plaintive.

Michael and I exchanged looks. He raised an eyebrow. Well, it wasn’t as if we’d been trying to avoid Dad. I nodded.

“You’re allowed to stay on one condition,” Michael said. “Tell us how you figured out we were here.”

“I deduced it.” Dad sounded very proud of himself. “This morning at church I was talking to Clyde Flugleman from the turkey farm, and found out Michael had bought a bird, so I knew you were planning something. And then after services, I stopped for gas at Osgood Shiffley’s station and overheard him giving directions to a young man who was having trouble finding this address. And when he said he was turkey sitting for his professor—well, I figured it out immediately. But don’t worry—your secret’s safe with me.”

“So much for keeping secrets in a small town,” I murmured.

“Have a seat,” Michael said.

“I brought some rolls.” Dad held up a bag from the Caerphilly Bakery that was large enough to contain a year’s supply of bread. “Margie at the bakery made them fresh this morning.” He held the bag open slightly and we all sniffed eagerly at the warm, yeasty smell.

“Much better than refrigerator biscuits,” I said. “Michael, do we have any wine?”

“Oops,” Michael said. “I meant to get some.”

“I can go.” Dad stood up. “It won’t take—”

“No, sit,” Michael said. “I can borrow some from Charlie and replace it later.”

“Is there anything you want me to do, then?” Dad asked.

“Story,” Jamie demanded. He handed Dad the pile of Christmas children’s books Michael had brought along to entertain the boys.