Aunt Geniel made things that were both picture-perfect and edible. That year we enjoyed an amazing feast. There was spiced roast turkey, giblet brown gravy, mashed potatoes, candied yams, green beans, honey-glazed baby carrots, Parker House rolls, herbed apple stuffing, cranberry and orange relish, rice pudding, and pumpkin pie.

While everyone was eating dessert, I went in the bathroom and looked inside Aunt Geniel’s medicine cabinet; there were two full bottles of penicillin.

The labels on the bottles said to take one pill four times a day for ten days. I did the math: four times ten was forty pills, minus the two I’d already given her. I needed thirty-eight pills.

I poured the entire contents of one of the bottles into my hand. There were twenty-four pills. I counted the pills from the other bottle. There were only nine. I was five pills short. But Grace wasn’t very big, so maybe they’d be enough. I poured them all into one of the bottles and shoved it into my trouser pocket. I returned the other bottle to the cabinet then decided that I better take the empty bottle as well. I put it in my other pocket then returned to the table. I hated stealing something from Aunt Geniel’s house, but I was certain that she would give the pills to me if she knew what they were for.

We didn’t leave until around eight, when my mother announced it was getting close to Joel’s bedtime. Aunt Geniel loaded us down with enough leftovers that I knew Grace’s share wouldn’t be missed.

That night I brought Grace the pills and two large plates of food. She made a turkey roll sandwich with cranberry sauce. As good as the food was, she didn’t have much of an appetite. She ate a little, then we both lay back together on the mattress. Holding her was my favorite thing in the whole world.

“Do you know what I’m most grateful for this Thanksgiving?” she asked.

I had no idea. “What?”

“You.”

I smiled. “I’m grateful for you too.”

We just lay in happy silence. After a few minutes, she rolled over to look at me. “So I’ve been thinking. Do you believe there’s a hell?”

“Sure. Doesn’t everybody?”

“Well, what if this is hell, but we just don’t know it?”

“That’s crazy. Hell is like lakes of fire, and there are devils with horns and pitchforks. There’s none of those around here.”

“But what if hell’s not really like that?” Grace asked.

“Everyone says it’s that way,” I said.

“I don’t think Jesus ever talked about fire and brimstone.”

“Then why do they teach us that at church?”

“To scare us.”

“Why would they want to scare us?”