“It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Really?”

When it was just the two of them, Sara acted like a baby. It wasn’t just what she said but the tone she used. Obviously she hadn’t inherited Mom’s toughness.

“What are we going to eat?”

“Did you look in the fridge?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you find?”

“Not much.”

“Well, that stinks.”

“Tommy.”

She was the only one who called him that. Some of the kids back home used to, but even his mother called him Thomas now. As if he were grown up since they’d been away from Dad for almost a year and he was the man of the family. He didn’t mind Sara calling him Tommy. It sort of reminded him of something normal and nice.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said.

“Why didn’t you get us lunch when you were gone?”

“I was playing basketball.”

“So?”

“What’d you want me to do? Shoot a bear?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Well, I am too. Do you have any money?”

“I never have any money.”

Her whine level was especially high today.

“So what’s the plan?”

When he took his time in answering, Sara obviously decided she’d had enough. She went back to her room, which was the size of a walk-in closet more than anything else. There she’d probably do the same thing he often found himself doing in the small living area of the trailer: sitting, thinking, feeling cooped up and bored. The family had only a tiny television with a few basic channels to watch with no video games to play or even a phone to make calls.

Thomas looked around, wondering where the smell came from. It wasn’t his feet. This particular scent had been there since they moved in. It seriously smelled like a dead animal had found this run-down shell and decided to die underneath it.

Mom liked to say that this broken-down trailer was an answer to prayer, but prayers had to smell a lot better than this.

Then again, maybe it was his feet. And if it was, then he needed more than new socks.

He thought about the lunch dilemma and had an idea.

Half an hour later, they had a feast on the table.

“What is that?” Sara stood back, her arms crossed in front of her.

Thomas smiled, knowing that’d be the response from his sister.

“That is our Thanksgiving dinner.”

For a moment he wondered whether Sara was going to stay at the table or go back to her room.

“Where’s the turkey?” she asked.

“There.” He pointed at the plate in the middle of the table.

“Those are hot dogs.”

“I’m sure there’s probably a little turkey somewhere in them.”

Sara sighed and stared at him.

“Hey—that’s not a very thankful spirit, is it?”

“I could’ve made those myself.” She wrinkled up her nose even though there wasn’t anything bad to smell. “We don’t even have buns.”

“Uh-uh,” he said, shushing her.

She wasn’t going to wreck his good mood.