Theo of Golden: A Novel by Allen Levi - 46

“Well, good morning, sir. I had a hunch you’d be here about now.” Asher had guessed he might find Theo at the Chalice. The old man, who had already taken a stroll beside the river, looked up from his newspaper. Asher handed him an envelope. “It’s an invitation, Theo. I could simply ask you, of course, but Brooke likes me to paint these nice one-of-a-kind invitations to make it more special.”

Theo nodded his approval. “I like her style. A keepable invitation. Very nice.”

“So, here, it’s now official. We’d like you to join us for Thanksgiving dinner if you don’t have plans. Simone and Basil and Basil’s girlfriend are going to be there too.”

Asher mentioned that a few others would be at the meal as well: his brother, Pearce; his niece, Minnette; and her husband, Derrick.

“If you can join us, bring an appetite. Brooke makes a big deal over Thanksgiving, and she’ll be hurt if you don’t eat like a glutton.”

In twenty years of living in New York, Theo had become intimately acquainted with the American holiday of Thanksgiving. He often celebrated the occasion with coworkers from his office, sometimes with friends who lived in his neighborhood, and a time or two at local soup kitchens. In other years, he chose to be thankful alone.

Once, shortly after moving to New York, he attended the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade where, with three and a half million other spectators, he enjoyed a frigid few hours, eyes upward as skyscraping balloons proceeded along the two-mile stretch from Central Park West to 34th Street and 7th Avenue. Such gatherings were not Theo’s cup of tea, but he was in the company of friends and, being the generous soul he was, could not help but be swept up in the joy of the event.

And the presence of so many little ones brought his own dear child to mind.

My Tita would love this , he thought.

Theo had no plans for the fourth Thursday in November, was honored to be on the Glissens’ guest list, and accepted Asher’s invitation on the spot. He was pleased at the prospect of spending the holiday in a home, with friends.

Previously, he had only visited with Asher at the Chalice and the art studio. In his frequent walks through the Boughery, he had been charmed by the exterior of the Glissen residence. He hoped for an opportunity to see it from the inside someday and suspected the interior would be as picturesque as the outside. He wondered what aura, what feel, what ghosts might fill the old rooms.

Now he would know.

By Thanksgiving Day, the foliage of Broadway had fully surrendered to autumn. The ground was awash in the copper tint of oak leaves, the buttery ochres of elm and maple, and the varied reds of sweet gum and dogwood.

At one section of the Promenade, fallen leaves had drifted ankle deep at the curbside, like rust-colored confetti, in a way that children, and Theo, found irresistible. He stepped off the sidewalk and dragged his feet through the gathered softness, as if wading through a stream of slivered almonds. He chuckled at his own playfulness.

Entering the Boughery, he took note of three tall ginkgoes, as bright as Shekinah glory, blazing golden with evening light .

The sun was fast disappearing below the tree line, taking with it the mild temperatures that had accompanied daylight. Theo was wrapped warmly in a coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. He was carrying a bottle of wine that changed hands several times, right to left to right, as he made his way to 228 South Broadway.