Free Between Heaven and Texas by Marie Bostwick

own.” He used his fork to point toward a serving bowl. “Lydia Dale, pass me some more of those potatoes, will you?”
    Lydia Dale quickly complied with her father’s request, then turned to nine-year-old Jeb, who was sitting slumped in his chair, kicking the leg of the dining room table with the toe of his shoe.
    â€œJeb, why don’t you take your sister into the TV room? Go watch the parade. You don’t want to miss seeing Santa Claus.”
    â€œThe parade’s already over,” Jeb grumbled, giving the table leg another thump. “And there is no Santa Claus.”
    Cady dropped the fork she had been using to carve a crisscross design into her mound of uneaten mashed potatoes. “There is too! And he’s going to bring me a Cabbage Patch Kid for Christmas. Isn’t he, Momma?”
    Lydia Dale arched her eyebrows. “Not if you keep shouting at the dinner table, he won’t. Go on, you two. Jeb, see if you can find out what channel the game is on.”
    Dutch grinned at his grandson and scooped up another forkful of potatoes. “Cowboys versus Cardinals. We wouldn’t want to miss that, would we, Jeb?”
    The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he got up from his chair and whispered a question in his mother’s ear.
    Lydia Dale frowned as she listened, then said, “I won’t. You go on now. And take your sister with you, you hear?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Jeb rolled his eyes and grabbed his sister’s hand. “C’mon, shrimp.”
    â€œBut we didn’t have any pie yet,” Cady protested.
    Mary Dell, worried about the dark circles under Lydia Dale’s eyes and the fact that she’d barely touched a bite of the Thanksgiving feast, stepped in.
    â€œI’ll bring your pie into the TV room. We can all have dessert while we watch the game. You save a good spot on the sofa for me and Grandma Silky. I heard the cheerleaders are trying out some new uniforms today. If we pay real close attention at half-time, I bet we can figure out how to copy the pattern. But you’ve got to help us, all right?”
    Cady, whose stated goal in life was to be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader and who had asked her aunt and great-grandmother to sew her a pint-sized cheerleader’s uniform for Christmas, nodded and ran from the room. Jeb trailed behind her, slowly.
    Dutch frowned. “What’s the matter with that boy? Doesn’t he like football?”
    â€œHe doesn’t like people talking mean about Jack Benny,” Lydia Dale said. “Neither do I, Daddy. Not in front of the kids.”
    Dutch squirmed in his chair. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll mind my tongue in front of the children. But don’t forget that you’re my little girl too. You can’t expect me to just sit back and say nothing when I see Jack Benny treating you so bad.”
    Dutch scowled, reached for the cut-crystal bowl of cranberry sauce, and plopped a big spoonful on his already heaping plate. Taffy had scolded him about watching his blood sugar earlier, but Dutch didn’t think he ought to have to worry about his blood sugar on Thanksgiving. Besides, he always ate more when he was upset, and this divorce had him wolfing down his food so fast he hardly had time to taste it.
    â€œI don’t know how he could desert his wife and children, not to mention his unborn child,” Dutch said, nodding at the seven-month mound that swelled under Lydia Dale’s red plaid maternity smock, “to take up with that slut Carla Jean . . .”
    Taffy gasped. “Dutch!”
    Silky looked up from her plate. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Taffy. Now that they kicked you out of the Women’s Club, you can stop putting on airs. It’s not like we’ve never heard the word before. Besides, I think Dutch has it about right.
    â€œLydia Dale, I think you’re crazy to let Jack Benny get away with paying no child support, but,”