Chapter 72

“Bread anyone?” Barry asked, holding up a basket of cloverleaf rolls. “They’re homemade.”

Everyone took one. Jake, Jimmy, and Zane soon asked for a second.

“And don’t forget the veggies,” Bess said, handing the pot of green bean casserole to Gary

The casserole had been Bess’s creation. Barry didn’t care for green beans, but knew the dish was traditional at Thanksgiving. Barry had contributed roasted cauliflower with bacon and dates. He was gratified to see that the men took equal quantities of both.

“Oh, the Brussels sprouts,” Barry said, getting to his feet.

“Don’t like Brussels sprouts,” Jimmy muttered.

“You haven’t eaten mine,” Barry said, patting the man’s blue flannel shoulder on the way to the kitchen.

Barry returned a moment later with a gratin dish, its contents still bubbling from the oven. “Made with gouda cheese and cream.” He set the sprouts next to Jimmy’s plate.

The cowboy eyed them suspiciously but tried one and said they were good. But he only put a couple more on his plate before handing the dish off to Jake.

“What’s in the gravy, Barry?” Wayne asked, pouring some more onto his turkey. “It’s great.”

“Can’t take the credit for that. Bess?” He looked over at his fellow cook.

“Brandy,” she said simply.

“Really?” Dennis said. “You’re getting posh. Dad wouldn’t have liked…” He ground to a halt.

“This dressing is awesome,” Gary said, filling the awkward silence. “Did you make this, too, Mom?”

“Bit of a joint effort,” Bess said.

“Rubbish,” Barry said after swallowing a mouthful of turkey. “It’s your grandmother’s recipe,” he told Gary.

“Don’t remember you making it before,” Dennis said. “Probably another thing Dad wouldn’t…Ouch!”

Gary shot his younger brother a look. Barry guessed he’d kicked Dennis under the table.

The rest of dinner passed without incident or further mention of Frank. Despite the men’s best efforts, Barry had cooked more food than even they could put away.

“You can take some back with you,” Barry told a delighted Dennis. Addressing the table as a whole, he said, “Hope you all have saved room for dessert.”

There were groans and one or two soft belches but no one refused, especially when Barry and Bess told them of their four choices.

“That’s, like, half each,” Zane said.

“Almost,” Rory said quietly.

The other men rolled their eyes but were too stuffed to make anything of Zane’s poor math skills.

When Barry and Bess carried in six pies and the large trifle, he couldn’t help saying, “Almost one dessert each.”

Zane was the only one to have a piece of each of the three types of pie, plus a large helping of the trifle.

“Where do you put it all?” Rory asked.

“Growing boy,” Zane said, rubbing his distended stomach and giving Rory a friendly look.

Rory almost melted and went as red as Jake’s shirt. Barry was sure everyone else was too busy eating to notice.

“The game will be on soon,” Jimmy announced, pushing back from the table. “Don’t know if I can move though.”

Jake laughed. “Come on, bud, you can lean on me.”

“Bet the Cowboys will get their asses handed to them,” Liam muttered.

“I like cowboy asses,” Barry said, before realizing he was in mixed company.

Jimmy and Jake were trying to stifle giggles, Bess smiled indulgently, Gary and Dennis looked mildly uncomfortable, and Zane was too busy on his second helping of pecan pie to notice.

The doorbell rang and Barry said, “Saved by the bell.”

Jake got up to answer it.

The light talk at the table died when they heard Jake say, “Deputy Peterson?”

“Sorry to bother you on Thanksgiving, Jake, but I understand Mrs. Wilson is staying with you.”

All eyes moved to Bess, who paled.

“Why, yes. Come in.”

Bess, Gary, and Dennis got to their feet and went into the hallway.

“Ma’am,” the deputy said.

“What’s wrong?” Gary asked.

“Mrs. Wilson, your husband was in an accident earlier.”

Barry got to his feet and hovered in the doorway.

“He’s okay, although he hit his head when his car knocked over a light pole.”

Bess gasped and reached for Dennis’s arm.

“We took him to the Emergency Room and the doc said they wanted to keep him overnight because he, Mr. Wilson I mean, has a mild concussion.”

“Oh, no,” Bess said.

“Was he drunk?” Gary asked, mirroring the question Barry had thought of.

“Yes, sir,” the deputy confirmed. “Fortunately no one else was involved, otherwise, well…”

“Can I go see him?” Bess asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bess turned to Barry, apologizing for leaving him with the dishes.